Eugene Onegin. A Romance of Russian Life in Verse

A dove which on a lyre doth sit;

The 'in memoriam' pages sought,

Where many another hand had signed

A tender couplet he combined,

A register of fleeting thought,

A flimsy trace of musings past

Which might for many ages last.

XXII

Surely ye all have overhauled

A country damsel's album trim,

Which all her darling friends have scrawled

From first to last page to the rim.

Behold! orthography despising,

Metreless verses recognizing

By friendship how they were abused,

Hewn, hacked, and otherwise ill-used.

Upon the opening page ye find:

Qu'ecrirer-vouz sur ces tablettes?

Subscribed, toujours a vous, Annette;

And on the last one, underlined:

Who in thy love finds more delight

Beyond this may attempt to write.

XXIII

Infallibly you there will find

Two hearts, a torch, of flowers a wreath,

And vows will probably be signed:

Affectionately yours till death.

Some army poet therein may

Have smuggled his flagitious lay.

In such an album with delight

I would, my friends, inscriptions write,

Because I should be sure, meanwhile,

My verses, kindly meant, would earn

Delighted glances in return;

That afterwards with evil smile

They would not solemnly debate

If cleverly or not I prate.

XXIV

But, O ye tomes without compare,

Which from the devil's bookcase start,

Albums magnificent which scare

The fashionable rhymester's heart!

Yea! although rendered beauteous

By Tolstoy's pencil marvellous,

Though Baratynski verses penned,(45)

The thunderbolt on you descend!

Whene'er a brilliant courtly dame

Presents her quarto amiably,

Despair and anger seize on me,