All four the palace leave together;

Ruslan is ashen-faced, half-dead.

Thoughts of his kidnapped bride, of whether

He'll ever find the maid, with dread

And pain his heart fill. Now the foursome

Get on their restless, chafing horses,

And leaving dust clouds in their wake,

Away along the Dnieper make....

They're lost to sight, but Prince Vladimir

Stands gazing at the road and tries

To span the distance ever-dimming

As after them in thought he flies.

Ruslan, his mind and memory hazy,

Is mute, lost in a kind of trance;

Behind him, o'er his shoulder gazing,

The picture of young arrogance,

Farlaf rides, hand on hip, defiant.

Says he: "At last! The taste is sweet

Of freedom, friends.... When will we meet-

The prospect likes me w^ell-a giant?

Then will blood pour as passions seethe

And victims offer to the sabre.

Rejoice, my blade! Rejoice, my steed,

And lightly, freely prance and caper!"

The Khazar Khan, his pulses racing,

In saddle dances, for in thought

He is the fair young maid embracing

Whose love he has for so long sought.

The light of hope is in his eye,

Now7 does he make his stallion fly,

Now7 forces him, the good steed teasing,

To rear, now gallops him uphill,

Now lets him prance about at will.