Vill never chant of me or on

My deeds dwell...."'

Thus thought he

It came to him, and this most clearly,

That what he needed-needed dearly-

Was armour and a sword, the night

Of combat having left him quite

Unarmed, alack, or ... very nearly.

On this intent, he w^alks around

The battlefield w^here bones lie scattered

And armour, time- and weather-battered,

To see if something can be found.

A sudden clank! A rousing clatter!

The plain from numbing sleep awakes.

A helmet and a shield, the latter

At random picking up, he takes,

And then a ringing horn, but no

Sword to his liking finds, although

Scores of them strew the field of battle:

Being no puny modern knight,

Young Prince Ruslan declines to settle

For one he thinks too short or light.

The boredom fearing of inaction,

A steel lance chooses he for play,

Puts on a hauberk for protection,

And, thus arrayed, goes on his way.

The flames of sunset, slowly paling,

Fade o'er an earth embraced by sleep.

From out the mists the heavens veiling,

A golden moon is seen to creep.

The steppe grows dimmer, nighttim's hazes

Float over it; the path looms dark.

As our young knight rides on, his gaze