The Evil Spirit's taunting baneful,

And whispered: "Smite I shall and kill!

Bewar Ruslan, Ludmila will

Weep over you, I swear!..." And turning

His steed about, down dale, up hill

He galloped, for sweet vengeance yearning

Meanwhile, Farlaf, that fearless soul,

Had spent in sleep the morning whole,

And then, from noon's hot rays well sheltered,

Beside a brook himself he settled

To dine and thus to fortify

His moral fiber. By and by

He saw a horseman in the mead

Toward him charging. Disconcerted,

The knight with quite uncommon speed

His food and all his gear deserted,

His mail, his helmet, and his spear,

And 'thout a backward glance went flying

Off on his horse. "Stop, wretch, you hear!

The other cried, to halt him trying.

"Just let me catch you, and you're dead-

I'll make you shorter by a head!"

Farlaf, who found the voice belonged

To bold Rogdai, his rival, longed

The more - quite wisely-to be gone

And his horse lashed and goaded on.

So will a rabbit, danger scenting,

Stop short, and, to escape attempting,

Ears folded, by great leaps and bounds

O'er lea, wood, mound, run from the hounds.

Where passed the chase in all its glory

Spring had the snows of winter hoary

Into great, muddy torrents thawed,