Александр Пушкин — Благослови, поэт!.. В тиши парнасской сени (К Жуковскому)

Blagoslovi, poet!.. V tishi parnasskoy seni
Ya s trepetom sklonil pred muzami koleni:
Opasnoyu tropoy s nadezhdoy poletel,
Mne zhreby vynul Feb, i lira moy udel.
Strashus, neopytny, besslavnogo padenya,
No pylkogo smirit ne v silakh ya vlechenya,
Ne grozny prigovor na gibel vnemlyu ya:
Sokrytogo v vekakh svyashchenny sudia,
Strazh verny proshlykh let, napersnik muz lyubimy
I blednoy zavisti predmet nekolebimy
Privetlivym menya vnimanyem obodril;
I Dmitrev slaby dar s ulybkoy pokhvalil;
I slavny starets nash, tsarey pevets izbranny,
Krylatym geniyem i gratsiyey venchanny,
V slezakh obnyal menya drozhashcheyu rukoy
I schastye mne predrek, neznayemoye mnoy.
I ty, prirodoyu na pesni obrechenny!
Ne ty l mne ruku dal v zavet lyubvi svyashchenny?
Mogu l zabyt ya chas, kogda pered toboy
Bezmolvny ya stoyal, i molnynoy struyey
Dusha k vozvyshennoy dushe tvoyey letela
I, tayno syedinyas, v vostorgakh plamenela, —
Net, net! reshilsya ya — bez strakha v trudny put,
Otvazhnoy veroyu ispolnilasya grud.
Tvortsy bessmertnye, pitomtsy vdokhnovenya!..
Vy tsel mne kazhete v tumanakh otdalenya,
Lechu k bezvestnomu otvazhnoyu mechtoy,
I, mnitsya, geny vash promchalsya nado mnoy!

No chto? Pod groznoyu parnasskoyu skaloyu
Kakoye zrelishche otkrylos predo mnoyu?
V uzhasnoy temnote peshchernoy glubiny
Vrazhdy i Zavisti ugryumye syny,
Vozvyshennykh tvortsov zoily zapisnye
Sidyat — Bessmyslitsy druzhiny boyevye.
Daleko dikikh lir nesetsya rezkoy voy,
Varyazhskiye stikhi vizzhit varyagov stroy.
Smekh obshchy im otvet; nad mrachnymi tolpami
Vo mgle dva prizraka sklonilisya glavami.
Odin na grudy sel i prozy i stikhov —
Tyazhelye plody polunoshchnykh trudov,
Usopshikh od, poem zabvennye mogily!
S ulybkoy vnemlet voy stoposlozhitel khily:
Pred nim rasterzanny stenayet Tilemakh;
Zheleznoye pero skrypit v yego perstakh
I tyanet za soboy gekzametry sukhiye,
Spondei zhestkiye i daktily tugiye.
Retivoy muzoyu proslavlenny pevets,
Gordis — ty Mevia naduty obrazets!
No kto drugoy, v dymu bezumnogo kurenya,
Stoit sredi tolpy druzey neprosveshchenya?
Torzhestvennoy khvaly k nemu nesetsya shum:
A on — on rifmoyu popral i vkus i um;
Ty l eto, slaboye ditya chuzhikh urokov,
Zavistlivy gordets, kholodny Sumarokov,
Bez sily, bez ognya, s posredstvennym umom,
Predrassuzhdeniam obyazanny ventsom
I s Pinda sbroshenny, i proklyaty Rasinom?
Yemu li, karliku, tyagatsya s ispolinom?
Yemu l osporivat tot lavrovy venets,
V kotorom vozblistal bessmertny nash pevets,
Veselye rossian, polunoshchnoye divo?..
Net! v tikhoy Lete on potonet molchalivo,
Uzh na chele yego zabvenia pechat,
Predbudushchim vekam chto mog on peredat?
Strashilas gratsia tsinicheskoy svireli,
I persty grubye na lire kosteneli.
Pust budet Meviyem v rechakh prevoznesen —
Yavitsya Depreo, ischeznet Shapelen.

I chto zh? vsegda smeshnym ostanetsya smeshnoye;
Nevezhdu pestuyet nevezhestvo slepoye.
Ono sokrylo ikh vo mrachny svoy priyut;
Tam prozu i stikhi otvazhno vse kuyut,
Tam vse vragi nauk, vse glukhi — lish ne nemy,
Te slogom Nikona pechatayut poemy,
Odni slavyanskikh od gromady gromozdyat,
Drugiye v beshenykh tragediakh khripyat,
Tot, verny svoyemu myatezhnomu soyuzu,
Na stsenu vozvedya zevayushchuyu muzu,
Bessmertnykh geniyev sorvat s Parnasa mnit.
Ruka sodrognulas, udar yego skolzit,
Votshche brosayetsya s zavistlivym kinzhalom,
Kupletom ranen on, nizverzhen v prakh zhurnalom, —
Pri svistakh kritiki k sobratyam on bezhit...
I makovy venets Fespisu imi svit.
Vse, ruku polozhiv na tom Tilemakhidy,
Klyanutsya otomstit sotrudnikov obidy,
Volnuyas vosstayut neistovoy tolpoy.
Beda, kto v svet rozhden s chuvstvitelnoy dushoy!
Kto tayno mog plenit krasavits nezhnoy liroy,
Kto smelo prosvistal shutlivoyu satiroy,
Kto vyrazhayetsya pravdivym yazykom,
I russkoy Gluposti ne khochet bit chelom!..
On vrag otechestva, on seyatel razvrata!
I rechi syplyutsya dozhdem na supostata.

I vy vosstante zhe, parnasskiye zhretsy,
Prirodoy i trudom vospitanny pevtsy
V schastlivoy yeresi i Vkusa i Uchenya,
Razite derzostnykh druzey Neprosveshchenya.
Otmstitel genia, drug istiny, poet!
Liyushchaya s nebes i zhizn i vechny svet,
Streloyu gibeli desnitsa Apollona
Srazhayet nakonets uzhasnogo Pifona.
Smotrite: porazhen vrazhdebnymi strelami,
S potukhshim fakelom, s nedvizhnymi krylami
K vam Ozerova dukh vzyvayet: drugi! mest!..
Vam oskorblenny vkus, vam znanya dali vest —
Letite na vragov: i Feb i muzy s vami!
Razite varvarov krovavymi stikhami;
Nevezhestvo, smiryas, potupit khladny vzor,
Spesivykh ritorov bezgramotny sobor...

No vizhu: vozveshchat nam istiny opasno,
Uzh Mevy na menya nakhmurilsya uzhasno,
I smertny prigovor talantam vozgremel.
Gonenia terpet uzhel i moy udel?
Chto nuzhdy? smelo vdal, dorogoyu pryamoyu,
Uchenyu ruku dav, podderzhanny toboyu,
Ikh zloby ne strashus; mne tverdy Karamzin,
Mne ty primer. Chto krik bezumnykh sikh druzhin?
Puskay beseduyut otverzhennye Feba;
Im prozy, ni stikhov ne poslan dar ot neba.
Ikh slava — im zhe styd; tvorenya — smekh umu;
I v tme voznikshiye nizvergnutsya vo tmu.

K Zhukovskomu