Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — 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!"