To all the Czars to give to drink.
Then there’s tears of many a maiden
Falling so soft in the lonely night.
Hot tears of mothers, sorrow-laden,
Dry tears of fathers, in grievous plight.
Not rivers, but a sea has flowed,
A burning sea.
To all the Czars who in triumph rode,
With their hounds and gamekeepers,
Their dogs and their beaters,