Part 14 (2/2)

x.x.xVI

Alas! my stomach it betrays With its exhilarating flow, And I confess that now-a-days I prefer sensible Bordeaux.

To cope with Ay no more I dare, For Ay is like a mistress fair, Seductive, animated, bright, But wilful, frivolous, and light.

But thou, Bordeaux, art like the friend Who in the agony of grief Is ever ready with relief, a.s.sistance ever will extend, Or quietly partake our woe.

All hail! my good old friend Bordeaux!

x.x.xVII

The fire sinks low. An ashy cloak The golden ember now enshrines, And barely visible the smoke Upward in a thin stream inclines.

But little warmth the fireplace lends, Tobacco smoke the flue ascends, The goblet still is bubbling bright-- Outside descend the mists of night.

How pleasantly the evening jogs When o'er a gla.s.s with friends we prate Just at the hour we designate The time between the wolf and dogs-- I cannot tell on what pretence-- But lo! the friends to chat commence.

x.x.xVIII

”How are our neighbours fair, pray tell, Tattiana, saucy Olga thine?”

”The family are all quite well-- Give me just half a gla.s.s of wine-- They sent their compliments--but oh!

How charming Olga's shoulders grow!

Her figure perfect grows with time!

She is an angel! We sometime Must visit them. Come! you must own, My friend, 'tis but to pay a debt, For twice you came to them and yet You never since your nose have shown.

But stay! A dolt am I who speak!

They have invited you this week.”

x.x.xIX

”Me?”--”Yes! It is Tattiana's fete Next Sat.u.r.day. The Larina Told me to ask you. Ere that date Make up your mind to go there.”--”Ah!

It will be by a mob beset Of every sort and every set!”

”Not in the least, a.s.sured am I!”

”Who will be there?”--”The family.

Do me a favour and appear.

Will you?”--”Agreed.”--”I thank you, friend,”

And saying this Vladimir drained His cup unto his maiden dear.

Then touching Olga they depart In fresh discourse. Such, love, thou art!

XL

He was most gay. The happy date In three weeks would arrive for them; The secrets of the marriage state And love's delicious diadem With rapturous longing he awaits, Nor in his dreams antic.i.p.ates Hymen's embarra.s.sments, distress, And freezing fits of weariness.

Though we, of Hymen foes, meanwhile, In life domestic see a string Of pictures painful harrowing, A novel in Lafontaine's style, My wretched Lenski's fate I mourn, He seemed for matrimony born.

XLI

He was beloved: or say at least, He thought so, and existence charmed.

The credulous indeed are blest, And he who, jealousy disarmed, In sensual sweets his soul doth steep As drunken tramps at nightfall sleep, Or, parable more flattering, As b.u.t.terflies to blossoms cling.

But wretched who antic.i.p.ates, Whose brain no fond illusions daze, Who every gesture, every phrase In true interpretation hates: Whose heart experience icy made And yet oblivion forbade.

End of Canto The Fourth

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