"I'll say, without boasting, They loved me--my peasants. 480 In my large Surminsky Estate, where the peasants Were mostly odd-jobbers, Or very small tradesmen, It happened that they Would get weary of staying At home, and would ask My permission to travel, To visit strange parts At the coming of spring. 490 They'd often be absent Through summer and autumn. My wife and the children Would argue while guessing The gifts that the peasants Would bring on returning. And really, besides Lawful dues of the 'Barin' In cloth, eggs, and live stock, The peasants would gladly 500 Bring gifts to the family: Jam, say, from Kiev, From Astrakhan fish, And the richer among them Some silk for the lady. You see!--as he kisses Her hand he presents her A neat little packet! And then for the children Are sweetmeats and toys; 510 For me, the old toper, Is wine from St. Petersburg-- Mark you, the rascal Won't go to the Russian For that! He knows better-- He runs to the Frenchman! And when we have finished Admiring the presents I go for a stroll And a chat with the peasants; 520 They talk with me freely. My wife fills their glasses, My little ones gather Around us and listen, While sucking their sweets, To the tales of the peasants: Of difficult trading, Of places far distant, Of Petersburg, Astrakhan, Kazan, and Kiev.... 530 On such terms it was That I lived with my peasants. Now, wasn't that nice?" "Yes," answer the peasants; "Yes, well might one envy The noble Pomyeshchick! His life was so sweet There was no need to leave it." "And now it is past.... It has vanished for ever! 540 Hark! There's the bell tolling!" They listen in silence: In truth, through the stillness Which settles around them, The slow, solemn sound On the breeze of the morning Is borne from Kusminsky.... "Sweet peace to the peasant! God greet him in Heaven!"