Welcome, O Stork! that dost wing
Thy flight from the far-away!
Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring,
Thou hast made our sad hearts gay.
'He is gone to the desert land
I can see the shining mane
Of his horse on the distant plain,
Down from yon distant mountain height
The brooklet flows through the village street;
A boy comes forth to wash his hands,
Black are the moors before Kazan,
And their stagnant waters smell of blood:
I said in my heart, with horse and man,