Стихтворенiе Сергѣя Сергѣевича Бехтеева,1917
Была Державная Россія;
Была великая страна
Съ народомъ, мощнымъ, какъ стихія,
Непобѣдимымъ, какъ волна.
Но, подъ напоромъ черни дикой,
Предъ ложнымъ призракомъ «свободъ»,
Не стало Родины великой
Распался скованный народъ.
Въ клочки разорвана порфира,
Растоптанъ царственный вѣнецъ,
И смотрятъ всѣ державы міра,
О, Русь, на жалкій твой конецъ!
Когда-то властная Царица,
Гроза и страхъ своихъ враговъ,
Теперь ты жалкая блудница,
Раба, прислужница рабовъ!
Въ убогомъ рубищѣ, нагая,
Моля о хлѣбѣ предъ толпой,
Стоишь ты, наша Мать родная,
Въ углу съ протянутой рукой.
И въ дни народной деспотіи
Въ бродягѣ нищенкѣ простой
Никто не узнаетъ Россіи
И не считается съ тобой.
Да будутъ прокляты потомствомъ
Сыны, дерзнувшіе предать
Съ такимъ преступнымъ вѣроломствомъ
Свою безпомощную Мать!
Steaky Sergey Sergeyevich Bechteev, 1917
There was a sovereign Rossia;
There was a great country
With people, powerful, like a verse,
Unbearable, like a wave.
But, by the pressure of the ink wild,
The false ghost of "freedoms",
There was no homeland of the great
The constrained people broke up.
Porphyry is torn into shreds,
The royal Vynets is trampled,
And they look at all the powers of the Mira,
Oh Rus, your end to your sighing end!
Once the imperious queen,
The thunderstorm and fear of their enemies,
Now you are a miserable harlot
Slave, servant of slaves!
In the wretched chryshish, nagging,
Praying about the whip of the crowd,
You are standing, our mother, native
In the corner with an outstretched hand.
And in the days of folk despot
In the tramp beggarly simple
No one will recognize Rossiya
And it is not considered you.
Let them be damned by offspring
Sons, daring to betray
With such criminal owls
Your houseless mother!
