Each day more loose. And wanton boys

Their play would cease, to hurl sharp stones,

As he passed by, and coachmen rude

With whip aroused him from his daze,

As in mid-road he puzzled stood;

And on he moved without complaint:

A voice within, unheard of men,

Had deafened him to outer noise.

And so he lived, like one that is

Nor beast nor man, nor live nor dead,

Nor denizen of earth, nor ghost

Of other world.

By river-side,

He once was sleeping in a wharf;

The trees had cast their summer dress,

And autumn winds begun to blow.

The angry surge beat on the wharf,

Nor ceased to dash against its steps;

As widow knocked importunate

At the unrighteous judge's door.

He woke. But all was dark and dull;

The rain fell fast; the shrill blasts wailed;

And in the distance he could hear

The echo low of sentry's voice.

Up leaped Evjenie; he recalled

The horrors of the past, and rose,

His aimless roamings to resume.

But suddenly he paused, and with

Large eyes of fear he slowly scanned

The dreary space that stretched around.

He found himself beneath the porch

Of spacious house. And on the steps,

With upraised paws, as large as life,