Your sad mishap has roused Von Wahl's and all his minions' zeal—
He vows that ladies now no more shall ride their horse of steel!
What was it that upset you? Was it, pray, the great Prospékt,
With those six-sided wooden blocks that here and there project,
Or else its three-mile tram-line, where your giddy "sveeft" was wrecked?
Or were you racing, 'gainst the rules, along the English Quay,
And trying to inaugurate a Russian Battersea,
Or threading the Milliónaya with over-rapid glee?
Perhaps 'twas on Yelagin Isle you were careering round,
And ran into the flower-beds or the ponds that there abound,