Classic Poem

The sons of the Prophet are valiant and bold,
And quite unaccustomed to fear;
And the bravest of all was a man, so I'm told,
Called Abdullah Bulbul Amir.

When they wanted a man to encourage the van,
Or harass the foe from the rear,
Storm fort or redoubt, they were sure to call out
For Abdullah Bulbul Amir.

There are heroes in plenty, and well known to fame,
In the legions that fight for the Czar;
But none of such fame as the man by the name
Of Ivan Petrofsky Skovar.

He could imitate Irving, tell fortunes by cards,
And play on the Spanish guitar;
In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite guards,
Was Ivan Petrofsky Skovar.

One day this bold Muscovite shouldered his gun,
Put on his most cynical sneer,
And was walking downtown when he happened to run
Into Abdullah Bulbul Amir.

"Young man," said Bulbul, "is existence so dull
That you're anxious to end your career?
Then, infidel, know you have trod on the toe
Of Abdullah Bulbul Amir.

"So take your last look at the sea, sky and brook,
Make your latest report on the war;
For I mean to imply that you are going to die,
O Ivan Petrofsky Skovar."

So this fierce man he took his trusty chibouk,
And murmuring, "Allah Akbar!"
With murder intent he most savagely went
For Ivan Petrofsky Skovar.

The Sultan rose up, the disturbance to quell,
Likewise, give the victor a cheer.
He arrived just in time to bid hasty farewell
To Abdullah Bulbul Amir.

A loud-sounding splash from the Danube was heard
Resounding o'er meadows afar;
It came from the sack fitting close to the back
Of Ivan Petrofsky Skovar.

There lieth a stone where the Danube doth roll,
And on it in characters queer
Are "Stranger, when passing by, pray for the soul
Of Abdullah Bulbul Amir."

A Muscovite maiden her vigil doth keep
By the light of the pale northern star,
And the name she repeats every night in her sleep
Is Ivan Petrofsky Skovar.