But oh, thou grand legitimate Alexander!
Her son’s son, let not this last phrase offend
Thine ear, if it should reach—and now rhymes wander
Almost as far as Petersburgh, and lend
A dreadful impulse to each loud meander
Of murmuring Liberty’s wide waves, which blend
Their roar even with the Baltic’s—so you be
Your father’s son, ’tis quite enough for me.