Three fair maidens, late one night,
Sat and spun by candlelight.
"Were our tsar to marry me,"
Said the eldest of the three,
"I would cook and I would bake–
Oh, what royal feasts I'd make."
Said the second of the three: "Were our tsar to marry me,
I would weave a cloth of gold Fair and wondrous to behold."
But the youngest of the three
Murmured: "If he married me–
I would give our tsar an heir Handsome, brave, beyond compare."
At these words their chamber door
Gently creaked– and lo, before
These three maidens' very eyes Stood their tsar, to their surprise.
He had listened by their gate
Whither he'd been led by fate,
And the words that he heard last
Made his heart with love beat fast.
"Greetings, maiden fair," said he–
"My tsaritsa you shall be,
And, ere next September's done, See that you bear me a son.
As for you, fair sisters two,
Leave your home without ado;
Leave your home and follow me
And my bride that is to be.
Royal weaver, YOU I'll make,
YOU as royal cook I'll take."
Then the tsar strode forth, and they
Palacewards all made their way.
There, he lost no time nor tarried
That same evening he was married;
Tsar Saltan and his young bride
At the feast sat side by side.
Then the guests, with solemn air,
Led the newly wedded pair
To their iv'ry couch, snow-white,
Where they left them for the night.
Bitterly, the weaver sighed,
And the cook in passion cried,
Full of jealousy and hate
Of their sister's happy fate.
But, by love and duty fired, She conceived, ere night expired, In her royal husband's arms.
These were days of war's alarms.
Ere he rode forth for the strife, Tsar Saltan embraced his wife,
Bidding her to take good care
Of herself and coming heir;
While he battled on the field,
Forcing countless foes to yield,
God gave unto her an heir–
Lusty, large of limb, and fair.