Can people be so base?

In dread,

Her lover looks on her wild face;

But she, distempered fancy's slave,

Quick whispers: "I remember all,

The field... the folk in dresses gay...

The crowd... the bodies warm, but dead...

I went with her to see the show...

But where wert thou?... And why, alone,

Apart from thee, at night, I fled?

But let us quick return, 'tis late!...

But ah! My head is ill, my brain

Is racked with empty, idle dreams;

Strange! I took thee for another...

Nay, nay, I pray thee, touch me not!

Thy glare is cruel, cold as ice,

And ugly! But he was beautiful:

His eyes were soft with kindest love,

His words were fair and gracious,

His beard was whiter than the snow:

But thine is clotted with dry blood!"

And with a shriek of laughter mad,

And swifter than the hunted deer,

She wildly burst his hold, ran forth,

And in the silent waste was lost.

The last thin shades of night disperse,

The east begins to redden bright;

In Cossack tents the fires burn clear,

And busy hands the meal prepare.

Along the banks the body guards

The steeds unbridled lead to drink,

And Charles awakes. "'Tis time!" he cries,

"Arise, Mazeppa, dawn is near!"