And so remains, thus pure and fair,

Her soul is called again to heaven,

And angel joys await it there!

Days passed away; Maria slept

Peaceful, no cares disturbed her, now,--

From earth the orphan maid was swept.

But who knew when, or where, or how?

If prey to grief or pain she fell,

If slain or heaven-struck, who can tell?

She sleeps; her loss the chieftain grieves,

And his neglected harem leaves,

Flies from its tranquil precincts far,

And with his Tartars takes the field,

Fierce rushes mid the din of war,

And brave the foe that does not yield,

For mad despair hath nerved his arm,

Though in his heart is grief concealed,

With passion's hopeless transports warm.

His blade he swings aloft in air

And wildly brandishes, then low

It falls, whilst he with pallid stare

Gazes, and tears in torrents flow.

His harem by the chief deserted,

In foreign lands he warring roved,

Long nor in wish nor thought reverted

To scene once cherished and beloved.

His women to the eunuch's rage

Abandoned, pined and sank in age;

The fair Grusinian now no more

Yielded her soul to passion's power,

Her fate was with Maria's blended,

On the same night their sorrows ended;

Seized by mute guards the hapless fair