Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/64

38 Oh, thou eagle, hail! Our far father flying, Oh, thou fire-eyed, come, Our bleak foes defying.

Oh, thou eagle, hail! Lo, our groans grow stronger. Let the evil crows Blacken us no longer.

Oh, avenge us swift, From the heavens swooping; Punish their vile pride Till their wings fall drooping:

Till the feathers fly; Come, a bolt of thunder, That the steppe's wild wind Tear them all asunder.