"What ails thee?"—"Nothing."—He is fled.

XVIII

At home arriving he addressed

His care unto his pistols' plight,

Replaced them in their box, undressed

And Schiller read by candlelight.

But one thought only filled his mind,

His mournful heart no peace could find,

Olga he sees before his eyes

Miraculously fair arise,

Vladimir closes up his book,

And grasps a pen: his verse, albeit

With lovers' rubbish filled, was neat

And flowed harmoniously. He took

And spouted it with lyric fire—

Like D[elvig] when dinner doth inspire.

XIX

Destiny hath preserved his lay.

I have it. Lo! the very thing!

"Oh! whither have ye winged your way,

Ye golden days of my young spring?

What will the coming dawn reveal?

In vain my anxious eyes appeal;

In mist profound all yet is hid.

So be it! Just the laws which bid

The fatal bullet penetrate,

Or innocently past me fly.

Good governs all! The hour draws nigh

Of life or death predestinate.

Blest be the labours of the light,

And blest the shadows of the night.

XX

"To-morrow's dawn will glimmer gray,

Bright day will then begin to burn,

But the dark sepulchre I may

Have entered never to return.

The memory of the bard, a dream,

Will be absorbed by Lethe's stream;

Men will forget me, but my urn

To visit, lovely maid, return,

O'er my remains to drop a tear,

And think: here lies who loved me well,

For consecrate to me he fell

In the dawn of existence drear.

Maid whom my heart desires alone,

Approach, approach; I am thine own."

XXI

Thus in a style obscure and stale,(64)

He wrote ('tis the romantic style,

Though of romance therein I fail

To see aught—never mind meanwhile)

And about dawn upon his breast

His weary head declined at rest,

For o'er a word to fashion known,

"Ideal," he had drowsy grown.

But scarce had sleep's soft witchery

Subdued him, when his neighbour stept

Into the chamber where he slept

And wakened him with the loud cry:

"'Tis time to get up! Seven doth strike.

Oneguine waits on us, 'tis like."

[Note 64: The fact of the above words being italicised suggests the idea that the poet is here firing a Parthian shot at some unfriendly critic.]

XXII

He was in error; for Eugene

Was sleeping then a sleep like death;

The pall of night was growing thin,

To Lucifer the cock must breathe

His song, when still he slumbered deep,

The sun had mounted high his steep,

A passing snowstorm wreathed away

With pallid light, but Eugene lay

Upon his couch insensibly;

Slumber still o'er him lingering flies.

But finally he oped his eyes

And turned aside the drapery;

He gazed upon the clock which showed

He long should have been on the road.

XXIII

He rings in haste; in haste arrives

His Frenchman, good Monsieur Guillot,

Who dressing-gown and slippers gives

And linen on him doth bestow.

Dressing as quickly as he can,

Eugene directs the trusty man

To accompany him and to escort

A box of terrible import.

Harnessed the rapid sledge arrived:

He enters: to the mill he drives:

Descends, the order Guillot gives,

The fatal tubes Lepage contrived(65)

To bring behind: the triple steeds

To two young oaks the coachman leads.

[Note 65: Lepage—a celebrated gunmaker of former days.]

XXIV

Lenski the foeman's apparition

Leaning against the dam expects,

Zaretski, village mechanician,

In the meantime the mill inspects.

Oneguine his excuses says;

"But," cried Zaretski in amaze,

"Your second you have left behind!"

A duellist of classic mind,

Method was dear unto his heart

He would not that a man ye slay

In a lax or informal way,

But followed the strict rules of art,

And ancient usages observed

(For which our praise he hath deserved).

XXV