The White Tzar sits on his gorgeous seat, alone;
Blindfold and deaf, in his realm the veriest slave,
Though the seat he fills is the rack men call a Throne,
And the Tzar is a stalwart Titan, strong and brave.
Strong—yet helpless as yon slain woman's hand;
Brave—but shaken through with a haunting Fear.
Of all his myrmidons' devilries done in the land
The last to hear!
Let it be known! Poor Zotoff's legacy wakes
A living echo in every ear humane.