To the silvern spurs we wear,
Thoughtful, I’m giving heed,
Trembling for your flanks with care,
My swiftly charging steed.
With the spurs yet to arrive,
And when prancing through the steppe,
Our forebears’ thick whip would drive
An untrained horse to step.
With enlightenment having sway
In the lieu of customs coarse
From a place faraway
Its inventions we endorse;
We today groom and stroke,
To the backbone attest…
They’d lash – we now poke!
Goodness knows which is best!..
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«На серебряные шпоры…», 1832–1834
Lermontov M. To the silvern spurs we wear...
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