Classic Poem

SCENE THE SIXTEENTH.

The Lithuanian Frontier.

THE PRETENDER. PRINCE KOURBSKY . Both on horseback, at the head of their troops .

KOURBSKY .

Behold, behold! The Russian border-bounds!
My holy fatherland, all hail to thee!
I with disdain shake from my dress the dust
Of stranger earth, and breathe anew with joy
My native air! And now, oh father mine,
Thy soul may rest in peace, thy bones disgraced
Rejoice once more within their prison-grave
Again the proudest of our heirlooms rich
Shines forth, our sword that filled Kazan with fear,
Our sword, the servant true of Moscow Tsars;
And blood for wine it now shall thirsting drink,
In glory of its hope and liege, the Tsar.

THE PRETENDER .

How blest is he! With noble pride his soul
Exultant glows and lordly beats with joy!
O knight of purest fame, I envy thee!
Thou son of Kourbsky, reared in exile sad,
Forgetful of the wrongs by sire endured,
His buried fault redeeming at full price,
With eager zeal thy knightly blood wilt shed
For Ivan's son, thy true and lawful Tsar,
Thy bleeding country heal... Yea, thou art right:
With gladsome pulse thy soul should beat!

KOURBSKY .

And can it be, thy soul beats dull and cold?
It is our Russia calls thee: she is thine.
Across that narrow line her sons await,
Thy Moscow fair, thy Kremlin, and thy throne!

THE PRETENDER .

Alas, the blood of Russia's sons must flow!
Your swords are justly drawn to shield the Tsar;
But I must you against your brethren lead,
Must Litva call to spoil our country dear,
The road to Moscow show her ancient foes!
But let my heavy sin not fall on me;
Boris, Tsar-butcherer, the sin is thine!
Forward!

KOURBSKY .

Forward! March! Woe to Godounoff!