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

Thus widely meditation erred, 
Forgot the world, the noisy ball, 
Whilst from her countenance ne'er stirred 
The eyes of a grave general.

Both aunts looked knowing as a judge, 

Each gave Tattiana's arm a nudge 
And in a whisper did repeat: 
"Look quickly to your left, my sweet!"

"The left? Why, what on earth is there?"— 

"No matter, look immediately. 
There, in that knot of company, 
Two dressed in uniform appear—

Ah! he has gone the other way"— 

"Who? Is it that stout general, pray?"—

LII

Let us congratulations pay
To our Tattiana conquering,
And for a time our course delay,
That I forget not whom I sing.

Let me explain that in my song

"I celebrate a comrade young
And the extent of his caprice;
O epic Muse, my powers increase
And grant success to labour long;
Having a trusty staff bestowed,
Grant that I err not on the road."
Enough! my pack is now unslung—
To classicism I've homage paid,
Though late, have a beginning made.[80]

End of Canto The Seventh

CANTO THE EIGHTH The Great World

'Fare thee well, and if for ever,

Still for ever fare thee well.'

Byron 

I

In the Lyceum's noiseless shade 
As in a garden when I grew, 
I Apuleius gladly read 
But would not look at Cicero.

'Twas then in valleys lone, remote, 

In spring-time, heard the cygnet's note 
By waters shining tranquilly, 
That first the Muse appeared to me.

Into the study of the boy 

There came a sudden flash of light, 
The Muse revealed her first delight, 
Sang childhood's pastimes and its joy, 
Glory with which our history teems 
And the heart's agitated dreams.

II

And the world met her smilingly, 
A first success light pinions gave, 
The old Derjavine noticed me, 
And blest me, sinking to the grave.[81]

Then my companions young with pleasure 

In the unfettered hours of leisure 
Her utterances ever heard, 
And by a partial temper stirred 
And boiling o'er with friendly heat, 
They first of all my brow did wreathe 
And an encouragement did breathe 
That my coy Muse might sing more sweet.

O triumphs of my guileless days, 

How sweet a dream your memories raise!

III

Passion's wild sway I then allowed, 
Her promptings unto law did make, 
Pursuits I followed of the crowd, 
My sportive Muse I used to take 
To many a noisy feast and fight, 
Terror of guardians of the night; 
And wild festivities among 
She brought with her the gift of song.

Like a Bacchante in her sport 

Beside the cup she sang her rhymes 
And the young revellers of past times 
Vociferously paid her court, 
And I, amid the friendly crowd, 
Of my light paramour was proud.

IV