The golden price of it you hug most gladly.
Well, that price, what is its destined end and aim?
The indulgence of ambitions cherished madly?
The pursuit of warrior fame?
Your realm is ever widening, Tsar, and lengthening,
Though its peoples—your dear children—prosper not;
Railways stretching, boundaries creeping, legions strengthening!
And the end, O Tsar, is—where?—the purpose—what?
The Afghan, Tartar, Turk feel your advancing,
The Persian and the Mongol hear your tread,