The carter cannot here
Refrain from remarking. 40

"A plaguey old croaker!"
Says Klim, spitting crossly;
"Whatever arises
The raven must fly
To his own little brood!
What is it, then, tell us,
The sin of the peasant?"



_The Sin of Gleb the Peasant_

A'miral Widower sailed on the sea,
Steering his vessels a-sailing went he. 49
Once with the Turk a great battle he fought,
His was the victory, gallantly bought.
So to the hero as valour's reward
Eight thousand souls[59] did the Empress award.
A'miral Widower lived on his land
Rich and content, till his end was at hand.
As he lay dying this A'miral bold
Handed his Elder a casket of gold.
"See that thou cherish this casket," he said,
"Keep it and open it when I am dead.
There lies my will, and by it you will see
Eight thousand souls are from serfdom set free." 61
Dead, on the table, the A'miral lies,