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 created for rapturous kisses.
"Hey there, lads! only draw him to the forest, entice him to the forest for me!" shouted Taras.