There mingled,—Silence, veil that awful memory o’er!
I see the hero pour
The tears of pity too!
O Peter! Great in song, as great in glory once,
Look from thy throne sublime upon thy Russia’s sons!
See, how thy fleets have won the palm of victory,
And hear the triumph sound, even to the gate of heaven,—
The Turkish strength is riven
Even in the Turkish sea.
Thee Copenhagen saw, the Neptune of the Belt;