' 'Just half a glass, old boy, be sparing. . .
The family's well, I think I'd say;
They send you greetings and affection. . . .
Oh, God, my friend, what sheer perfection
In Olga's breast! What shoulders too!
And what a soul! . . . Come visit, do!
You ought to, really . . . they'll be flattered;
Or judge yourself how it must look
You dropped in twice and closed the book;
Since then, it seems, they've hardly mattered.
In fact. . . Good Lord, my wits are bleak!
You've been invited there next week!'
49
'Tatyana's name-day celebration
Is Saturday. Her mother's sent
(And Olga too!) an invitation;
Now don't refuse, it's time you went.'
'There'll be a crush and lots of babble
And all that crowd of local rabble.'
'Why not at all, they just intend
To have the family, that's all, friend;
Come on, let's go, do
'Alright, I'll go.' 'Well done, first class!'
And with these words he drained his glass
In toast to his attractive neighbour . . .
And then waxed voluble once more
In talk of Olga. Love's a bore!
50
So Lensky soared as he awaited
His wedding day two weeks ahead;
With joy his heart anticipated
The mysteries of the marriage bed
And love's sweet crown of jubilations.
But Hymen's cares and tribulations,
The frigid, yawning days to be,
He never pictured once, not he.
While we, the foes of Hymen's banner,
Perceive full well that home life means
But one long string of dreary scenes
In Lafontaine's* insipid manner.
But my poor Lensky, deep at heart,
Was born to play this very part.
51
Yes, he was loved .. . beyond deceiving . . .
Or so at least with joy he thought.
Oh, blest is he who lives believing,
Who takes cold intellect for naught,
Who rests within the heart's sweet places
As does a drunk in sleep's embraces,
