The drum major had scarcely
Announced, so all could hear,
That their kind Tsar has deigned to
Lend his magnanimous ear,
When all the godly servants
Began to weep and moan
Like wicked gypsy women,
Who for their sins atone.
Thus wailed the priests and bishops,
The vestry of the fold,
The candle-lighter women,
Boys who the churchbells tolled.
With them the chorus singers,
Musicians, acolytes,
The gravediggers and cantors,
Even the proselytes.
“What ails you?” came the query
From ’neath the baldachin.
“We're perishing, O Sire!”
They cried with fearful din.
The clergy then sent forward
One, who with solemn zeal
Should importune His Tsarship
Presenting this appeal:
“Great is our Tsar Vladimir,
Sainted his power and Grace;
But since you drowned our god, put
Another in his place.
[49]
