Like London dandy, well arrayed, First coming to the world he made.
His French was so perfect now, That he could chat, as well as write,
He was in dances quick and light, Without tension he could bow:
What more you want?
The world said: why, He is a clever, pretty guy.
V
We all to learn had little go And anyhow something got,
With education, as you know, We all can shine, and bless it God!
Onegin was in eyes of people, (Which were in judgements strict, not feeble,)
A pedant but of science man. He had a happy talent then:
He was enabled, slightly rushing, To speak of anything at once,
As real expert does by chance. He could be silent in discussion,
His epigram’s unwaited file Could make all pretty ladies smile.
VI
But Latin’s not in fashion now. To tell the truth but frank enough,
He knew the Latin anyhow: To talk about epigraf,
Of Jouvenale to talk much better, To end with vale own letter, {2}
Remembered, though with mistakes, Two little verses of Enaid’s.
He never wished to rummage quickly In chronological thick dust
Of writings of the life in past, But ancient anecdotes deeply -
From Romul to the present day - In depth of mind he kept away.
VII
Not having any higher passion To rhymes to dedicate his life,
Iambus he, at frank confession, From trochee couldn’t tell meanwhile.
Feocrite, Gomer were reproved, Yet Adam Smith was well approved,
In house-keeping he was best Arid any problems put to test:
Of how state itself enriches, And how lives, which way and why
Without gold can revive While simple product is its richness:
His father didn’t understand Arid put in pledge the whole land,
YIII
To tell you all, what he had known, I haven’t any time at all.
His genius was unique, alone, He knew of something best of all,
Which was for him from time of childhood Like work and torment, was delightful,
Which pressed his spirits all the way And kept his laziness for day, -
It was the art of tender passion, By Nazon brightly glorified.
But Nazon was by world denied And suffered past rebellious session:
Moldavia, that’s far away From Italy, was end of way.
IX
………………….. ………………….. …………………..
X
From early times he was dissembling, Some hidden hope he could leave,
He pined away, he was dissuading, Was dull and jealous, made believe;
Could come such proud or obedient, Could be attentive or indifferent;
Was languishing and taciturn, Eloquent ardently in turn;
In hearty letter, as its sender, He was slipshod.
For all of that
Of own life he could forget!
His look was always quick and tender,
Was impudent and shy; sometimes Could show how tear shines,
XI