'Why did you leave last night so early?'
Was all that Olga, smiling, said.
P
oor Lensky's muddled mind was swirling,
And silently he hung his head.
All jealousy and rage departed
Before that gaze so openhearted,
Before that soft and simple trust,
Before that soul so bright and just!
With misty eyes he looks on sweetly
And sees the truth:
Tormented now by deep regret,
He craves her pardon so completely,
He trembles, hunts for words in vain:
He's happy now, he's almost sane. . . .
(15-16) 17
Once more in solemn, rapt attention
Before his darling Olga's face,
Vladimir hasn't heart to mention
The night before and what took place;
'It's up to me,' he thought, 'to save her.
I'll never let that foul depraver
Corrupt her youthful heart with lies,
With fiery praise . . . and heated sighs;
Nor see that noxious worm devour
My lovely lily, stalk and blade;
Nor watch this two-day blossom fade
When it has yet to fully flower.'
All this, dear readers, meant in fine:
I'm duelling with a friend of mine.
18
Had Lensky known the deep emotion
That seared my Tanya's wounded heart!
Or had Tatyana had some notion
Of how these two had grown apart,
Or that by morn they'd be debating,
For which of them the grave lay waiting!
Ah, then, perhaps, the love she bore
Might well have made them friends once more!
But no one knew her inclination
Or chanced upon the sad affair.
Eugene had kept his silent air;
Tatyana pined in isolation;
And only nanny might have guessed,
But her old wits were slow at best.
19
All evening Lensky was abstracted,
Remote one moment, gay the next;
But those on whom the Muse has acted
