But what about Onegin? By the way,
brothers! I beg your patience:
his daily occupations in detail
4 I shall describe to you.
Onegin anchoretically lived;
he rose in summer between six and seven
and, lightly clad, proceeded to the river
8 that ran under the hillside. Imitating
the songster of Gulnare,
across this Hellespont he swam,
then drank his coffee, while he flipped
12 through some wretched review,
and dressed
XXXIX
Rambles, and reading, and sound sleep,
the sylvan shade, the purl of streams,
sometimes a white-skinned, dark-eyed girl's
4 young and fresh kiss,
a horse of mettle, bridle-true,
a rather fancy dinner,
a bottle of bright wine,
8 seclusion, quiet —
this was Onegin's saintly life;
and he insensibly to it
surrendered, the fair summer days
12 in carefree mollitude not counting,
oblivious of both town and friends
and of the boredom of festive devices.
XL
But our Northern summer is a caricature
of Southern winters;
it will glance by and vanish: this is known,
4 though to admit it we don't wish.
The sky already breathed of autumn,
the sun already shone more seldom,
the day was growing shorter,
8 the woods' mysterious canopy
with a sad murmur bared itself,
mist settled on the fields,
the caravan of clamorous geese
12 was tending southward; there drew near
a rather tedious period;
November stood already at the door.
XLI
Dawn rises in cold murk;
stilled in the grainfields is the noise of labors;
with his hungry female, the wolf
4 comes out upon the road;
the road horse, sensing him,
snorts, and the wary traveler
goes tearing uphill at top speed;
8 no longer does the herdsman drive at sunrise
the cows out of the shippon,
and at the hour of midday in a circle
his horn does not call them together;
12 in her small hut singing, the maiden23 spins and, the friend of winter nights,
in front of her the splintlight crackles.
XLII
And now the frosts already crackle
and silver 'mid the fields
(the reader now expects the rhyme “froze-rose” —
4 here, take it quick!).
Neater than modish parquetry,
the ice-clad river shines.
The gladsome crew of boys248 cut with their skates resoundingly the ice;
a heavy goose with red feet, planning
to swim upon the bosom of the waters,
steps carefully upon the ice,
12 slidders, and falls. The gay
first snow flicks, whirls,
falling in stars upon the bank.
XLIII
What can one do at this time in the wilds?
Walk? But the country at that time
is an involuntary eyesore
4 in its unbroken nakedness.
Go galloping in the harsh prairie?
But, catching with a blunted shoe
the treacherous ice, one's mount
8 is likely any moment to come down.
Stay under your desolate roof,
read; here is Pradt, here's Walter Scott!
Don't want to? Verify expenses,
12 grumble or drink, and the long evening
somehow will pass; and next day the same thing,
and famously you'll spend the winter.
XLIV
Onegin like a regular Childe Harold
lapsed into pensive indolence:
right after sleep he takes a bath with ice,
4 and then, at home all day,
alone, absorbed in calculations, armed
with a blunt cue,
using two balls,
8 ever since morn plays billiards.
The country evening comes; abandoned
are billiards, the cue is forgot.
Before the fireplace the table is laid;
12 Eugene waits; here comes Lenski,
borne by a troika of roan horses;
quick, let's have dinner!