Death of relations dear and near,

Or world s neglect of service past.

Evjenie reached his home, uphung

His cloak, undressed, and went to bed.

But long it was before he slept;

A host of cares possessed his brain.

He thought... of what? That he was poor

And hard must toil, if he would bare

Existence get, in freedom live,

Or have his neighbour's good repute.

Wished that God had but endowed him

With greater wit, or better, wealth;

For in our world are those who have

No wit, and never think to work,

And still contrive to live in ease;

Whilst he must drudge and slave, or starve.

And then, our hero heard the storm,

With fury lashed, still louder rage,

And thought the bridges soon across

The Neva wide would be removed.

And he for two or three whole days

Could of Parasha have no news.

Such were his thoughts. And all that night

His heart within him ached. He prayed

he dreary wind would cease to howl,

The rain not beat on window-pane

So angrily.

At length sleep closed

His heavy eyes. And now, the last

Dark scattered clouds of night began

To pale, as dawned the day of doom

And woe.

All night the Neva wild