The Czar Peter Poem by William Henry Leatham

Now, Peter the Great, for reasons of state,
(Or reasons best known to himself)
Without invitation, would join a collation,
Were it served upon china or delf.

A Merchant of Moscow knew well that it was so,
And felt himself quite at his ease,
When in walked the Czar, like a hungry tar,
And helped himself thrice to the cheese.

The cheese might have done well enough but for one,
Whose beauty King Peter espied ;
She served at the table, but he was not able,
For Catherine, to make her his bride.

The next place he'd give, in which she might live,
At least number two in the Kremlin ;
Sad boor that he was, to break Hymen's laws !
The damsel was seized with a trembling !

The Czar then went out, with a feeling no doubt,
That the maiden would scarcely say ' nay,'
But strange to relate, her virtue was great,
She bolted quite out of his way !

Thus Peter the Great, found out when too late,
That ladies will not be dragooned ;
'Twas all very fine, with his subjects to dine,
But their daughters were not to be spooned !

The Merchant declared, if his own ears were pared,
His wife's and his servants' as well;
Which way she had flown—his daughter up-grown
Not one of the household could tell !

The Czar gave it up, and took to his cup,
His plane, his saw, and his axe ;
Thus a year soon went by, since his choler was high,
And his morals so grievously lax.

But where was the maid of his anger afraid,
Who so nobly had fled from his snares ?
She cannot be dead ? she lives in a shed
In a thicket with pole-cats and bears!

She might have fared worse, but her favorite nurse
Had married a forester there,
He built her a hut, into which she was shut
Every night from the keen frosty air.

And long she had staid, of his Czarship afraid,
In this fearfully dismal abode ;
Had not a young Lord, as fate did accord,
Seen her beauty as hunting he rode.

He followed so fleet, she fell at his feet,
Her pitiful story she told;
And quickly he loves those eyes like the dove's,
In sorrow and innocence bold.

He rode to the Czar's, whose heart like a tar's,
Was generous as often as not;
And when Peter heard, his pity was stirred,
For the lady who dwelt in the cot.

He swore she should be from all danger free,
And wed the young noble that day ;
And so it turned out—he spared her the ' knout,'
For at church he gave her away.

Thus let it be told, how virtue was bold,
And kind heaven protected the chaste ;
For such there was stored an ample reward,
With pure love and true honor graced !