XVIII

3 0 00

XVIII

Alas! Tattiana fades away,

Grows pale and sinks, but nothing says;

Listless is she the livelong day

Nor interest in aught betrays.

Shaking with serious air the head,

In whispers low the neighbours said:

’Tis time she to the altar went!

But enough! Now, ’tis my intent

The imagination to enliven

With love which happiness extends;

Against my inclination, friends,

By sympathy I have been driven.

Forgive me! Such the love I bear

My heroine, Tattiana dear.