Beside the steel-blue Neva set，
I faintly catch， from time to time，
The sweet， aerial midnight chime
God save the Tsar！
Above the ravelins and the moats
Of the white citadel3 it floats；
And men in dungeons4 far beneath
Listen， and pray， and gnash their teeth
God save the Tsar！
The soft reiterations sweep
Across the horror of their sleep，
a term of endearment5 applied6
to the Tsar in Russian folk-song.
As if some daemon in his glee
Were mocking at their misery
God save the Tsar！
In his Red Palace over there，
Wakeful， he needs must hear the prayer.
How can it drown the broken cries
Wrung7 from his children's agonies？
God save the Tsar！
Father they called him from of old
Batuschka！ . . . How his heart is cold！
Wait till a million scourged8 men
Rise in their awful might， and then
God save the Tsar！
