100 



ODE TO THE AUTOCRAT. 



What though the trumpet soundeth 



0*er Muscovy's wide plains, 

 And the Cossack war-horse boundeth 



While the Pole slave clanks his chains ? 

 Why should we fear the Despot's hordes, 

 His countless spears, his myriad swords ; 

 His masts like forests on the deep, 

 While his hosts o'er the hills like the night-storms sweep ? 



We hurl thee back defiance, 



Dread Titan of the North ! 

 Thee and thy dark alliance — 



Send, send thy serf-bands forth ! 

 With the tramp of thy hosts while the Balkin shakes, 

 Round thy plunging ships while the Black Sea breaks, 

 A mightier force than thine, O Czar, 

 Shall burst the Volga's frozen bar. 



Sleep'st thou in thy pavilions 



A slumber calm and deep, 

 While around barbaric millions 



In arms thy vigil keep ? 

 Or from the midnight couch dost start 

 At the groan from childless Poland's heart? 

 Or seest thou on thy palace wall 

 A sign which doth yet more appal ? 



Where is Belshazzar's palace. 



Where Philip's warrior son 

 QuaflTd the Herculean chalice, 



And lost what he had won ? 

 Where on her hills stood mighty Rome? 

 Was yonder ruin Caesar's home ? 

 And Despot will thy throne be found 

 When a few rapid years roll round? 



Thou! would'st thou, proud Sclavonian, 



Mimic the mighty dead, 

 And like the Macedonian 



Tears for a new world shed. 



