On, on to Stamboul’s throne!”
He fled. O hero! Peace! There is no cause for grief,—
He lives,—thy brother lives, and Spiridóv, his chief!
No dolphin saved them there,—it was the Almighty God,
The God who sees thy deed, thy valour who approves,
And tries the men He loves
With His afflictive rod.
The dreadful dream is passed,—passed like a mist away,
And dawns, serene and bright, a cloudless victory day:
The trump of shadeless joy,—the trump of triumph speaks;