And then he dressed himself...
XXXVIII, XXXIX
A sound sleep, the walks, the reading. The forest shade, of brooks the hiss, -
Sometimes with pretty girl a meeting, A young and fresh unwaited kiss,
The horse for rider proved obedience, The dinner rather well fastidious,
A bottle of some light sweet wine, Some solitude, the stillness fine:
Onegin’s life is somewhat sacred; And he, unfeeling, was to it
All given up in summer heat. To count days he simply hated,
Forgot the town and the friends, And boredom of the festive blends.
XL
But all the nothern Russian summer Of south winter bad burlesque:
Appeared-vanished quickly rather, We gee, but don’t we. confess.
With autumn skies were dayly breathing, Not every day the sun was gleaming,
Each day was shorter at the noon, The secret canopy of wood
With grievous noise became all naked, The tog was falling on the fields,
The caravan of crying geese For south fleeted. And unwaited
The time was coming, dull and hard: November stood in front of yard.
XLI
At break of dawn the night is cold; In cornfields work has ceased away;
With his she-wolf, in hunger bold, A wolf is coming to the way;
Him scenting, horses on the road All snort, and travellers quickly hold:
You’d better hurry up away. The shepherd at the break of day
Does not make cows go out, And when at noon they are forlone,
He doesn’t gather them with horn. A maiden’s singing in her house,
She spins; a friend of winter night The splinter’s crackling making light.
XLII
But nowadays the frosts are crackling (A rhyme for cra.ckling, one foresees;
Its here: take it and be ‘tackling’ !) All look like silver snowy fields...
More pretty than a parquette fashioned, The river, clad in ice, is flashy,
And many boys with joyful cries Are scaring on sonorous ice;
On reddish paws a goose, such heavy, To get to waters wants to swim:
With care steps on icy brim And slips, and falls; all fluffy, merry
The snowflakes are flashing, whirl, Like stars at river’s banks they fall.
XLIII
Such time what can you do in village?
To walk?
The seasons country views
Unwittingly may bore by image Of its monotonous naked hues.
To ride a horse in steppe severe?
But then your horse will try in fear
To scratch unfaithful icy path As he’s afraid to fall at last.
Deserted room alone filling You read; it’s Pradt, it’s Walter Scott.
You don’t want? - check up your cost, Or grudge, or drink, and thus the evening
Will pass away more fast, they tell, And you will pass the winter well.
XLIV
Like Harold Child Onegin’s fallen Into the thoughtful lazy haze:
From bed to icy bath had fallen And afterwards was whole days
Engaged alone with accounts; Or, taking cue like somewhat armours,
At own billiard with two balls He played from morning one for all.
But when to country comes the evening The billiard, cues are left again,