Enchantress, say, to my forsaken lyre

What magic power is this recalls me still?

What spark has set my inmost soul on fire,

What is this bliss that makes my fingers thrill?

Enchantress, say, to my forsaken lyre What magic power is this recalls me still? What spark has set my inmost soul on fire, What is this bliss that makes my fingers thrill?

He was singing in passionate tones, gazing with his sparkling black-agate eyes at the frightened and happy Natásha.