Part 6 (1/2)

The pervert world with icy chill Had not yet withered his young breast.

His heart reciprocated still When Friends.h.i.+p smiled or Love caressed.

He was a dear delightful fool-- A nursling yet for Hope to school.

The riot of the world and glare Still sovereigns of his spirit were, And by a sweet delusion he Would soothe the doubtings of his soul, He deemed of human life the goal To be a charming mystery: He racked his brains to find its clue And marvels deemed he thus should view.

VIII

This he believed: a kindred spirit Impelled to union with his own Lay languis.h.i.+ng both day and night-- Waiting his coming--his alone!

He deemed his friends but longed to make Great sacrifices for his sake!

That a friend's arm in every case Felled a calumniator base!

That chosen heroes consecrate, Friends of the sons of every land, Exist--that their immortal band Shall surely, be it soon or late, Pour on this...o...b..a dazzling light And bless mankind with full delight.

IX

Compa.s.sion now or wrath inspires And now philanthropy his soul, And now his youthful heart desires The path which leads to glory's goal.

His harp beneath that sky had rung Where sometime Goethe, Schiller sung, And at the altar of their fame He kindled his poetic flame.

But from the Muses' loftiest height The gifted songster never swerved, But proudly in his song preserved An ever transcendental flight; His transports were quite maidenly, Charming with grave simplicity.

X

He sang of love--to love a slave.

His ditties were as pure and bright As thoughts which gentle maidens have, As a babe's slumber, or the light Of the moon in the tranquil skies, G.o.ddess of lovers' tender sighs.

He sang of separation grim, Of what not, and of distant dim, Of roses to romancers dear; To foreign lands he would allude, Where long time he in solitude Had let fall many a bitter tear: He sang of life's fresh colours stained Before he eighteen years attained.

XI

Since Eugene in that solitude Gifts such as these alone could prize, A scant attendance Lenski showed At neighbouring hospitalities.

He shunned those parties boisterous; The conversation tedious About the crop of hay, the wine, The kennel or a kindred line, Was certainly not erudite Nor sparkled with poetic fire, Nor wit, nor did the same inspire A sense of social delight, But still more stupid did appear The gossip of their ladies fair.

XII

Handsome and rich, the neighbourhood Lenski as a good match received,-- Such is the country custom good; All mothers their sweet girls believed Suitable for this semi-Russian.

He enters: rapidly discussion s.h.i.+fts, tacks about, until they prate The sorrows of a single state.

Perchance where Dunia pours out tea The young proprietor we find; To Dunia then they whisper: Mind!

And a guitar produced we see, And Heavens! warbled forth we hear: _Come to my golden palace, dear_!(25)

[Note 25: From the lay of the _Russalka_, i.e. mermaid of the Dnieper.]

XIII

But Lenski, having no desire Vows matrimonial to break, With our Oneguine doth aspire Acquaintance instantly to make.

They met. Earth, water, prose and verse, Or ice and flame, are not diverse If they were similar in aught.

At first such contradictions wrought Mutual repulsion and ennui, But grown familiar side by side On horseback every day they ride-- Inseparable soon they be.

Thus oft--this I myself confess-- Men become friends from idleness.

XIV

But even thus not now-a-days!

In spite of common sense we're wont As cyphers others to appraise, Ourselves as unities to count; And like Napoleons each of us A million bipeds reckons thus One instrument for his own use-- Feeling is silly, dangerous.