And naught is heard but cries of grief

And rage, vain threats, and panic shrieks,

Whilst havoc uncontrolled prevails,

Till glut of spoil and fear of law

Disarm the thieves, who home retreat

And half their booty leave in fright.

The waters fell, the vanished roads

Once more appeared. With sinking heart,

Evjenie, half in hope, in fear

And anguish, neared the scarce calmed gulf.

Proud of their strength, its sullen waves

Muttered and surged, as f beneath

Some angry fire still smouldered deep;

And fast they rolled in foaming rage,

And heavily the Neva breathed,

Like panting steed that flies the field.

Evjenie looks, and boat discerns,

And runs as to a treasure found;

In haste he calls the boatman near,

Who, bargaining, consents to bring

Our hero o'er the storm-tossed stream.

And long with tempest-driven waves

The skilful oarsman battling strove,

And oft the boat is sinking lost,

And hurled beneath the cloud-capped crests,

As oft upbounds... until at length

It toucned the shore.

The well-known street

And friendly spot are eager sought.

But dazed he looks, for all is changed,

And awful is the sight revealed.

A mass of ruins lies before,

In part thrown down, in part waste blank,