The love of their country nerves the souls and arms of Russia’s sons; eager are all to shed their blood; the raging tumult but inspires them with fresh courage; as the lion, by the fearful glare of his eyes, drives before him whole herds of wolves, their sharp teeth vainly showing; the woods and shores tremble at his roar; with his tail he lashes the sand and dust; with his strength he beats down every opposing force. Hear I not the deafening din of Ætna’s forges? Roars not the brass within, bubbling with boiling sulphur? Is not Hell striving to burst its chains, and ope its jaws? The posterity of the rejected deity have filled the mountain track with fire, and hurl down flame and liquid metal; but neither foe nor nature can withstand the burning ardour of our people. Send away thy hordes, Stamboul, beyond these mountains, where the fiery elements vomit forth smoke, ashes, flame and death; beyond the Tigris, whose strong waves drag after them the huge stones from the shores, but the world holds no impediment to arrest the eagle in his flight. To him the waters, the woods, the mountains, the precipices and the silent deserts are but as level paths; wherever the wind can blow, thither he can wing his way. Let the earth be all motion like the sea; let myriads oppose; let thickest smoke darken the universe; let the Moldavian mountains swim in blood; such cannot harm you, O Russians! whose safety Fate itself has decreed for the sake of the blessed Anna. Already in her course your zeal has led you in triumph against the Tartars, and wide is the prospect before you. The parting ray of daylight falls gently into the waters, and leaves the fight to the night fires; Murza has fallen on his long shadow; in him the light and soul of the infidels pass from them. A wolf issues from the thick forest and rushes on the pale carcass, even in the Turkish camp. A dying Tartar, raising his eyes towards the evening star for the last time, “Hide,” he feebly cries, “thy purple light, and with it the shame of Mahomet; descend quickly with the sun into the sea.” Why is my soul thus oppressed with terror? My veins grow stiff, my heart aches. Strange tones meet mine ear; a howling noise seems passing through the desert, the woods and the air. The wild beast has taken refuge in its cavern; the gates of heaven are opened; a cloud has spread itself over the army; suddenly a countenance of fire shines forth: a hero appears chasing his enemies before him, his sword all red with blood. Is it not he who, near the rapid waters of the Don, destroyed the walls raised to check the Russians’ progress? And the Persians in their arid deserts, was it not by his arms they fell? Thus looked he on his foes when he approached the Gothic shores; thus lifted he his powerful arm; thus swiftly his proud horse galloped over those fields where we see the morning star arise.