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From yonder gilded minaret

Beside the steel-blue Neva set，

I faintly catch， from time to time，

The sweet， aerial midnight chime——

"God save the Tsar!"

Above the ravelins and the moats

Of the white citadel it floats;

And men in dungeons far beneath

Listen， and pray， and gnash their teeth——

"God save the Tsar!"

The soft reiterations sweep

Across the horror of their sleep，

a term of endearment applied

to the Tsar in Russian folk-song.

As if some daemon in his glee

Were mocking at their misery——

"God save the Tsar!"

In his Red Palace over there，

Wakeful， he needs must hear the prayer.

How can it drown the broken cries

Wrung from his children's agonies?——

"God save the Tsar!"

Father they called him from of old——

Batuschka!. . . How his heart is cold!

Wait till a million scourged men

Rise in their awful might， and then——

God save the Tsar!