Gavrila Romanovich Derzhavin
Why do you strike up songs military
Fife-like, o, bullfinch, my friend?
Who'll take the lead in our fight with Hell's forces?
Who will command us? What Hercules?
Where is Suvorov, strong, swift and fearless?
Now Northern thunder lies dead in the grave.
Who will ride fiery, ahead of the legions,
Nag for a steed, and crusts for meal,