Classic Poem

Noble friend of the Cossack, my courser, come forth
At the signal the clarion sounds from the North!
Swift to fly to the pillage, and fierce to attack,
Death shall borrow thy wings when I leap on thy back
Though thy saddle and bridle with gold may not shine,
As the price of my conquests, all, all shall be thine
O my faithful courser, proudly neigh:
Trample down people and kings in thy way!

Peace has fled from the earth; she has thrown me thy reins:
Lo, the ramparts are crumbled on Europe's old plains!
Come, my greedy hands fill me where treasures abound!
Come, repose thee where Art an asylum hath found!
Thou hast twice in the waves of the turbulent Seine,
When all bloody, refreshed thee — come, drink there again!
O my faithful courser, proudly neigh:
Trample down people and kings in thy way!

Princes, nobles, and priests are beleagured, in fear
That the vengeance of suffering subjects is near:
And they cry to us. " Come, be our masters to-day;
We'll be serfs, to recover our absolute sway "
I have grappled my lance, and before it they vow
That the cross and the sceptre in homage shall bow
O my faithful courser, proudly neigh:
Trample down people and kings in thy way!

I have seen the huge ghost of a giant arise:
On our bivouacs glared he with luminous eyes;
And he shouted, " My reign recommences anew! "
And his battle-axe pointed the West to our view
'Twas the undying shade of the king of the Huns;
We obey his command — we are Attila's sons
O my faithful courser, proudly neigh:
Trample down people and kings in thy way!

All the pomp, in which Europe so proudly is decked,
All the knowledge she boasts, though it cannot protect,
Shall be lost, swallowed up in the dust that shall spread
Thickly round me in clouds, at the rush of thy tread
Then efface, ay efface, in these on-coming wars,
Temples, palaces, customs, old landmarks, and laws!
O my faithful courser, proudly neigh:
Trample down people and kings in thy way!