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 Humanity but sorrows for her own;

The Autocrat she mourns not, but the man,

Who, loving Russia, lived beneath her ban,

Powerless to soften fate or change the plan

That called him all unwilling to a throne,

Hereditary evils to atone.

She mourns not Cæsar, but the pathos old

Of a quick conscience, driven to uphold

A dynasty the world had long outgrown.

Woe to the Tsar!—Livadia's cannon boom,

Proclaiming that the Tsar from woe is free!

Peace to the Tsar! but, Russia, woe to thee!

Still he who rules thee shall thy victim be,

Tortured by griefs that shall his heart consume,

Till he and thou, risen as from the tomb,

Shall see the light on Liberty's calm face,

Shall know that tyranny must yield its place

To the great spirit that hath breathed its doom!