That shook the ground beneath their march

And in the pale moon's silver light,

With hand majestic, far outstretched,

The Statue Knight of Bronze pursued,

High mounted on his lordly steed.

And all that night the crazed wretch heard,

Where'er he sped his flying steps,

In close pursuit the Knight of Bronze,

And measured tramp of prancing steed.

And from that day, if e'er he chanced

To cross the square where statue stood,

A troubled stare came o'er his face,

And quick he pressed to heart his hand,

As if to quell some sharpest pain,

And well-worn cap from head removed,

Nor daring raise his fear-struck eyes.

In stealth slunk by.

Close to the beach,

An island small is seen. And there

Belated fisher anchor casts,

And frugal evening meal prepares;

Or spruce-dressed citizen in boat,

Decked out for Sunday trip, will touch

The lone abandoned isle, where not

A blade of grass redeems the waste.

Twas there the waters, when they fell,

The widow's house had stranded left;

And like black bush it rose above

Their surface, till in early spring

Men came and carted it away.

It was all bare, nor found they aught,

Save our friend, poor mad Evjenie,

On the threshold fallen. And there.