May yet not drown in Lethe's sea;
Perhaps (a flattering hope's illusion!)
Some future dunce with warm effusion
Will point my portrait out and plead:
'This was a poet, yes indeed!'
Accept my thanks and admiration,
You lover of the Muse's art, #62038;
you whose mind shall know by heart
The fleeting works of my creation,
Whose cordial hand shall then be led
To pat the old man's laurelled head!
Chapter 3
Elle tait fille, elle tait amoureuse.*
Malfiltre
1
'Ah me, these poets . . . such a hurry!'
'Goodbye, Onegin . . . time I went.'
'Well, I won't keep you, have no worry,
But where are all your evenings spent?'
'The Larin place.''What reckless daring!
Good God, man, don't you find it wearing
Just killing time that way each night?'
'Why not at all.''Well, serves you right;
I've got the scene in mind so clearly:
For starters (tell me if I'm wrong),
A simple Russian family throng;
The guests all treated so sincerely;
With lots of jam and talk to spare.
On rain and flax and cattle care. . . .'
2
'Well, where's the harm ... the evening passes.'
'The boredom, brother, there's the harm.'
'Well, I despise your upper classes
And
It's where I find . . .''More pastoral singing!
Enough, old boy, my ears are ringing!
And so you're off. . . forgive me then.
But tell me Lensky, how and when
I'll see this Phyllis so provoking
Who haunts your thoughts and writer's quill,
Your tears and rhymes and what-you-will?
Present me, do.''You must be joking!'
'I'm not.''Well then, why not tonight?
They'll welcome us with great delight.'
3
'Let's go.'
And so the friends departed
And on arrival duly meet
That sometimes heavy, but good-hearted,
Old-fashioned Russian welcome treat.
