Thou'lt suffer, dearest, but before,

Hope with her fascinating power

To dire contentment shall give birth

And thou shalt taste the joys of earth.

Thou'lt quaff love's sweet envenomed stream,

Fantastic images shall swarm

In thy imagination warm,

Of happy meetings thou shalt dream,

And wheresoe'er thy footsteps err,

Confront thy fated torturer!

XVI.

Love's pangs Tattiana agonize.

She seeks the garden in her need -

Sudden she stops, casts down her eyes

And cares not farther to proceed;

Her bosom heaves whilst crimson hues

With sudden flush her cheeks suffuse,

Barely to draw her breath she seems,

Her eye with fire unwonted gleams.

And now 'tis night, the guardian moon

Sails her allotted course on high,

And from the misty woodland nigh

The nightingale trills forth her tune;

Restless Tattiana sleepless lay

And thus unto her nurse did say:

XVII.

"Nurse, 'tis so close I cannot rest.

Open the window - sit by me."

"What ails thee, dear?" - "I feel depressed.

Relate some ancient history."

"But which, my dear? - In days of yore

Within my memory I bore

Many an ancient legend which

In monsters and fair dames was rich;

But now my mind is desolate,