Was victim of the wild misleading Of big his passions unrestrained.
By habits of the life he’s pampered, By somebody he was well tempered,
But others made him disappoint! The slow languid was the point.
He’s languished by the hits rebuffing, Attentive in the still and noise
To protests of soul’s voice, Suppressed his yawning by his laughing.
Eight years did he kill these ways, And thus he lost of prime young days.
X
He ceased to fall in love with beauties And dangled after like the rest;
Himself consoled if not suited, Betrayed - was glad to have a rest,
He looked for girls without passion And left them all with none compassion,
Did not remember love and spite, Behaved like some indifferent guy
For evening whist who’s coming briskly, Sits down, plays not very hard,
Then gets he out of the yard, At home falls asleep too quickly,
At dawn who never knows yet The evening where will he spend.
XI
Onegin got Tatyana’s message. It quickly touched his soul’s strings:
For all his thoughts it was a passage - Unusual tongue of maiden’s dreams.
In thoughts her face too pale he found, She often seemed to be cast down;
And into sweet and sinless dream By soul he was getting in.
Of old times the heat of feeling, May be, could capture for a while;
He didn’t want to cheat meanwile The trusting heart of pure being.
For garden now we shall fleet In which she’s got with him to meet.
XII
Some minutes they were silent both, Onegin then to her came up
And. told her:
‘To me you wrote, Do not deny.
I’ve read it up:
Of trusting soul hard confessions, Of pure love such good expressions;
I can your frankness estimate, It made my feelings agitate
And passions which were mute and heartless; To praise yet you l don’t want;
For it I shall repay a lot By my admission, truly artless;
All my confessions must you take: For judgement yours I give my fate.
XIII
‘If I would wish to have restricted My life by family, you see,
If by my lot I were convicted A husband, father just to be,
If by the family best vision For instant I’d be charmed with reason,-
Believe, I’d never try anew To look for better bride but. you.
I’ll simply say without fevers: If previous idol I could find,
Alone you, to speak my mind, I’d take as friend of days my grievous,
Of all the charming for the bail And would be happy... till I fail!
XI
‘I’m not quite made to be much happy. My soul’s alien for bliss;
Perfections yours make speech my gappy, Of them I’m not yet worthy, miss.
Believe (for bail I give my conscience), The wedlock will be poignant nonsense.
I might be deeply loving you, But getting used I’d run from you;
Your tears, if you will be crying, Would never touch my gloomy heart,
But they would madden it too hard.
What roses, you can be judging,
For us fine Hymen now makes And maybe yet for many days.
XV