Part 3 (2/2)

I lift a warning voice because I long have ceased to offend the laws.

XXVII

Alas! life's hours which swiftly fly I've wasted in amus.e.m.e.nts vain, But were it not immoral I Should dearly like a dance again.

I love its furious delight, The crowd and merriment and light, The ladies, their fantastic dress, Also their feet--yet ne'ertheless Scarcely in Russia can ye find Three pairs of handsome female feet; Ah! I still struggle to forget A pair; though desolate my mind, Their memory lingers still and seems To agitate me in my dreams.

XXVIII

When, where, and in what desert land, Madman, wilt thou from memory raze Those feet? Alas! on what far strand Do ye of spring the blossoms graze?

Lapped in your Eastern luxury, No trace ye left in pa.s.sing by Upon the dreary northern snows, But better loved the soft repose Of splendid carpets richly wrought.

I once forgot for your sweet cause The thirst for fame and man's applause, My country and an exile's lot; My joy in youth was fleeting e'en As your light footprints on the green.

XXIX

Diana's bosom, Flora's cheeks, Are admirable, my dear friend, But yet Terpsich.o.r.e bespeaks Charms more enduring in the end.

For promises her feet reveal Of untold gain she must conceal, Their privileged allurements fire A hidden train of wild desire.

I love them, O my dear Elvine,(14) Beneath the table-cloth of white, In winter on the fender bright, In springtime on the meadows green, Upon the ball-room's gla.s.sy floor Or by the ocean's rocky sh.o.r.e.

[Note 14: _Elvine_, or _Elvina_, was not improbably the owner of the seductive feet apostrophized by the poet, since, in 1816, he wrote an ode, ”To Her,” which commences thus:

”Elvina, my dear, come, give me thine hand,” and so forth.]

x.x.x

Beside the stormy sea one day I envied sore the billows tall, Which rushed in eager dense array Enamoured at her feet to fall.

How like the billow I desired To kiss the feet which I admired!

No, never in the early blaze Of fiery youth's untutored days So ardently did I desire A young Armida's lips to press, Her cheek of rosy loveliness Or bosom full of languid fire,-- A gust of pa.s.sion never tore My spirit with such pangs before.

x.x.xI

Another time, so willed it Fate, Immersed in secret thought I stand And grasp a stirrup fortunate-- Her foot was in my other hand.

Again imagination blazed, The contact of the foot I raised Rekindled in my withered heart The fires of pa.s.sion and its smart-- Away! and cease to ring their praise For ever with thy tattling lyre, The proud ones are not worth the fire Of pa.s.sion they so often raise.

The words and looks of charmers sweet Are oft deceptive--like their feet.

x.x.xII

Where is Oneguine? Half asleep, Straight from the ball to bed he goes, Whilst Petersburg from slumber deep The drum already doth arouse.

The shopman and the pedlar rise And to the Bourse the cabman plies; The Okhtenka with pitcher speeds,(15) Crunching the morning snow she treads; Morning awakes with joyous sound; The shutters open; to the skies In column blue the smoke doth rise; The German baker looks around His shop, a night-cap on his head, And pauses oft to serve out bread.

[Note 15: i.e. the milkmaid from the Okhta villages, a suburb of St.

Petersburg on the right bank of the Neva chiefly inhabited by the labouring cla.s.ses.]

x.x.xIII

But turning morning into night, Tired by the ball's incessant noise, The votary of vain delight Sleep in the shadowy couch enjoys, Late in the afternoon to rise, When the same life before him lies Till morn--life uniform but gay, To-morrow just like yesterday.

But was our friend Eugene content, Free, in the blossom of his spring, Amidst successes flattering And pleasure's daily blandishment, Or vainly 'mid luxurious fare Was he in health and void of care?--

x.x.xIV

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