Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Russia: Vol. XX. 1876–79.
The Storming of Azof
By From the RussianT
Neither night nor day!
Late at evening the word was given
To the soldiers gay;
All night long their weapons cleaning,
Were the soldiers good,
Ready in the morning dawn,
All in ranks they stood.
That now sounds so clear:
Nor the silver flute’s tone is it,
That thou now dost hear.
’T is the great white Tzar who speaketh,
’T is our father dear.
Come, my princes, my Boyars,
Nobles, great and small!
Now consider and invent
Good advice, ye all!
How the soonest, how the quickest,
Fort Azof may fall?
And our father dear,
He again began to speak,
In his eye a tear:
Come, my children, good dragoons,
And my soldiers all,
Now consider and invent
Brave advice, ye all,
How the soonest, how the quickest,
Fort Azof may fall?
So the soldiers spake,
With one voice at once they spake:
“Father, dear, great Tzar!
Fall it must! and all our lives
Thereon we gladly stake.”
Nearly past the night;
To the storming on they marched,
With the morning light;
To the fort with bulwarked towers
And walls so strong and white.
From the mountains steep;
From the high, high walls there rolled
Foes into the deep.
No white snow shines on the fields,
All so white and bright;
But the corpses of our foes
Shine so bright and white.
Not up-swollen by heavy rains
Left the sea its bed;
No! in rills and rivers streams
Turkish blood so red!