The days were speeding; heated air Could mean: the spring is coining fine;
He couldn’t be a bard for ever, He didn’t go mad or die,
The spring enlightened him, and now From dosed chambers he gets out,
In which for winter had a place. Storm windows, the fire-place
At clear morning he is leaving, In sledge along the river flies.
On blue, with slashes covered, ice The sun is gay; the snow’s filthy
In heaps, forgotten in the streets.
But where now through them speeds
XL
My dashing Eugene?
You are guessing To know; you are quite exact:
At Tanya tries to be impressing My unreclaimed yet now crank.
Comes in, of dead has strong resemblance.
None soul’s seen in rooms at entrance...
For her he’s looking on... for nought...
He opened a door."
And what.
Surprises deeply all his reeling?
Princess, undone yet before him
Alone’s sitting, pale and thin, She is some letter now reading,
And sheds of tears stilly stream, Her cheek on hand she has to lean.
XLI
Ah, who would not her silent feelings At this quick moment have read!
And who that poor Tanya previous In this princess could not have met!
In languish of unwitting pities Onegin quickly at her feel is...
She has been shuddered, but is mute, She eyes Onegin as some good,
She’s not astonished, hasn’t anger...
His morbid and quite dying look,
A mute reproach, begging looks, - All that she grasps.
A simple maiden
With dreams and heart of old days In her this time again could raise.
XLII
To get him up she isn’t asking, Not taking eyes off all his head
Does not remove from lips his gasping Her quite insensible small hand...
About what she’s now dreaming?
Too long the silence’s now seeming...
And stilly does she say at last:
‘Enough, get up, I now must
Explain to you, do it frankly.
You must remember that day time,
When in the garden’s alley fine The fate us brought together; sadly
To lesson yours attended I, To-day, you see, the turn is mine.
XLIII
‘Onegin, then I was much younger And, seems to me, much more was fine,
I loved you, I for love had hunger, But what in all your heart could find?
Severity instead of kindness; Indeed, for you was neither tidings
Of humble girl some secret love?
But now - God! - is cooling blood
As soon as I recall your stare And that your homily...
But I