em, touch them, see
them, perhaps, plunges me into an incessant melancholy--at once I melt
and burn. I recall each lovely feature, each attitude of your exquisite
person--that little foot, the seal of love, that bosom, the gem of
bliss! The remembrance of your voice makes my soul thrill like the chord
of an instrument--ready to burst from the clearness of its tone--and
your kiss! that kiss in which I drank your soul! It showers roses and
coals of fire upon my lonely bed--I burn--my hot lips are tortured by
the thirst for caresses--my hand longs to clasp your waist--to touch
your knees! Oh, come--Oh, fly to me--that I may die in delight, as now I
do in weariness!

* * * * *

Colonel Verkhoffsky, endeavouring by every possible means to divert
Ammalat's grief, thought of amusing him with a boar-hunt, the favourite
occupation of the Beks of Daghestan. In answer to his summons, there
assembled about twenty persons, each attended by his noukers, each eager
to try his fortune, or to gallop about the field and vaunt his courage.
Already had grey December covered the tops of the surrounding mountains
with the first-fallen snow. Here and there in the streets of Derbend lay
a crust of ice, but over it the mud rolled in sluggish waves along the
uneven pavement. The sea lazily plashed against the sunken turrets of
the walls which descended to the water, a flock of bustards and of geese
whizzed through the fog, and flew with a complaining cry above the
ramparts; all was dark and melancholy--even the dull and tiresome
braying of the asses laden with faggots for the market, sounded like a
dirge over the fine weather. The old Tartars sat in the bazars, wrapping
their shoubes over their noses. But this is exactly the weather most
favourable to hunters. Hardly had the moollahs of the town proclaimed
the hour of prayer, when the Colonel, attended by several of his
officers, the Beks of the city, and Ammalat, rode, or rather swam,
through the mud, leaving the town in the direction of the north, through
the principal gate Keerkhlar Kapi, which is covered with iron plates.
The road leading to Tarki is rude in appearance, bordered for a few
paces to the right and left with beds of madder--beyond them lie vast
burying-grounds, and further still towards the sea, scattered gardens.
But the appearance of the suburbs is a great deal more magnificent than
those of the Southern ones. To the left, on the rocks were seen