"
The two voices mingled and floated over the water in melodious,
full sounds, which quivered from excess of power. One of them was
complaining of the unbearable pain in the heart, and intoxicated
by the poison of its plaint, it sobbed with melancholy and
impotent grief; sobbed, quenching with tears the fire of the
suffering. The other--the lower, more masculine voice--rolled
powerfully through the air, full of the feeling of bloody
mortification and of readiness to avenge. Pronouncing the words
distinctly, the voice came from her breast in a deep stream, and
each word reeked with boiling blood, stirred up by outrage,
poisoned by offence and mightily demanding vengeance.
"I will requite him,"
sang Vassa, plaintively, closing her eyes.
"I will inflame him,
I'll dry him up,"
Sasha promised sternly and confidently, wafting into the air
strong, powerful tones, which sounded like blows. And suddenly,
changing the
tempo of the song and striking a higher pitch, she began to sing,
as
slowly as her sister, voluptuous and exultant threats:
"Drier than the raging wind,
Drier than the mown-down grass,
Oi, the mown and dried-up grass.
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