Page:Poems, Alexander Pushkin, 1888.djvu/94

88 The son of Don he pulls the rein

And the spur he strikes:

Like an arrow rushed the steed—

To the huts he turned.

In the clouds the distant sky

Was silvering the moon;

A Beauty-Maid in melancholy

By the window sits.

Espies the brave the Beauty-Maid,

Beats his heart within:

Gently steed to left, to left—

Under the window now is he.

"Darker growing is the night

And hidden is the moon;

Quick, my darling, do come out,

Water give my steed."

"No, not unto a man so young;

Right fearful 't is to go;

Fearful 't is my house to leave,

And water give thy steed."

"Have no fear, О Beauty-Maid,

And friendship close with me"—

"Brings danger night to Beauty-Maids,"—

"Fear me not, О joy of mine!