‘Agreed’ - You... dear guy!
And saying so, made he dry A glass to health of dear neighbour,
And then was speaking of the same: Of Olga, dear love, again!
L
With joy he knew: for wedding carriage Two weeks ahead was fixed above.
The secrets of the bed of marriage, The garlands of the sweetest love
For his delight were just awaiting.
But Hymen’s troubles, griefs of mating,
The yawnings, other cold things He never saw in any dreams.
Meanwhile we all. of Hymen foes, In home life yet see but one
And boring pictures’ row, done In style of La Fontaine’s sweet novels.
My poor Lensky with his heart For such a life was born, young bard.
LI
He was beloved.., at least was grateful To have such hope like a balm.
A hundred times is blessed, who’s faithful. Who’s got his wit to be quite calm,
Reposes in heart contentment Like drunkard, spending night for payment,
Or tenderer - like little moth Which sucks spring flower with force;
But wretched is, who’s all foreseeing, Who never felt some ache of head,
Who hates the moving and the word When you translate him their meaning;
Whose knowledge makes his heart all cool Arid him forbids to play the foolt
CHAPTER FIVE
Oh, don’t know dreadful dreams You, my young Svetlana
Zhookovsky
I
That year pretty autumn weather Too long was staying on in yard,
The winter had been longed by nature, In January it snowed hard.
On day the third at early morning Tatyana saw and was adoring:
The yard was under snow dense: Parterres, roofs and all the fence;
The panes with patterns are like marvel, By snow flocks are covered trees,
Some merry magpies Tanya sees, All mountains were smoothly covered
By winter carpets, snow-made.
All’s blight, all’s white without shade.
II
It’s winter!..
Young triumphant peasant On wooden sledge renews the way.
His horse the snow feels at present, Its trotting, lazily away.
A brave sledge-cart from field’s returning, It’s fluffy furrows upturning,
The coachman’s on -box with lash In sheepskin coat and red sash.
A yard boy’s running in the middle, He made his dog in sledge to sit
While he prefered to play a steed. His finger’s frozen a little,
It hurts, he laughs, through window-panes At him his mother’s finger shakes.
III
But may be those kinds of pictures By now can’t you all attract,
As they are mean and simple features, You won’t see fine art in that.
But blessed by God of inspiration Another one in. rhymes of fashion.
Described for us the snowfall, {l5} The winter’s bliss and tinges all:
He’ll fascinate you, I am sure, By picturing in flaming verse
The secret drives in sledge rehearse; But I am ready to endure
The peaceful life with him and you, Who pictured Finnish frosts anew. {16}
IV