Detesting a coquette so cruel, Still seething, Lensky sought to shun A rendezvous before the duel, He kept consulting watch and sun.

The wish to meet, though, was compelling, Soon Lensky's at the sisters' dwelling.

Olga, he thought, would be upset And agitated when they met; But not a bit of it: on spying The desolate bard, as in the past She skipped down from the porch as fast As giddy hope, towards him flying, Light-hearted, free of care, serene a In fact, as she had always been.

14.

'Last night, why did you leave so early?'

Was what his Olen'ka first said.

His senses clouded, and he merely, Without replying, hung his head.

Vexation, jealousy were banished, Before her shining look they vanished, Before her soft simplicity, Before her soul's vivacity!

He gazes with sweet feeling, heartened To see that he's still loved; and longs Already, burdened by his wrongs, To ask her whether he'll be pardoned, He trembles, can't think what to say, He's happy, almost well today...

[15, 16]13.

17.

Pensive again, again dejected, Vladimir, under Olga's sway, Is not sufficiently collected To speak to her of yesterday; 'I,' he reflects, 'will be her saviour.

I shall not suffer that depraver To tempt a maiden's innocence With fiery sighs and compliments; Nor let a worm with venom slither A lily's stalklet to enfold, Nor see a flower two days old, Half-opened still, condemned to wither.'

All this, friends, signified: I shall Soon fire a bullet at my pal.

18.

If he had known what wound was burning My dear Tatiana's heart! If she Had been aware, in some way learning, If she'd been able to foresee That Lensky, Eugene would be vying To find a grave for one to lie in; Who knows, her love perhaps might then Have reconciled the friends again!

But no one had as yet discovered, Even by chance, their angry feud.

On everything Eugene was mute, Tatiana quietly pined and suffered; The nurse might just have known of it, But she, alas, was slow of wit.

19.

All evening Lensky was abstracted, Now taciturn, now gay. Somehow, A person by the Muse protected, Is always thus: with knitted brow, To the clavier he'd wander, playing A string of chords, no more a.s.saying, Or whisper, seeing Olga near, 'I'm happy, am I not, my dear?'

But it was late, his heart was aching, He must depart, yet as he bade Goodbye to her, his youthful maid, His heart was on the point of breaking.

She looks at him: 'What is it?' 'Oh, It's nothing, Olga, I must go.'

20.

Arriving home, he first inspected His pistols, ready for the fight, Put them away, undressed, reflected On Schiller's verse by candlelight.

But by one thought he's overtaken, His melancholy does not slacken: He sees before him Olga full Of beauty inexplicable.

Vladimir closes Schiller's verses, Takes up his pen and writes his own a Nonsense to which a lover's p.r.o.ne; It sings and flows. And he rehea.r.s.es His lines aloud, by fervour seized, Like drunken Delvig14 at a feast.

21.

By chance his verse can still be read now, I have it, ready for your gaze:15 'Whither, ah whither are you fled now, My springtime's ever-golden days?

What is the coming day's decision?

Alas, it lies beyond my vision, Enshrouded in the deepest night.

No matter, fate's decree is right.

Whether I'm pierced by an arrow Or whether it should miss a all's well: A predetermined hour will tell If we're to wake or sleep tomorrow: Blest are the cares that day contrives, Blest is the darkness that arrives!

22.

'When daybreak comes with rays ascending And sparkling day dispels the gloom, Then I, perhaps a I'll be descending Into the mystery of the tomb, Slow Lethe will engulf for ever My young poetical endeavour; I'll be forgot, but you'll return To weep on my untimely urn, And, maid of beauty, in your sorrow, You will reflect: he loved me, sworn To me alone in his sad dawn, Bereft now of its stormy morrow!...

Come, heartfelt friend, come, longed-for friend, I'll be your husband to the end.'

23.

And so he wrote obscurely, limply (Romantic16 is the term we've coined, Though what's Romantic here I simply Have no idea; and what's the point?), And finally, as night was ending, His head towards his shoulder bending, Vladimir dozed, while lingering still Upon the modish word ideal; But scarcely lost in sleep's enchantment, He does not hear his neighbour, who Enters the silent study to Awaken him with a commandment: 'Time to get up, past six, we're late, Onegin will not want to wait.'

24.

But he was wrong: Eugene unheeding Still sleeps a sleep that nought can mar.

Night's shades already are receding, The c.o.c.k salutes the morning star, Onegin sleeps on at his leisure, The sun climbs high into the azure, A pa.s.sing snowstorm overhead Glitters and whirls. But from his bed Our dormant hero has not started, Sleep hovers still before his eyes.

At last he wakes, prepares to rise, The curtains of his bed he's parted; He looks outside a and sees, alack, He should have started some time back.

25.

He rings: his valet, French and chipper, Reaches his chamber in a flash, Guillot brings dressing-gown and slipper, And hands him linen with panache.

Onegin hurries with his dressing, Informs his man that time is pressing, That he must take the duelling-case, That they must leave, that they must race.

The sleigh is ready; Eugene, seated, Flies to the mill, the horses strain.

He tells his valet to retain Lepage's fatal tubes17 till needed, And have the horses moved to where Two oaklings stand, and leave them there.

26.

Leaning upon the dam stood Lensky Who'd waited there impatiently, While rural engineer Zaretsky Surveyed the millstone critically.

Eugene arrives and makes excuses.

'That's very well, but where the deuce is Your second, then?' Zaretsky cried.

In duels he took a pedant's pride, Methodical by intuition: To stretch out someone on the ground Any old how was quite unsound, One must obey a strict tradition And follow rules of ancient days (For which we should accord him praise).

27.