Thy ships, with trophies deep, upon the swelling main;
I see the maidens haste, the aged and the young;
The children wave their hands, and to their father turn,
And thousand questions burn
On their inquiring tongue.
“Is this the eagle proud of whom we have been told,
Who led against the Turks the Russian heroes bold,
And with their warriors’ blood the azure ocean dyed?
Is this our Orlóv,—this with eagle’s heart and name,
His foe’s reproach and shame,