Near him, a book lies on his knee;

Engrossed in it, its pages he

With careful hand is slowly turning.

"I bid you welcome, knight! At last!"

Says he in greeting, smiling warmly.

"'Here have I twenty long years passed

Of my old age, and grim and lonely

They've been.... But now has come the day

For which, foreseeing it, I waited.

To meet, we two, my son, were fated,

Now sit and hear me out, I pray....

Ludmila from you has been taken;

You flag, you droop, by hope forsaken

And faith itself.... 'Tis wrong! For brief

With evil and its partner, grief,

Will be, I promise, your encounter.

Take heart; with strong, sound spirit counter

The blows of fortune, banish woe,

And, sword aloft held, northward go!

''He who has wronged you, O my daring

Young stalwart, is old Chernomor.

A wizard, he is known to carry

Young maids off to the hills. 'Tis for

Long years he's reigned there. None has ever

His castle seen, but through its door

You'll pass, I know, and end forever

The villain's rule; by your hand he

Will perish-so 'tis meant to be!...

I may not yield to indiscretion

And say aught more; your destiny

Yourself from this day on you fashion.''

Our knight falls at the elder's feet

And in delight his hand he kisses.