The Ataman, the bold Tchetchel,

Is seized and cast in dungeon deep.

And thou, who threwst away a crown

For warrior's helm, thy fated day

Is near; Poltava's ancient walls

At last thou seest from afar.

And now, the Tsar his troops has massed,

Wave after wave succeeding fast,

And in the centre of the vale

The two opposing camps are pitched.

Not once in skirmish bold repulsed,

From early years made drunk with blood,

With all a warrior's joy Charles sees

At length the wished-for day arrive,

When he and his dread foe, the Tsar,

In battle face to face shall meet.

He has his wish, but finds himself

Confronted with no runaways,

As when he fought at Narva, but

With soldiers well accoutred, brave,

Obedient, and self possessed,

With sure and trusty weapons armed.

"To-morrow morn we battle give!"

He thus resolved; and all was still

Throughout the camp, save where two friends

Together whispered converse held.

MAZEPPA.

Nay, Orlick, I too late perceive

What unwise rashness we have shown;

Bold was our scheme, but badly planned;

Nor can we hope achieve our end,

But rather failure and disgrace.

Our error naught can now redeem.

This Swedish King I have mistook;