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

He was most gay. The happy date In three weeks would arrive for them; The secrets of the marriage state And love's delicious diadem With rapturous longing he awaits, Nor in his dreams anticipates Hymen's embarrassments, distress, And freezing fits of weariness.Though we, of Hymen foes, meanwhile, In life domestic see a string Of pictures painful harrowing, A novel in Lafontaine's style, My wretched Lenski's fate I mourn, He seemed for matrimony born.

XLI

He was beloved: or say at least, 

He thought so, and existence charmed. The credulous indeed are blest, And he who, jealousy disarmed, In sensual sweets his soul doth steep As drunken tramps at nightfall sleep, Or, parable more flattering, As butterflies to blossoms cling.But wretched who anticipates, Whose brain no fond illusions daze, Who every gesture, every phrase In true interpretation hates:Whose heart experience icy made And yet oblivion forbade.

End of Canto The Fourth

CANTO THE FIFTH

The Fete

'Oh, do not dream these fearful dreams, O my Svetlana.'Joukovski 

I

That year the autumn season late Kept lingering on as loath to go, All Nature winter seemed to await, Till January fell no snow—The third at night. Tattiana wakes Betimes, and sees, when morning breaks, Park, garden, palings, yard below And roofs near morn blanched o'er with snow;Upon the windows tracery, The trees in silvery array, Down in the courtyard magpies gay, And the far mountains daintily O'erspread with Winter's carpet bright, 

All so distinct, and all so white!

II

Winter! The peasant blithely goes To labour in his sledge forgot, His pony sniffing the fresh snows Just manages a feeble trot Though deep he sinks into the drift; Forth the kibitka gallops swift,[51] Its driver seated on the rim In scarlet sash and sheepskin trim;Yonder the household lad doth run, Placed in a sledge his terrier black, Himself transformed into a hack; To freeze his finger hath begun, He laughs, although it aches from cold, His mother from the door doth scold.

III

In scenes like these it may be though,Ye feel but little interest, They are all natural and low, Are not with elegance impressed.Another bard with art divine Hath pictured in his gorgeous line The first appearance of the snows And all the joys which Winter knows.He will delight you, I am sure, When he in ardent verse portrays Secret excursions made in sleighs; But competition I abjure Either with him or thee in song, Bard of the Finnish maiden young.[52]

IV