How she, one lovely past comparing,

Has at her captor's hands been faring.

A confidant of wayward fancy,

Not always modest have I been,

And this my narrative commencing,

Dared to describe the night-cloaked scene

In which our fair Ludmila's charms

Vere from her husband's eager arms

Whisked off. Poor maid! When, quick as lightening,

The villain with one movement mighty

Removed you from the bridal bed,

And like a whirlwind, skyward soaring,

Through coils of smoke charged on, ahead

Toward his kingdom's mountains hoary,

You swooned away, but all too soon

Recovered from that welcome swoon

To find yourself, aghast, dumfounded,

By lofty castle walls surrounded.

Thus-it was summer-at the door

Of my house lingering, saw

The sultan of the henhouse chasing

One of his ladies, and moved by

Hot passion, with his wings embracing

The flustered, nervous hen.... On high

grey kite hovered, old marauder

Of poultry-yards; in rings o'erhead

He slowly sailed, unseen; then, boldly,

With lightning speed, dropped down, a dread

And ruthless foe, his plans death-dealing

Laid earlier.... Up soars he, sealing

The fate of his poor, helpless prey.

Clutched in his talons, far away

He bears her to the safety of