My image hath not disappeared,

Know that your sarcasm ill-suppressed,

Your conversation cold and hard,

If the choice in my power were,

To lawless love I should prefer—

And to these letters and these tears.

For visions of my childish years

Then ye were barely generous,

Age immature averse to cheat—

But now—what brings you to my feet?—

How mean, how pusillanimous!

A prudent man like you and brave

To shallow sentiment a slave!

XLV

'Oneguine, all this sumptuousness,

The gilding of life's vanities,

In the world's vortex my success,

My splendid house and gaieties—

What are they? Gladly would I yield

This life in masquerade concealed,

This glitter, riot, emptiness,

For my wild garden and bookcase,—

Yes! for our unpretending home,

Oneguine—the beloved place

Where the first time I saw your face,—

Or for the solitary tomb

Wherein my poor old nurse doth lie

Beneath a cross and shrubbery.

XLVI

''Twas possible then, happiness—

Nay, near—but destiny decreed—

My lot is fixed—with thoughtlessness

It may be that I did proceed—

With bitter tears my mother prayed,

And for Tattiana, mournful maid,

Indifferent was her future fate.

I married—now, I supplicate—

For ever your Tattiana leave.

Your heart possesses, I know well,

Honour and pride inflexible.

I love you—to what end deceive?—

But I am now another's bride—

For ever faithful will abide.'

XLVII

She rose—departed. But Eugene

Stood as if struck by lightning fire.

What a storm of emotions keen

Raged round him and of balked desire!

And hark! the clank of spurs is heard

And Tania's husband soon appeared.—

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