Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov. (№ 364472)

And the heat and the battle wearied
Me), but the turbid wave
Was heat, was red.
On the shore, under the shade of an oak,
Passing blockages of the first row,
Stood in a circle. One soldier
Was on his knees; gloomy, rude
It seemed the facial expression,
But tears dripped from eyelashes,
Covered with dust... on his coat,
Back to the tree, lay
Their captain. He was dying;
In his chest barely blackened
Two wounds; his blood a little bit
Oozing. But high chest
And hard was rising, eyes
Wandered afraid, he whispered...
Save me, brothers. - Dragging in the Torah.
Wait a minute - the wounded General...
Can't hear for a Long time... he groaned,
But all are weak and gradually
Calmed down and gave the soul to God.