With all its sensuous luxury....

She walks all over, where she's going

Not caring; more-not even knowing,

But weeping copious tears, her eye

Fixed sadly on the merciless sky....

Then suddenly her gaze grows brighter

And to her lip her hand flies lightly:

Despite the sparkle of the morn

A frightening thought in her is born....

The dread way's open: death waits for her -

Above a torrent, there before her,

A bridge hangs 'twixt two cliffs. Forlon

The hapless maid is and despondent,

She looks upon the foaming stream,

Her tears grow ever more abundant,

She strikes her heaving breast-'twould ;

She is about to jump-but no,

We see her pause ... and onward go.

Time passes, and Ludmila, weary,

(Too long has she been on her feet)

Feels her tears drying as the cheering

Thought comes that yes, it's time to eat.

She drops down on the grass, looks round her,

And lo!-a tent's cool walls surround her....

The gleam of crystal! A repast

Is set before her, unsurpassed

In choice of food. The gentle sound of

A harp steals near. But though at this

She marvels, our young princess is

Still not at peace, still sorrow-hounded.

"A captive, from my love torn, why

Should I not end it all and die?"

Thinks she. "Oh, villain, you torment me