"For thee, O knight, at birth of morning

A farewell cup of wine we'll fill.

Heed thou our summons with a will,

Our gentle plea refrain from scorning.

"Night cloaks the lea, from far away

The chilling winds of ocean carry.

Come, youthful roamer, do not tarry,

Take shelter in our castle, pray!"

He hears her in this manner greet him

And hastens, tempted, to the gate

Where other fair maids, smiling, wait,

A throng of them come out to meet him

Their eyes to his face glued, they seek

To make him welcome. How entrancing

Their speeches are, .the words they speak!...

Two of them lead away his prancer.

The castle enters he; en masse

The fair young hermits follow. As

One of his winged helm relieves him,

Another 'thout his armour leaves him,

A third removes his sword and shield.

The garb of warfare's bound to yield

To flimsier dress. But first the splendours

Of a true Russian bath wait for

The wayworn youth. In torrents endless

We see the steaming water pour

Into the silver tubs; it eddies

And swdrls; swift fountains upward send

Sprays that the warm air coolness lend,

A breezy freshness; all's made ready

To please and gratify the khan.

Rich are the rugs that he lies on!

Transparent wisps of steam curl o'er him;

The maids, all half-nude loveliness,