spears were driven into the earth. The horses began to stumble and
fall and the Lyakhs to fly over their heads. At that moment the
Korsuntzi, who had stood till the last by the baggage waggons,
perceived that they still had some bullets left, and suddenly fired a
volley from their matchlocks. The Lyakhs became confused, and lost
their presence of mind; and the Cossacks took courage. "The victory is
ours!" rang Cossack voices on all sides; the trumpets sounded and the
banner of victory was unfurled. The beaten Lyakhs ran in all
directions and hid themselves. "No, the victory is not yet complete,"
said Taras, glancing at the city gate; and he was right.

The gates opened, and out dashed a hussar band, the flower of all the
cavalry. Every rider was mounted on a matched brown horse from the
Kabardei; and in front rode the handsomest, the most heroic of them
all. His black hair streamed from beneath his brazen helmet; and from
his arm floated a rich scarf, embroidered by the hands of a peerless
beauty. Taras sprang back in horror when he saw that it was Andrii.
And the latter meanwhile, enveloped in the dust and heat of battle,
eager to deserve the scarf which had been bound as a gift upon his
arm, flew on like a greyhound; the handsomest, most agile, and
youngest of all the band. The experienced huntsman urges on the
greyhound, and he springs forward, tossing up the snow, and a score of
times outrunning the hare, in the ardour of his course. And so it was
with Andrii. Old Taras paused and observed how he cleared a path
before him, hewing away and dealing blows to the right and the left.
Taras could not restrain himself, but shouted: "Your comrades! your
comrades! you devil's brat, would you kill your own comrades?" But
Andrii distinguished not who stood before him, comrades or strangers;
he saw nothing. Curls, long curls, were what he saw; and a bosom like
that of a river swan, and a snowy neck and shoulders, and all that is