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Soon Olga’s accents shrill resound

No longer through her former home;

The lancer, to his calling bound,

Back to his regiment must roam.

The aged mother, bathed in tears,

Distracted by her grief appears

When the hour came to bid good-bye⁠—

But my Tattiana’s eyes were dry.

Only her countenance assumed

A deadly pallor, air distressed;

When all around the entrance pressed,

To say farewell, and fussed and fumed

Around the carriage of the pair⁠—

Tattiana gently led them there.