And far and wide our reign extend.

A hundred years have passed, and now,

In place of forests dark and swamps,

A city new, in pomp unmatched,

Of Northern lands the pride and gem.

Where Finnish fisher once at eve,

Harsh nature's poor abandoned child,

From low-sunk boat was wont his net

With patient toil to cast, and drag

The stream, now stretch long lines of quays,

Of richest granite formed, and rows

Of buildings huge and lordly domes

The river front; whilst laden ships

From distant quarters of the world

Our hungry wharfs fresh spoils supply;

And needful bridge its span extends,

To join the stream's opposing shores;

And islets gay, in verdure clad,

Beneath the shade of gardens laugh.

Before the youthful city's charms

Her head proud Moscow jealous bends,

As when the new Tsaitza young

The widowed Empress lowly greets.

I love thee, work of Peter's hand!

I love thy stern, symmetric form;

The Neva's calm and aueenly flow

Betwixt her quays of granite-stone,

With iron tracings richly wrought;

Thy nights so soft with pensive thought,

Their moonless glow, in bright obscure.

When I alone, in cosy room,

Or write or read, night's lamp unlit;

The sleeping piles that clear stand out

In lonely streets, and needle bright,