Евгений Онегин / Eugene Onegin

The fervid poet would recite,

Carried away by ecstasy,

Fragments of northern poetry,

Whilst Eugene condescending quite,

Though scarcely following what was said,

Attentive listened to the lad.

XVII

But more the passions occupy

The converse of our hermits twain,

And, heaving a regretful sigh,

An exile from their troublous reign,

Eugene would speak regarding these.

Thrice happy who their agonies

Hath suffered but indifferent grown,

Still happier he who ne’er hath known!

By absence who hath chilled his love,

His hate by slander, and who spends

Existence without wife or friends,

Whom jealous transport cannot move,

And who the rent-roll of his race

Ne’er trusted to the treacherous ace.

XVIII

When, wise at length, we seek repose

Beneath the flag of Quietude,

When Passion’s fire no longer glows

And when her violence reviewed —

Each gust of temper, silly word,

Seems so unnatural and absurd:

Reduced with effort unto sense,

We hear with interest intense

The accents wild of other’s woes,

They stir the heart as heretofore.

So ancient warriors, battles o’er,

A curious interest disclose

In yarns of youthful troopers gay,

Lost in the hamlet far away.

XIX

And in addition youth is flame

And cannot anything conceal,

Is ever ready to proclaim

The love, hate, sorrow, joy, we feel.

Deeming himself a veteran scarred

In love’s campaigns Onegin heard

With quite a lachrymose expression

The youthful poet’s fond confession.

He with an innocence extreme

His inner consciousness laid bare,

And Eugene soon discovered there

The story of his young love’s dream,

Where plentifully feelings flow

Which we experienced long ago.

XX

Alas! he loved as in our times

Men love no more, as only the

Mad spirit of the man who rhymes

Is still condemned in love to be;

One image occupied his mind,

Constant affection intertwined

And an habitual sense of pain;

And distance interposed in vain,

Nor years of separation all

Nor homage which the Muse demands

Nor beauties of far distant lands

Nor study, banquet, rout nor ball

His constant soul could ever tire,

Which glowed with virginal desire.

XXI

When but a boy he Olga loved

Unknown as yet the aching heart,

He witnessed tenderly and moved

Her girlish gaiety and sport.