The Power of Russia
So all this gallant blood has gushed in vain!And Poland by the Northern Condor’s beakAnd talons torn, lies prostrated again.O, British patriots, that were wont to speakOnce loudly on this theme, now hushed or meek!O, heartless men of Europe—Goth and Gaul!Cold, adder-deaf to Poland’s dying shriek;—That saw the world’s last land of heroes fall—The brand of burning shame is on you all—all—all!
But this is not the drama’s closing act;Its tragic curtain must uprise anew.Nations, mute accessaries to the fact!That Upas-tree of power, whose fostering dewWas Polish blood, has yet to cast o’er youThe lengthening shadow of its head elate—A deadly shadow, darkening nature’s hue.To all that’s hallowed, righteous, pure, and great,Wo! wo! when they are reached by Russia’s withering hate.
Russia, that on his throne of adamant,Consults what nation’s breast shall next be gored:He on Polonia’s Golgotha will plantHis standard fresh; and, horde succeeding horde,On patriot tomb-stones he will whet the sword,For more stupendous slaughters of the free.Then Europe’s realms, when their best blood is poured,Shall miss thee, Poland! as they bend the knee,All—all in grief, but none in glory likening thee.
Why smote ye not the giant whilst he reeled?O, fair occasion, gone for ever by!To have locked his lances in their northern field,Innocuous as the phantom chivalryThat flames and hurtles from yon boreal sky!Now wave thy pennon, Russia, o’er the landOnce Poland; build thy bristling castles high;Dig dungeon’s deep; for Poland’s wrested brandIs now a weapon new to widen thy command—
An awful width! Norwegian woods shall buildHis fleets; the Swede his vassal, and the Dane:The glebe of fifty kingdoms shall be tilledTo feed his dazzling, desolating train,Camped sumless, ’twixt the Black and Baltic main:Brute hosts, I own; but Sparta could not write,And Rome, half-barbarous, bound Achaia’s chain:So Russia’s spirit, midst Sclavonic night,Burns with a fire more dread than all your polished light.
But Russia’s limbs (so blinded statesmen say)Are crude, and too colossal to cohere.O, lamentable weakness! reckoning weakThe stripling Titan, strengthening year by year.What implement lacks he for war’s career,That grows on earth, or in its floods and mines,(Eighth sharer of the inhabitable sphere)Whom Persia bows to, China ill confines,And India’s homage waits, when Albion’s star declines?
But time will teach the Russ, e’en conqueringHas handmaid arts: ay, ay, the Russ will wooAll sciences that speed Bellona’s car,All murder’s tactic arts, and win them too;But never holier Muses shall imbueHis breast, that’s made of nature’s basest clay:The sabre, knout, and dungeon’s vapour blueHis laws and ethics: far from him awayAre all the lovely nine that breath but freedom’s day.
Say, e’en his serfs, half humanised, should learnTheir human rights,—will Mars put out his flameIn Russian bosoms? no, he’ll bid them burnA thousand years for nought but martial fame,Like Romans:—yet forgive me, Roman name!Rome could impart what Russia never can;Proud civic rights to salve submission’s shame.Our strife is coming; but in freedom’s vanThe Polish Eagle’s fall is big with fate to man.
Proud bird of old! Mohammed’s moon recoiledBefore thy swoop: had we been timely bold,That swoop, still free, had stunned the Russ, and foiledEarth’s new oppressors, as it foiled her old.Now thy majestic eyes are shut and cold:And colder still Polonia’s children findThe sympathetic hands, that we outhold.But, Poles, when we are gone, the world will mind,Ye bore the brunt of fate, and bled for humankind.
So hallowedly have ye fulfilled your part,My pride repudiates e’en the sigh that blendsWith Poland’s name—name written on my heart.My heroes, my grief-consecrated friends!Your sorrow, in nobility, transcendsYour conqueror’s joy: his cheek may blush; but shameCan tinge not yours, though exile’s tear descends;Nor would ye change your conscience, cause and name,For his, with all his wealth, and all his felon fame.
Thee, Niemciewitz, whose song of stirring powerThe Czar forbids to sound in Polish lands;Thee, Czartoryski, in thy banished bower,The patricide, who in thy palace stands,May envy; proudly may Polonia’s bandsThrow down their swords at Europe’s feet in scorn,Saying—“Russia, from the metal of these brandsShall forge the fetters of your sons unborn;Our setting star is your misfortune’s rising morn.”
Words in this poem 38
- condor n.
- A very large bird of the Vulture family (Sarcorhamphus gryphus), found in the most elevated parts of the Andes. [Sp. condor, fr. Peruvian cuntur.]
- heartless a.
- Without a heart.
- uprise v. i.
- To rise; to get up; to appear from below the horizon.
- elate a.
- Lifted up; raised; elevated. [L. elatus elevated, fig., elated, proud (the figure, perh., being borrowed from a prancing horse); e out + latus (used as p. p. of ferre to bear), for tlatus, a]
- withering a.
- Tending to wither; causing to shrink or fade.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- golgotha n.
- Calvary. See the Note under Calvary.
- horde n.
- A wandering troop or gang; especially, a clan or tribe of a nomadic people migrating from place to place for the sake of pasturage, plunder, etc.; a predatory multitude. Thomson. [F. horde (cf. G. horde), fr. Turk. ord, ordi, camp; of Tartar origin.]
- whet v. t.
- To rub or on with some substance, as a piece of stone, for the purpose of sharpening; to sharpen by attrition; as, to whet a knife. [AS. hwettan; akin to D. wetten, G. wetzen, OHG. wezzen, Icel. hvetja, Sw. vättja, and AS. hwæt vigorous, brave, OS. hwat, OHG. waz, was, sharp, Icel. hvatr, bol]
- stupendous a.
- Astonishing; wonderful; amazing; especially, astonishing in magnitude or elevation; as, a stupendous pile. [L. stupendus astonishing, p. future pass. of stupere to be astonished at. Cf. Stupid.]
- innocuous a.
- Harmless; producing no ill effect; innocent. [L. innocuus; in- not + nocuus hurtful, fr. nocere to hurt. See Innocent.]
- boreal a.
- Northern; pertaining to the north, or to the north wind; as, a boreal bird; a boreal blast. [L. borealis: cf. F. boréal. See Boreas.]
- pennon n.
- A wing; a pinion. [Cf. Pinion.]
- dungeon n.
- A close, dark prison, commondonjon or keep of a castle, these being used as prisons. [OE. donjoun highest tower of a castle, tower, prison, F. donjon tower or platform in the midst of a castle, turret, or closet on the top of a house, a keep of a]
- norwegian a.
- Of or pertaining to Norway, its inhabitants, or its language. [Cf. Icel. Noregr, Norvegr, Norway. See North, and Way.]
- swede n.
- A native or inhabitant of Sweden. [Cf. G. Schwede.]
- dane n.
- A native, or a naturalized inhabitant, of Denmark. Great Dane. [LL. Dani: cf. AS. Dene.]
- sumless a.
- Not to be summed up or computed; so great that the amount can not be ascertained; incalculable; inestimable.
- colossal a.
- Of enormous size; gigantic; huge; as, a colossal statue. [Cf. F. cossal, L. colosseus. See Colossus.]
- stripling n.
- A youth in the state of adolescence, or just passing from boyhood to manhood; a lad. [Dim. of strip; as if a small strip from the main stock or steam.]
- career n.
- A race course: the ground run over. [F. carrière race course, high road, street, fr. L. carrus wagon. See Car.]
- sharer n.
- One who shares; a participator; a partaker; also, a divider; a distributer.
- inhabitable a.
- Not habitable; not suitable to be inhabited. [L. inhabitabilis: cf. F. inhabitable. See In- not, and Habitable.]
- russ n.
- A Russian, or the Russians.
- handmaid n.
- A maid that waits at hand; a female servant or attendant.
- tactic a.
- Of or pertaining to the art of military and naval tactics. [Gr. tactics.]
- sabre n.
- A sword with a broad and heavy blade, thick at the back, and usually more or less curved like a scimiter; a cavalry sword. Saber fish, or Sabre fish (Zoöl.), the cutlass fish.
- knout n.
- A kind of whip for flogging criminals, formerly much used in Russia. The last is a tapering bundle of leather thongs twisted with wire and hardened, so that it mangles the flesh. [Russ. knut'; prob. of Scand. origin; cf. Sw. knut knot, knout, Icel. kn knot: cf. F. knout. See Knot.]
- vapour n.
- Any substance in the gaseous, or aëriform, state, the condition of which is ordinarily that of a liquid or solid. [OE. vapour, OF. vapour, vapor, vapeur, F. vapeur, L. vapor; probably for cvapor, and akin to Gr. kvepti to breathe, smell, Russ. kopote fine soot. Cf. Vapid.]
- civic a.
- Relating to, or derived from, a city or citizen; relating to man as a member of society, or to civil affairs. Civic crown (Rom. [L.civicus, fr. civis citizen. See City.]
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- swoop v. t.
- To fall on at once and seize; to catch while on the wing; as, a hawk swoops a chicken. [OE. swopen, usually, to sweep, As. swapan to sweep, to rush; akin to G. schweifen to rove, to ramble, to curve, OHG. sweifan to whirl, Icel. sveipa to sweep; al]
- brunt n.
- The heat, or utmost violence, of an onset; the strength or greatest fury of any contention; as, the brunt of a battle. [OE. brunt, bront, fr. Icel. bruna to rush; cf. Icel. brenna to burn. Cf. Burn, v. t.]
- conscience n.
- Knowledge of one's own thoughts or actions; consciousness. [F. conscience, fr. L. conscientia, fr. consciens, p.pr. of conscire to know, to be conscious; con- + scire to know. See Science.]
- wealth n.
- Weal; welfare; prosperity; good. [OE. welthe, from wele; cf. D. weelde luxury. See Weal prosperity.]
- patricide n.
- The murderer of his father. [L. pater father + caedere to kill. Cf. Parricide.]
- unborn a.
- Not born; no yet brought into life; being still to appear; future.
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Power of Russia is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell, Project Gutenberg ebook #59788; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Campbell, The Power of Russia, in The Pleasures of Hope, and Other Poems (1824), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #59788, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/campbell-poems/the-power-of-russia.html, id L24463.
Form and metre
The Power of Russia is 99 lines in 11 stanzas of 9 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABBCBCC, complete in 7 of its 11 stanzas; the stanza is the Spenserian stanza. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 87%).
See other poems in the Spenserian stanza, other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABBCBCC vainA · beakB · againA · speakB · meekB · gaulC · shriekB · fallC · allC
- 2 ABABBCBCC actA · anewB · factA · dewB · youB · elateC · hueB · greatC · hateC
- 3 ABABBCBCC adamantA · goredB · plantA · hordeB · swordB · freeC · pouredB · kneeC · theeC
- 4 ABA-BCBCC reeledA · byB · fieldA · chivalry · skyB · landC · highB · brandC · commandC
- 5 ABABBCBCC buildA · daneB · tilledA · trainB · mainB · writeC · chainB · nightC · lightC
- 6 -A-AABABB say · cohereA · weak · yearA · careerA · minesB · sphereA · confinesB · declinesB
- 7 -A-AABABB conquering · wooA · car · tooA · imbueA · clayB · blueA · awayB · dayB
- 8 ABABBCBCC learnA · flameB · burnA · fameB · nameB · canC · shameB · vanC · manC
- 9 ABABBCACC recoiledA · boldB · foiledA · oldB · coldB · findC · outholdA · mindC · humankindC
- 10 ABABBCBCC partA · blendsB · heartA · friendsB · transcendsB · shameC · descendsB · nameC · fameC
- 11 ABABBCBCC powerA · landsB · bowerA · standsB · bandsB · scornC · brandsB · unbornC · mornC
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| So all this gallant blood has gushed in vain! | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And Poland by the Northern Condor’s beak | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| And talons torn, lies prostrated again. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘˘˘/ |
| O, British patriots, that were wont to speak | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Once loudly on this theme, now hushed or meek! | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| O, heartless men of Europe—Goth and Gaul! | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Cold, adder-deaf to Poland’s dying shriek;— | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| That saw the world’s last land of heroes fall— | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| The brand of burning shame is on you all—all—all! | 12 | ···/˘······· |
| But this is not the drama’s closing act; | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Its tragic curtain must uprise anew. | 10 | ·/˘/˘·/˘˘/ |
| Nations, mute accessaries to the fact! | 9 | /˘······· |
| That Upas-tree of power, whose fostering dew | 10 | ·/˘··/·/˘· |
| Was Polish blood, has yet to cast o’er you | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| The lengthening shadow of its head elate— | 10 | ·/˘/····˘/ |
| A deadly shadow, darkening nature’s hue. | 10 | ·/˘/·/˘/˘· |
| To all that’s hallowed, righteous, pure, and great, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Wo! wo! when they are reached by Russia’s withering hate. | 12 | ·······/˘/˘· |
| Russia, that on his throne of adamant, | 10 | /˘·····/˘˘ |
| Consults what nation’s breast shall next be gored: | 10 | ˘/·/˘····· |
| He on Polonia’s Golgotha will plant | 10 | ·····/˘˘·· |
| His standard fresh; and, horde succeeding horde, | 10 | ·/˘···˘/˘· |
| On patriot tomb-stones he will whet the sword, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| For more stupendous slaughters of the free. | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| Then Europe’s realms, when their best blood is poured, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Shall miss thee, Poland! as they bend the knee, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| All—all in grief, but none in glory likening thee. | 12 | ·······/˘/˘· |
| Why smote ye not the giant whilst he reeled? | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| O, fair occasion, gone for ever by! | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| To have locked his lances in their northern field, | 11 | ····/˘··/˘· |
| Innocuous as the phantom chivalry | 11 | ˘/˘˘··/˘/˘˘ |
| That flames and hurtles from yon boreal sky! | 11 | ···/˘··/˘˘· |
| Now wave thy pennon, Russia, o’er the land | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Once Poland; build thy bristling castles high; | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Dig dungeon’s deep; for Poland’s wrested brand | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Is now a weapon new to widen thy command— | 12 | ···/˘··/˘·˘/ |
| An awful width! Norwegian woods shall build | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| His fleets; the Swede his vassal, and the Dane: | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The glebe of fifty kingdoms shall be tilled | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| To feed his dazzling, desolating train, | 10 | ···/˘/˘˘˘· |
| Camped sumless, ’twixt the Black and Baltic main: | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Brute hosts, I own; but Sparta could not write, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And Rome, half-barbarous, bound Achaia’s chain: | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| So Russia’s spirit, midst Sclavonic night, | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/˘· |
| Burns with a fire more dread than all your polished light. | 12 | ···/·····/˘· |
| But Russia’s limbs (so blinded statesmen say) | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Are crude, and too colossal to cohere. | 10 | ····˘/˘·˘/ |
| O, lamentable weakness! reckoning weak | 10 | ·˘/˘/˘/˘˘· |
| The stripling Titan, strengthening year by year. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| What implement lacks he for war’s career, | 10 | ·/˘˘····˘/ |
| That grows on earth, or in its floods and mines, | 10 | ·········· |
| (Eighth sharer of the inhabitable sphere) | 11 | ·/˘··˘/˘˘˘· |
| Whom Persia bows to, China ill confines, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘·˘/ |
| And India’s homage waits, when Albion’s star declines? | 12 | ·/˘/˘··/˘·˘/ |
| But time will teach the Russ, e’en conquering | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| Has handmaid arts: ay, ay, the Russ will woo | 10 | ·········· |
| All sciences that speed Bellona’s car, | 10 | ·/˘˘······ |
| All murder’s tactic arts, and win them too; | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| But never holier Muses shall imbue | 10 | ·//˘˘/˘·˘/ |
| His breast, that’s made of nature’s basest clay: | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The sabre, knout, and dungeon’s vapour blue | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| His laws and ethics: far from him away | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| Are all the lovely nine that breath but freedom’s day. | 12 | ···/˘····/˘· |
| Say, e’en his serfs, half humanised, should learn | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Their human rights,—will Mars put out his flame | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| In Russian bosoms? no, he’ll bid them burn | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| A thousand years for nought but martial fame, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Like Romans:—yet forgive me, Roman name! | 10 | ·/˘·˘/·/˘· |
| Rome could impart what Russia never can; | 10 | ··˘/·/˘/˘· |
| Proud civic rights to salve submission’s shame. | 10 | ·/˘···˘/˘· |
| Our strife is coming; but in freedom’s van | 10 | /··/˘··/˘· |
| The Polish Eagle’s fall is big with fate to man. | 12 | ·/˘/˘······· |
| Proud bird of old! Mohammed’s moon recoiled | 10 | ····˘/˘·˘/ |
| Before thy swoop: had we been timely bold, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| That swoop, still free, had stunned the Russ, and foiled | 10 | ·········· |
| Earth’s new oppressors, as it foiled her old. | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Now thy majestic eyes are shut and cold: | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| And colder still Polonia’s children find | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| The sympathetic hands, that we outhold. | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| But, Poles, when we are gone, the world will mind, | 10 | ·········· |
| Ye bore the brunt of fate, and bled for humankind. | 12 | ·········/˘· |
| So hallowedly have ye fulfilled your part, | 11 | ·······˘/·· |
| My pride repudiates e’en the sigh that blends | 11 | ··˘/˘······ |
| With Poland’s name—name written on my heart. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| My heroes, my grief-consecrated friends! | 10 | ·/˘··/˘·˘· |
| Your sorrow, in nobility, transcends | 10 | ·/˘·˘/˘˘˘/ |
| Your conqueror’s joy: his cheek may blush; but shame | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Can tinge not yours, though exile’s tear descends; | 10 | ·····/··˘/ |
| Nor would ye change your conscience, cause and name, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| For his, with all his wealth, and all his felon fame. | 12 | ·········/˘· |
| Thee, Niemciewitz, whose song of stirring power | 11 | ·······/˘/˘ |
| The Czar forbids to sound in Polish lands; | 10 | ··˘/···/˘· |
| Thee, Czartoryski, in thy banished bower, | 11 | ··˘/˘··/˘/˘ |
| The patricide, who in thy palace stands, | 10 | ·˘/˘···/˘· |
| May envy; proudly may Polonia’s bands | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Throw down their swords at Europe’s feet in scorn, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Saying—“Russia, from the metal of these brands | 11 | /˘/˘··/˘··· |
| Shall forge the fetters of your sons unborn; | 10 | ···/˘···// |
| Our setting star is your misfortune’s rising morn.” | 12 | //˘···˘/˘/˘· |
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