The sabre, knout, and dungeon’s vapour blue
His laws and ethics: far from him away
Are all the lovely nine that breath but freedom’s day.
Say, e’en his serfs, half humanised, should learn
Their human rights,—will Mars put out his flame
In Russian bosoms? no, he’ll bid them burn
A thousand years for nought but martial fame,
Like Romans:—yet forgive me, Roman name!
Rome could impart what Russia never can;
Proud civic rights to salve submission’s shame.