This page has been validated.
38
Alexey K. Tolstoy
Oh, thou eagle, hail!
Our far father flying,
Oh, thou fire-eyed, come,
Our bleak foes defying.
Oh, thou eagle, hail!
Lo, our groans grow stronger.
Let the evil crows
Blacken us no longer.
Oh, avenge us swift,
From the heavens swooping;
Punish their vile pride
Till their wings fall drooping:
Till the feathers fly;
Come, a bolt of thunder,
That the steppe's wild wind
Tear them all asunder.
