Where dwelt the Muses' worshipper,

Two pines have joined their tangled roots,

A rivulet beneath them shoots

Its waters to the neighbouring vale.

There the tired ploughman loves to lie,

The reaping girls approach and ply

Within its wave the sounding pail,

And by that shady rivulet

A simple tombstone hath been set.

XXXVIII.

There, when the rains of spring we mark

Upon the meadows showering,

The shepherd plaits his shoe of bark,(66)

Of Volga fishermen doth sing,

And the young damsel from the town,

For summer to the country flown,

Whene'er across the plain at speed

Alone she gallops on her steed,

Stops at the tomb in passing by;

The tightened leathern rein she draws,

Aside she casts her veil of gauze

And reads with rapid eager eye

The simple epitaph - a tear

Doth in her gentle eye appear.

[Note 66: In Russia and other northern countries rude shoes are made of the inner bark of the lime tree.]

XXXIX.

And meditative from the spot

She leisurely away doth ride,

Spite of herself with Lenski's lot

Longtime her mind is occupied.

She muses: "What was Olga's fate?

Longtime was her heart desolate

Or did her tears soon cease to flow?

And where may be her sister now?

Where is the outlaw, banned by men,