The Boatman Poem by Nikolay Mikhailovich Yazykov

All deserted lies our ocean
Roaring day and night
Buried are so many sorrows
Deep within its fatal depths.

Onward forge, my Brothers dear!
I have raised my wind-filled sail
Just above the glossy waves:
Skitters my light-winged bark!

O'er the ocean gather clouds,
Whipping winds, and black'ning waves,
In the offing there's a storm: we will resist
Dare it to a fight.

Onward forge, my Brothers dear!
Clouds resound, the water boils
Raging sea-swells tower up
High above the yawning depths.

There, beyond foul weather's reach,
Lies in peace a blessed land:
There the skies are ever bright,
Silence reigns supreme there.

Only him whose soul is strong
Will the waves deliver there! . .
Onward, brothers! Full of storm
Taut and sturdy.is my sail.