"So Russia lies sleeping 410
In obstinate rest;--
But should the spark kindle
That's hid in her breast--
"She'll rise without summons,
Go forth without call,
With sacrifice boundless,
Each giving his all!
"A host she will gather
Of strength unsurpassed,
With infinite courage 420
Will fight to the last.
"(Thou art so pitiful,
Poor, and so sorrowful,
Yet of great treasure full,
Mighty, all-powerful,
Russia, my Mother!)"
* * * * *
Young Grisha was pleased
With his song; and he murmured.
"Its message is true;
I will sing it to-morrow 430
Aloud to the peasants.
Their songs are so mournful,
It's well they should hear
Something joyful,--God help them!
For just as with running
The cheeks begin burning,
So acts a good song
On the spirit despairing,
Brings comfort and strength."
But first to his brother 440
He sang the new song,
And his brother said, "Splendid!"
Then Grisha tried vainly
To sleep; but half dreaming
New songs he composed.
They grew brighter and stronger....
Our peasants would soon
Have been home from their travels
If they could have known
What was happening to Grisha: 450
With what exaltation
His bosom was burning;
What beautiful strains
In his ears began chiming;
How blissfully sang he
The wonderful anthem
Which tells of the freedom
And peace of the people.
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