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

However, Tania's letter reading, Eugene was touched with sympathy; The language of her girlish pleading Aroused in him sweet reverie.He called to mind Tattiana's grace, Pallid and melancholy face, And in a vision, sinless, bright, His spirit sank with strange delight.May be the empire of the sense, Regained authority awhile, But he desired not to beguile Such open-hearted innocence.But to the garden once again Wherein we lately left the twain.

VI

Two minutes they in silence spent, Oneguine then approached and said: "You have a letter to me sent. Do not excuse yourself. I read Confessions which a trusting heart May well in innocence impart.Charming is your sincerity, Feelings which long had ceased to be It wakens in my breast again. But I came not to adulate: Your frankness I shall compensate By an avowal just as plain. An ear to my confession lend; To thy decree my will I bend.

VII

"If the domestic hearth could bless— My sum of happiness contained; If wife and children to possess A happy destiny ordained:If in the scenes of home I might E'en for an instant find delight, Then, I say truly, none but thee I would desire my bride to be—I say without poetic phrase, Found the ideal of my youth, Thee only would I choose, in truth, As partner of my mournful days, Thee only, pledge of all things bright, And be as happy—as I might.

VIII

"But strange am I to happiness; 'Tis foreign to my cast of thought; Me your perfections would not bless; I am not worthy them in aught; And honestly 'tis my belief Our union would produce but grief.Though now my love might be intense, Habit would bring indifference. I see you weep. Those tears of yours Tend not my heart to mitigate, But merely to exasperate; Judge then what roses would be ours, What pleasures Hymen would prepare For us, may be for many a year.

IX

"What can be drearier than the house, Wherein the miserable wife Deplores a most unworthy spouse And leads a solitary life?The tiresome man, her value knowing, Yet curses on his fate bestowing, Is full of frigid jealousy, Mute, solemn, frowning gloomily.Such am I. This did ye expect, When in simplicity ye wrote Your innocent and charming note With so much warmth and intellect?Hath fate apportioned unto thee This lot in life with stern decree?

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