Tatyana (Russian in her soul, Herself she doesn’t know why)
With all her cooling beauty lone Did like the Russian winter fine:
The rime on frosty days yet sunlit; And sledges; and before the sunset
The snow’s rose shining charm; On Christmas evenings hazy calm.
Of old age triumphant customs At home were supported hard:
All servant maidens in the yard To guess the fortune were accustomed,
Each year guessed for misses much: From army husbands and the march.
V
Tatyana trusted legend’s fancies Of simple folk’s old times.
And dreams as well as cartomancies, The moons predictions in the skies.
By many signs she’s always worried, In secret way all objects hurried
To tell her something of the rest; Misgivings hardly squeezed her breast.
If mincing cat, on stove sitting, While purring could his muzzle wash,
For her the truthful sign it was That guests are coming.
If she’s seeing
A young two-horned the moon at sky, But at unusual left the side,
VI
She all is trembling, paling, shying.
And when a falling shining star
Along the darkish sky is flying To scatter in the sky afar,
In great confusion she is hastening, While falling star yet isn’t fading,
The wish of heart to whisper her.
And when sometimes in front of her
A monk in black by chance appears, Or quick a hare in the fields
Her way is crossing, then she feels Herself embarrased; and of tears,
Of sad misgivings she is full, Foresees misfortunes as a rile.
VII
Well, she had found charming secret In sense of horror by itself:
Each one by nature is restricted By contradictions in himself.
The Christmas tide for joy is coming!
To guess the windy youth is trying
Which doesn’t pity any things, In front of which the life yet is
Immense and light, at distance waiting; Through glasses old people guess
The end of life; of loss confess With no hopes for regaining:
But all the same, the hope them With baby-talk is lying then.
VIII
Tatyana’s interest is affected By melting on the fire wax:
It shows traceries affective, Informs of mind’s the secret backs.
From saucers, filled with clear waters Some rings get out as on trotters
To her they gave a little ring, An old song began to sing:
All peasants-men there are enriching, They get the silver with a spade,
We sing of their lucky fate And glory!
- All they are yet feeling
Some loss in all the song’s refrains: The song of cat is best for maids. {17}
IX
The night is frosty, skies are clear, Of all the heaven’s bodies light
All flows in a single gear...
Tatyana to the yard, such wide,
In open light dress comes out, At moon her mirror’s aiming down,
But darkish mirror can reflect The trembling moon alone yet...