Dealing ruthless blow on blow
On the cruel kite, her foe,
Sped its death, till finally
Lifeless it sank in the sea.
Then, in Russian accents, she Murmured plain as plain could be:
"O, tsarevich, champion peerless,
My deliverer so fearless–
Grieve not that because of me
Your good shaft is in the sea:
That you'll have to fast three morrows–
This is but the least of sorrows.
Your kind deed I will repay–
I will serve you too, one day;
'Tis no swan that you set free,
But a maiden charmed, you see;
'Twas a wizard, not a kite,
That you slew, O noble knight;
I shall ne'er forget your deed–
I'll be with you in your need.
Now go back and take your rest–
All will turn out for the best."
Then the swan-bird flew from view
While, perforce, the luckless two,
Famished, laid them down to sleep,
Praying God their souls to keep.
Driving slumber from his eyes
As the sun rose in the skies,
Our tsarevich, much amazed,
At a spacious city gazed,
Girdled by a wide and tall,
Strong-embattled snow-white wall.
Churches golden-domed stood there,
Holy cloisters, mansions fair.
"Mother mine, awaken!" cried he–
"Oh!" she gasped; he said:
"I see
Things have only just begun–
My white swan is having tun,"
Citywards their steps they bent,
Through the city gates they went.
Belfries thundered overhead
Loud enough to wake the dead.
Round them poured a mighty throng,
Choir boys praised the Lord in song;
Nobles, splendidly arrayed,
Came in coaches, gold inlaid.
All the people cheered them madly,
As their prince acclaimed him gladly,
With his mother's blessing, he,
Acquiescing graciously,