A dark crevasse. In vain, with fear

And hopeless sorrow filled, his love

The rooster calls: he sees her airy

And weightless fluff come drifting near,

By swift, cool breezes downward carried.

Like some dread dream, oblivion

Ludmila chains. She cannot rise

And, in a stupor, moveless lies....

The soft, grey light of early dawn

Revives her, deep within her rouses

Unconscious fear and restlessness;

Sweet thoughts of joy her heart possess,

For surely her beloved spouse is

Nearby!... "Where are you, dear one? Come!

She whispers, and-is stricken dumb.

W^here is your chamber, my Ludmila?

Poor, luckless maiden, you lie pillowed

Upon a lofty feather-bed;

On silken cushions rests your head;

The canopy that floats above you

Is tasselled, rich, and like the cover,

Patterned most prettily. Brocade

Is everywhere, and winking, blazing

Gems likewise. From fine censers made

Of gold rise balmy vapours hazy....

But 'tis enough! This pen of mine

Must fly description-by another

Was I forestalled: Scheherezade.

And no house, be it e'er so fine,

Affords you any pleasure, mind you,

Unless your love is there beside you.

Just then, in garments clad air-thin,

Three comely maidens tiptoed in.

With bows for the occasion suited