XXXVII
To his Penates now returned,
Vladimir Lenski visited
His neighbour’s lowly tomb and mourned
Above the ashes of the dead.
There long time sad at heart he stayed:
“Poor Yorick,” mournfully he said,
“How often in thine arms I lay;
How with thy medal I would play,
The Medal Otchakoff conferred!
To me he would his Olga give,
Would whisper: shall I so long live?”—
And by a genuine sorrow stirred,
Lenski his pencil-case took out
And an elegiac poem wrote.