XIII

3 0 00

XIII

’Twas eve. ’Twas dusk. The river speeds

In tranquil flow. The beetle hums.

Already dance to song proceeds;

The fisher’s fire afar illumes

The river’s bank. Tattiana lone

Beneath the silver of the moon

Long time in meditation deep

Her path across the plain doth keep⁠—

Proceeds, until she from a hill

Sees where a noble mansion stood,

A village and beneath, a wood,

A garden by a shining rill.

She gazed thereon, and instant beat

Her heart more loudly and more fleet.