I (Just the head) was to this spot

And left to guard-ignoble lot!-

The magic sword. For ever after

It shall be yours, 'tis only right.

Fate's kind to you; should you, O knight,

The dwarf meet, be he e'er so crafty,

Avenge me-with this great sword smite

The ruthless knave, my heart relieving

Of all its suffering and grieving.

The juicy smack you gave me I

Will then forget, without a sigh

Or a reproach this sad world leaving."

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FOURTH.

Each morning as I wake from slumber

To God I tender heartfelt praise

That of magicians nowadays

There is a marked decrease in number,

And that they render now far less

Precarious our marriages.

In fact, their spells need not be dreaded

By those of us but newly wedded.

But there is witchery and guile,

Blue eyes, a tender voice, a smile,

A dimpled cheek, and all the rest,

Which to avoid, I find, is best.

The honeyed poison they exude

Intoxicates; I dread, I fear them.

Like me beware of staying near them,

Embrace repose and quietude.

O wondrous genius of rhyme,

O bard of love and love's sweet dreaming,

You who portray the sly and scheming

Dwellers of hell and realms divine,

Of this inconstant Muse of mine