I've no breath left at all. Deliver

Me from this plight without delay.

I'm in your hands. Where'er you say

We will alight." "Aha, you shiver!

Well, then, admit you're overcome

By Russian strength! And, villain, come,

To my Ludmila quickly take me!"

What is old Chernomor to do?

Obedience is his rival's due!

And so he's off, quite ill and shaken

And flying home. Midst hills of ice

He sets the prince down. In a trice

Ruslan the Head's sword raises briskly

With one strong hand; then, 'thout delay,

The other using, grasps the whiskers

And cuts them off like so much hay.

"There now," he tells him, "that will teach you!

Where is that handsome tuft you prize

Your strength and pride, you thieving creature?"

And to his helm the dwarfs beard ties.

He calls his bay who joins him, neighing,

Into a bag the pasty-faced

And half-dead wizard stuffs in haste,

The dancing steed no longer staying,

And starts uphill. The top. They ride

Up to the massive palace portal.

Ruslan-there is no happier mortal-

In hot impatience steps inside.

The throng of Moors and slave girls, seeing

His helm with beard graced, know the knight

To be the victor and are fleeing

Before him, fading out of sight

Like ghosts. Ruslan from hall to hall

Strides all alone; we hear him call