Instead, she slanders—cruel words all—
‘Useless this bride as rotten tree!’”
XIII
In the green garden is fresh-fallen snow;
Horses are galloping to and fro.
A mother follows the hoof-marks deep:
“My Marusenka, where dost thou sleep?
“Help me, O Lord, her steps to trace!
Home I would take her from this place.
“Come, Marusenka, come to me!