Passed heedless, peace her bosom's guest.

That time is past! The Tartar's force

Rushed like a torrent o'er her nation,--

Rages less fierce the conflagration

Devouring harvests in its course,--

Poland it swept with devastation,

Involving all in equal fate,

The villages, once mirthful, vanished,

From their red ruins joy was banished,

The gorgeous palace desolate!

Maria is the victor's prize;--

Within the palace chapel laid,

Slumb'ring among th'illustrious dead,

In recent tomb her father lies;

His ancestors repose around,

Long freed from life and its alarms;

With coronets and princely arms

Bedecked their monuments abound!

A base successor now holds sway,--

Maria's natal halls his hand

Tyrannic rules, and strikes dismay

And wo throughout the ravaged land.

Alas! the Princess sorrow's chalice

Is fated to the dregs to drain,

Immured in Bakchesaria's palace

She sighs for liberty in vain;

The Khan observes the maiden's pain,

His heart is at her grief afflicted,

His bosom strange emotions fill,

And least of all Maria's will

Is by the harem's laws restricted.

The hateful guard, of all the dread,

Learns silent to respect and fear her,

His eye ne'er violates her bed,