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

Mournful is thine approach to me,
O Spring, thou chosen time of love

Farewell, thou pathway of the free,
For the last time thy waves I view
Before me roll disdainfully,
Brilliantly beautiful and blue.

Why vain regret? Wherever now
My heedless course I may pursue
One object on thy desert brow
I everlastingly shall view—

A rock, the sepulchre of Fame!
The poor remains of greatness gone
A cold remembrance there became,
There perished great Napoleon.

In torment dire to sleep he lay;
Then, as a tempest echoing rolls,
Another genius whirled away,
Another sovereign of our souls.

He perished. Freedom wept her child,
He left the world his garland bright.
Wail, Ocean, surge in tumult wild,
To sing of thee was his delight.

Impressed upon him was thy mark,
His genius moulded was by thee;
Like thee, he was unfathomed, dark
And untamed in his majesty.

"My uncle's goodness is extreme,
If seriously he hath disease;
He hath acquired the world's esteem
And nothing more important sees;

A paragon of virtue he!
But what a nuisance it will be,
Chained to his bedside night and day
Without a chance to slip away.

Ye need dissimulation base
A dying man with art to soothe,
Beneath his head the pillow smooth,
And physic bring with mournful face,
To sigh and meditate alone:
When will the devil take his own!"

Thus mused a madcap young, who drove
Through clouds of dust at postal pace,
By the decree of Mighty Jove,
Inheritor of all his race.

Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan, [1] Ruslan and Liudmila , the title of Pushkin's first important work, written 1817-20. It is a tale relating the adventures of the knight-errant Ruslan in search of his fair lady Liudmila, who has been carried off by a kaldoon , or magician.
Let me present ye to the man,
Who without more prevarication
The hero is of my narration!

Oneguine, O my gentle readers,
Was born beside the Neva, where
It may be ye were born, or there
Have shone as one of fashion's leaders.

I also wandered there of old,
But cannot stand the northern cold. [2] Written in Bessarabia.

Having performed his service truly,
Deep into debt his father ran;
Three balls a year he gave ye duly,
At last became a ruined man.

But Eugene was by fate preserved,
For first "madame" his wants observed,
And then "monsieur" supplied her place; [3] In Russia foreign tutors and governesses are commonly styled "monsieur" or "madame."
The boy was wild but full of grace.

"Monsieur l'Abbe," a starving Gaul,
Fearing his pupil to annoy,
Instructed jestingly the boy,
Morality taught scarce at all;

Gently for pranks he would reprove
And in the Summer Garden rove.

When youth's rebellious hour drew near
And my Eugene the path must trace—
The path of hope and tender fear—
Monsieur clean out of doors they chase.

Lo! my Oneguine free as air,
Cropped in the latest style his hair,
Dressed like a London dandy he
The giddy world at last shall see.

He wrote and spoke, so all allowed,
In the French language perfectly,
Danced the mazurka gracefully,
Without the least constraint he bowed.

What more's required? The world replies,
He is a charming youth and wise.

We all of us of education
A something somehow have obtained,
Thus, praised be God! a reputation
With us is easily attained.

Oneguine was—so many deemed
[Unerring critics self-esteemed],
Pedantic although scholar like,
In truth he had the happy trick

Without constraint in conversation
Of touching lightly every theme.
Silent, oracular ye'd see him
Amid a serious disputation,

Then suddenly discharge a joke
The ladies' laughter to provoke.

Latin is just now not in vogue,
But if the truth I must relate,
Oneguine knew enough, the rogue
A mild quotation to translate,

A little Juvenal to spout,
With "vale" finish off a note;
Two verses he could recollect
Of the Aeneid, but incorrect.