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

'Twas dusk! Upon the table bright Shrill sang the samovar at eve,[46]The china teapot too ye might In clouds of steam above perceive.Into the cups already sped By Olga's hand distributed The fragrant tea in darkling stream, And a boy handed round the cream.Tania doth by the casement linger And breathes upon the chilly glass, Dreaming of what not, pretty lass, And traces with a slender finger Upon its damp opacity, The mystic monogram, O. E.

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In the meantime her spirit sinks, Her weary eyes are filled with tears— A horse's hoofs she hears—She shrinks! Nearer they come—Eugene appears!Ah! than a spectre from the dead More swift the room Tattiana fled, From hall to yard and garden flies, Not daring to cast back her eyes.She fears and like an arrow rushes Through park and meadow, wood and brake, The bridge and alley to the lake, Brambles she snaps and lilacs crushes, The flowerbeds skirts, the brook doth meet, Till out of breath upon a seat

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She sank.— 

   "He's here! Eugene is here! Merciful God, what will he deem?" Yet still her heart, which torments tear, Guards fondly hope's uncertain dream.She waits, on fire her trembling frame— Will he pursue?—But no one came. She heard of servant-maids the note, Who in the orchards gathered fruit, Singing in chorus all the while. (This by command; for it was found, However cherries might abound, They disappeared by stealth and guile, So mouths they stopt with song, not fruit— Device of rural minds acute!)

The Maidens' Song

Young maidens, fair maidens, 

Friends and companions, Disport yourselves, maidens, Arouse yourselves, fair ones.Come sing we in chorus The secrets of maidens.Allure the young gallant With dance and with song.As we lure the young gallant, Espy him approaching, Disperse yourselves, darlings, And pelt him with cherries, With cherries, red currants, With raspberries, cherries.Approach not to hearken To secrets of virgins, Approach not to gaze at The frolics of maidens.

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They sang, whilst negligently seated,Attentive to the echoing sound,Tattiana with impatience waitedUntil her heart less high should bound—Till the fire in her cheek decreased;But tremor still her frame possessed,Nor did her blushes fade away,More crimson every moment they.Thus shines the wretched butterfly,With iridescent wing doth flapWhen captured in a schoolboy's cap;Thus shakes the hare when suddenlyShe from the winter corn espiesA sportsman who in covert lies.

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