Black are the moors before Kazan,
       &nbsp And their stagnant waters smell of blood:
I said in my heart, with horse and man,
       &nbsp I will swim across this shallow flood.

Under the feet of Argamack,
       &nbsp Like new moons were the shoes he bare,
Silken trappings hung on his back,
       &nbsp In a talisman on his neck, a prayer.

My warriors, thought I, are following me;
       &nbsp But when I looked behind, alas!
Not one of all the band could I see,
       &nbsp All had sunk in the black morass!

Where are our shallow fords? and where
       &nbsp The power of Kazan with its fourfold gates?
From the prison windows our maidens fair
       &nbsp Talk of us still through the iron grates.

We cannot hear them; for horse and man
       &nbsp Lie buried deep in the dark abyss!
Ah! the black day hath come down on Kazan!
       &nbsp Ah! was ever a grief like this?