Black are the moors before Kazan, br And their stagnant waters smell of blood: br I said in my heart, with horse and man, br I will swim across this shallow flood. br br Under the feet of Argamack, br Like new moons were the shoes he bare, br Silken trappings hung on his back, br In a talisman on his neck, a prayer. br br My warriors, thought I, are following me; br But when I looked behind, alas! br Not one of all the band could I see, br All had sunk in the black morass! br br Where are our shallow fords? and where br The power of Kazan with its fourfold gates? br From the prison windows our maidens fair br Talk of us still through the iron grates.