To take their rank in ordered file.

With throbbing hearts the crowds swarm round.

The road, that winds like serpent's tail,

Is filled with teeming, surging throngs.

Aloft in square the scaffold glooms,

And on its boards the headsman struts,

Rubbing his hands, his victim waits;

As 'twere a toy, from time to time,

Plays with his heavy sharp-edged axe,

Or with the mob exchanges jest.

A noise confused is heard around

Of laughter, railing, murmurs, cries.

A sudden shout is raised, and all

Are hushed, and through the silence deep

Is heard the tramp of horses' hoofs.

By body-guards surrounded close,

The Hetman on his rampant steed,

With gay and gallant suite, appears.

Along the road to Kieff straight

Slow trails a cart. All eyes are turned,

And eager watch its slow approach.

Within it sits old Kotzubei,

At peace with God and erring man,

Full strong in faith that makes men bold.

Resigned and pale sits Iskra near,

Like lamb that is led forth to die.

The cart draws up. The full-voiced quire

With hymn of prayer the calm air fills.

Thick clouds of incense mount on high,

As silent all, with head uncovered,

Pray for those condemned to die.

And they about to suffer pray

Their foes may pardoned be, and, slow