And there in a kibitka he rolled on,

(A cursed sort of carriage without springs,

Which on rough roads leaves scarcely a whole bone,)

Pondering on Glory, Chivalry, and Kings,

And Orders, and on all that he had done—

And wishing that post-horses had the wings

Of Pegasus, or at the least post-chaises

Had feathers, when a traveller on deep ways is.