Not half a million of fierce invaders
Can meet the rage of Russia's attacks;
Not more than they the timid deer shrinks at
Sight of Cossacks.

O'er blood-drenched plains their red standards scattered,
Their arms abandoned, spoils left behind:
Death they now flee from, to loss of honour
Basely resigned.

Vainly they shun it, fruitless their cunning,
Jove's bird strikes down the blood-thirsty crow,
The fame and bones of Frenchmen in Russia
Alike lie low.

Thus th' ambitious usurper is vanquished,
Thus his legions destroyed as they flee,
Thus white-stoned Moscow, the first throned city,
Once more set free.

To God, all potent, let thanks be rendered,
Honoured our TSAR'S and each chieftain's name,
To th'Empire safety, to Don's brave offspring
Laurels and fame!

[1] Lasso.

[2] Kutuzoff.