HOW thy church domes swell yonder, amply rounded! How sun-gleams o'er each golden palace hover! The eye, delighted, can no rest discover; On every side midst varied pomps confounded, -- Sudden, o'er all, by flame the sight is bounded, -- With their own hands thy citizens do cover All their own roofs with blazing firebrands over; A crackling ring of fires hath thee surrounded! Let none but fools condemn, this ruin knowing: Churches, be crushed! ye palaces, melt glowing! The Russian Phoenix life i' th' flames is throwing! Yet, with bright glories from his fire-crown taken, In the free youth's proud glance shall he awaken; And conquering St. George his lance hath shaken! |