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

Nay! even as this instant fled,
Was it not thou, O vision bright,
That glimmered through the radiant night
And gently hovered o'er my head?

Was it not thou who thus didst stoop
To whisper comfort, love and hope?

Who art thou? Guardian angel sent
Or torturer malevolent?

Doubt and uncertainty decide:
All this may be an empty dream,
Delusions of a mind untried,
Providence otherwise may deem—
Then be it so! My destiny
From henceforth I confide to thee!

Lo! at thy feet my tears I pour
And thy protection I implore.
Imagine! Here alone am I!
No one my anguish comprehends,
At times my reason almost bends,
And silently I here must die—

But I await thee: scarce alive
My heart with but one look revive;
Or to disturb my dreams approach
Alas! with merited reproach.

'Tis finished. Horrible to read!
With shame I shudder and with dread—
But boldly I myself resign:
Thine honour is my countersign!

Tattiana moans and now she sighs
And in her grasp the letter shakes,
Even the rosy wafer dries
Upon her tongue which fever bakes.

Her head upon her breast declines
And an enchanting shoulder shines
From her half-open vest of night.
But lo! already the moon's light
Is waning. Yonder valley deep
Looms gray behind the mist and morn
Silvers the brook; the shepherd's horn
Arouses rustics from their sleep.

'Tis day, the family downstairs,
But nought for this Tattiana cares.

The break of day she doth not see,
But sits in bed with air depressed,
Nor on the letter yet hath she
The image of her seal impressed.

But gray Phillippevna the door
Opened with care, and entering bore
A cup of tea upon a tray.
"'Tis time, my child, arise, I pray!

My beauty, thou art ready too.
My morning birdie, yesternight
I was half silly with affright.
But praised be God! in health art thou!

The pains of night have wholly fled,
Thy cheek is as a poppy red!"

"Ah! nurse, a favour do for me!"
"Command me, darling, what you choose"
"Do not—you might—suspicious be;
But look you—ah! do not refuse."

"I call to witness God on high—"
"Then send your grandson quietly
To take this letter to O— Well!
Unto our neighbour. Mind you tell—

Command him not to say a word—
I mean my name not to repeat."
"To whom is it to go, my sweet?
Of late I have been quite absurd,—

So many neighbours here exist—
Am I to go through the whole list?"

"How dull you are this morning, nurse!"
"My darling, growing old am I!
In age the memory gets worse,
But I was sharp in times gone by.

In times gone by thy bare command—"
"Oh! nurse, nurse, you don't understand!
What is thy cleverness to me?
The letter is the thing, you see,—

Oneguine's letter!"—"Ah! the thing!
Now don't be cross with me, my soul,
You know that I am now a fool—
But why are your cheeks whitening?"

"Nothing, good nurse, there's nothing wrong,
But send your grandson before long."

No answer all that day was borne.
Another passed; 'twas just the same.
Pale as a ghost and dressed since morn
Tattiana waits. No answer came!

Olga's admirer came that day:
"Tell me, why doth your comrade stay?"
The hostess doth interrogate:
"He hath neglected us of late."—

Tattiana blushed, her heart beat quick—
"He promised here this day to ride,"
Lenski unto the dame replied,
"The post hath kept him, it is like."

Shamefaced, Tattiana downward looked
As if he cruelly had joked!

'Twas dusk! Upon the table bright
Shrill sang the samovar at eve, [46] The samovar , i.e. "self-boiler," is merely an urn for hot water having a fire in the center. We may observe a similar contrivance in our own old-fashioned tea-urns which are provided with a receptacle for a red-hot iron cylinder in center. The tea-pot is usually placed on the top of the samovar .
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.

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

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!)

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.

They sang, whilst negligently seated,
Attentive to the echoing sound,
Tattiana with impatience waited
Until her heart less high should bound—