Eugene Oneguine [Onegin]. A Romance of Russian Life in Verse

Let us proceed unto a rill, 
Which in a hilly neighbourhood 
Seeks, winding amid meadows still, 
The river through the linden wood.

The nightingale there all night long, 

Spring's paramour, pours forth her song 
The fountain brawls, sweetbriers bloom, 
And lo! where lies a marble tomb 
And two old pines their branches spread— 
"Vladimir Lenski lies beneath, 
Who early died a gallant death," 
Thereon the passing traveller read: 
"The date, his fleeting years how long— 
Repose in peace, thou child of song."

VII

Time was, the breath of early dawn
Would agitate a mystic wreath
Hung on a pine branch earthward drawn
Above the humble urn of death.

Time was, two maidens from their home

At eventide would hither come,
And, by the light the moonbeams gave,
Lament, embrace upon that grave.

But now—none heeds the monument

Of woe: effaced the pathway now:
There is no wreath upon the bough:
Alone beside it, gray and bent,
As formerly the shepherd sits
And his poor basten sandal knits.

VIII

My poor Vladimir, bitter tears 
Thee but a little space bewept, 
Faithless, alas! thy maid appears, 
Nor true unto her sorrow kept.

Another could her heart engage, 

Another could her woe assuage 
By flattery and lover's art— 
A lancer captivates her heart!

A lancer her soul dotes upon: 

Before the altar, lo! the pair, 
Mark ye with what a modest air 
She bows her head beneath the crown;[71]

Behold her downcast eyes which glow, 

Her lips where light smiles come and go!

IX

My poor Vladimir! In the tomb, 
Passed into dull eternity, 
Was the sad poet filled with gloom, 
Hearing the fatal perfidy?

Or, beyond Lethe lulled to rest, 

Hath the bard, by indifference blest, 
Callous to all on earth become— 
Is the world to him sealed and dumb?

The same unmoved oblivion 

On us beyond the grave attends, 
The voice of lovers, foes and friends, 
Dies suddenly: of heirs alone 
Remains on earth the unseemly rage, 
Whilst struggling for the heritage.

X

Soon Olga's accents shrill resound 
No longer through her former home; 
The lancer, to his calling bound, 
Back to his regiment must roam.

The aged mother, bathed in tears, 

Distracted by her grief appears 
When the hour came to bid good-bye— 
But my Tattiana's eyes were dry.

Only her countenance assumed 

A deadly pallor, air distressed; 
When all around the entrance pressed, 
To say farewell, and fussed and fumed 
Around the carriage of the pair— 
Tattiana gently led them there.

XI