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“Thus upon this mundane sphere
Honors quickly pass—
Yesterday you were a god,
Today you’re but an ass.
“Today upon your altar
They incense burn, and myrrh;
Tomorrow they are eager
In mire you to inter.”
The new gods they establish
Must to their moods appeal,
Whom yesterday they murdered
Today before him kneel.
“In this world all things perish
Like rubbish, and decay.
Even the kingdom of a god,
It seems, must pass away.
“No one but Tsars and autocrats
And other such galoots
Endure and last forever,
Like a pair of cowhide boots.”
Thus did god Perun ponder
While trailing through the street,
And just as it was told me
I truthfully repeat.
I hardly would invent it
Even had I the skill,
Since I, for fabricating,
A prison cell might fill.
[41]
