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

Arising with the morning's light, 
Unto the fields she makes her way, 
And with emotional delight 
Surveying them, she thus doth say:

"Ye peaceful valleys all, good-bye! 

Ye well-known mountain summits high, 
Ye groves whose depths I know so well, 
Thou beauteous sky above, farewell!

Delicious nature, thee I fly, 

The calm existence which I prize 
I yield for splendid vanities, 
Thou too farewell, my liberty!

Whither and wherefore do I speed 

And what will Destiny concede?"

XXVII

Farther Tattiana's walks extend— 
'Tis now the hillock now the rill 
Their natural attractions lend 
To stay the maid against her will.

She the acquaintances she loves, 

Her spacious fields and shady groves, 
Another visit hastes to pay. 
But Summer swiftly fades away 
And golden Autumn draweth nigh, 
And pallid nature trembling grieves, 
A victim decked with golden leaves; 
Dark clouds before the north wind fly;

It blew: it howled: till winter e'en 

Came forth in all her magic sheen.

XXVIII

The snow descends and buries all, 
Hangs heavy on the oaken boughs, 
A white and undulating pall 
O'er hillock and o'er meadow throws.

The channel of the river stilled 

As if with eider-down is filled. 
The hoar-frost glitters: all rejoice 
In mother Winter's strange caprice.

But Tania's heart is not at ease, 

Winter's approach she doth not hail 
Nor the frost particles inhale 
Nor the first snow of winter seize 
Her shoulders, breast and face to lave— 
Alarm the winter journey gave.

XXIX

The date was fixed though oft postponed, 
But ultimately doth approach. 
Examined, mended, newly found 
Was the old and forgotten coach;

Kibitkas three, the accustomed train,[74]

 The household property contain: 
Saucepans and mattresses and chairs, 
Portmanteaus and preserves in jars, 
Feather-beds, also poultry-coops, 
Basins and jugs—well! everything 
To happiness contributing. 
Behold! beside their dwelling groups 
Of serfs the farewell wail have given. 
Nags eighteen to the door are driven.

XXX

These to the coach of state are bound, 
Breakfast the busy cooks prepare, 
Baggage is heaped up in a mound, 
Old women at the coachmen swear.

A bearded postillion astride 

A lean and shaggy nag doth ride, 
Unto the gates the servants fly 
To bid the gentlefolk good-bye.

These take their seats; the coach of state 

Leisurely through the gateway glides. 
"Adieu! thou home where peace abides, 
Where turmoil cannot penetrate, 
Shall I behold thee once again?"— 
Tattiana tears cannot restrain.

XXXI