On seashore far a green oak towers,

      And to it with a gold chain bound,

      A learned cat whiles away the hours

      By walking slowly round and round.

      To right he walks, and sings a ditty;

      To left he walks, and tells a tale…

      What marvels there! A mermaid sitting

      High in a tree, a sprite, a trail

      Where unknown beasts move never seen by

      Man’s eyes, a hut on chicken feet,

      Without doors, without windows,

      An evil witch’s lone retreat;

      The woods and valleys there are teeming

      With strange things… Dawn brings waves that, gleaming,

      Over the sandy beaches creep,

      And from the clear and shining water

      Step thirty goodly knights escorted

      By their Old Guardian, of the deep

      An ancient dweller… There a dreaded

      And hated tsar is captive ta’en;

      There, as all watch, for cloud banks headed,

      Across the sea and o’er a plain,

      A warlock bears a knight. There, weeping,

      A princess sits locked in a cell,

      And Grey Wolf serves her very well;

      There, in a mortar, onward sweeping

      All of itself, beneath the skies

      The wicked Baba-Yaga flies;

      There pines Koshchei and lusts for gold…

      All breathes of Russ, the Russ of old

      There once was I, friends, and the сat

      As near him ’neath the oak I sat

      And drank of sweet mead at my leisure,

      Recounted tales to me… With pleasure

      One that I liked do I recall

      And here and now will share with all…

      The ways and deeds of days gone by,

      A narrative on legend founded…

      In princely banquet chamber high,

      By doughty sons and guests surrounded,

      Vladimir-Bright Sun holds a fete;

      His daughter is the chosen mate

      Of Prince Ruslan, and these two linking

      In marriage, old Vladimir’s drinking

      Their health, a handsome cup and great

      To his lips held and fond thoughts thinking.

      Our fathers ate ’thout haste-indeed,

      Passed slowly round the groaning tables

      The silver beakers were and ladles

      With frothing ale filled and with mead.

      Into the heart cheer poured they, truly…

      The bearers, bowing, solemn-faced,

      Before the feasters tankards placed;

      High rose the foam and hissed, unruly…

      The hum of talk is loud, unceasing;

      Abuzz the guests: a merry round.

      Then through the hubbub, all ears pleasing,

      There comes the gusli’s rippling sound.

      A hush. In dulcet song and ringing

      Bayan, the bard – all hark him well —

      Of bride and groom the praise is singing;

      He lauds their union, gift of Lel[4].

      Ruslan, o’ercome by fiery feeling,

      Of food partakes not; from Ludmila

      He cannot tear away his eyes;

      He flames with love, he frowns, he sighs,

      At his moustache plucks, filled with torment

      And, all impatience, counts each moment.

      Amid the noisy feasters brood

      Three youthful knights. In doleful mood

      They sit there, their great tankards empty

      With downcast eyes, the fare, though tempting,

      Untouched; the goblets past them sail;

      They do not seem to hear the tale

      Of wisdom chanted by Bayan…

      The luckless rivals of Ruslan,

      Of love and hate a deadly brew

      In their hearts hid, the three are too

      O’erwrought for speech. The first of these

      Is bold Rogdai of battle fame

      (’Twas he who Kiev’s boundaries

      Stretched with his blade); the next, the vain,

      Loud-voiced Farlaf, by none defeated

      At festal board, but tame, most tame

      Mid flashing swords and tempers heated;

      The last, the Khazar Khan Ratmir,

      A reckless spirit, aye, and ardent.

      All three are pale-browed, glum, despondent:

      The feast’s no feast, the cheer’s no cheer.

      It’s over, and the teasiers rise

      And flock together. Noise. All eyes

      Are smiling, all are on the two

      Young newly-weds… Ludmila, tearful,

      Looks shyly down: her groom is cheerful,

      He beams… Now do the shades anew

      Embrace the earth, e’er nearer creeping,

      The murk of midnight veils the dome…

      The boyars, by sweet mead made sleepy,

      Bow to their hosts and make for home.

      Ruslan’s all rapture, all elation…

      What bliss! In his imagination

      His bride caresses he. But there

      Is sadness in the warmth of feeling

      With which, their happy union sealing,

      The old prince blesses our young pair.

      The bridal couch has long been ready;

      The maid is led to it… It’s night.

      The torches dim, but Lel already

      His own bright lamp has set alight.

      Love offers – see – its gifts most tender,

      Its fondest wish at last comes true,

      On carpets of Byzantine splendour

      The jealous covers fall… Do you

      The sound of kisses, love’s sweet token,

      And its soft,