THE WHITE CZAR

Dost thou see on the rampart's height

That wreath of mist, in the light

Of the midnight moon? O, hist!

It is not a wreath of mist;

It is the Czar, the White Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!

He has heard, among the dead,

The artillery roll o'erhead;

The drums and the tramp of feet

Of his soldiery in the street;

He is awake! the White Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!

He has heard in the grave the cries

Of his people: “Awake! arise!”

He has rent the gold brocade

Whereof his shroud was made;

He is risen! the White Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!

From the Volga and the Don

He has led his armies on,

Over river and morass,

Over desert and mountain pass;

The Czar, the Orthodox Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!

He looks from the mountain-chain

Toward the seas, that cleave in twain

The continents; his hand

Points southward o'er the land

Of Roumili! O Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!

And the words break from his lips:

“I am the builder of ships,

And my ships shall sail these seas

To the Pillars of Hercules!

I say it; the White Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!

“The Bosphorus shall be free;

It shall make room for me;

And the gates of its water-streets

Be unbarred before my fleets.

I say it; the White Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!

“And the Christian shall no more

Be crushed, as heretofore,

Beneath thine iron rule,

O Sultan of Istamboul!

I swear it; I the Czar,

Batyushka! Gosudar!”