Having abjured the haunts of men, Like him renouncing vanity, His friendship I acquired just then; His character attracted me. An innate love of meditation, Original imagination, And cool sagacious mind he had: I was incensed and he was sad. Both were of passion satiate And both of dull existence tired, Extinct the flame which once had fired; Both were expectant of the hate With which blind Fortune oft betrays The very morning of our days. XL He who hath lived and living, thinks, Must e’en despise his kind at last; He who hath suffered ofttimes shrinks From shades of the relentless past. No fond illusions live to soothe, But memory like a serpent’s tooth With late repentance gnaws and stings. All this in many cases brings A charm with it in conversation. Onéguine’s speeches I abhorred At first, but soon became inured To the sarcastic observation, To witticisms and taunts half-vicious And gloomy epigrams malicious. XLI How oft, when on a summer night Transparent o’er the Neva beamed The firmament in mellow light, And when the watery mirror gleamed No more with pale Diana’s rays,(17) We called to mind our youthful days— The days of love and of romance! Then would we muse as in a trance, Impressionable for an hour, And breathe the balmy breath of night; And like the prisoner’s our delight Who for the greenwood quits his tower, As on the rapid wings of thought The early days of life we sought. [Note 17: The midsummer nights in the latitude of St. Petersburg are a prolonged twilight.] XLII Absorbed in melancholy mood And o’er the granite coping bent, Onéguine meditative stood, E’en as the poet says he leant.(18) ’Tis silent all! Alone the cries Of the night sentinels arise And from the Millionaya afar(19) The sudden rattling of a car. Lo! on the sleeping river borne, A boat with splashing oar floats by, And now we hear delightedly A jolly song and distant horn; But sweeter in a midnight dream Torquato Tasso’s strains I deem. [Note 18: Refers to Mouravieff’s “Goddess of the Neva.” At St. Petersburg the banks of the Neva are lined throughout with splendid granite quays.] [Note 19: A street running parallel to the Neva, and leading from the Winter Palace to the Summer Palace and Garden.] XLIII Ye billows of blue Hadria’s sea, O Brenta, once more we shall meet And, inspiration firing me, Your magic voices I shall greet, Whose tones Apollo’s sons inspire, And after Albion’s proud lyre (20) Possess my love and sympathy. The nights of golden Italy I’ll pass beneath the firmament, Hid in the gondola’s dark shade, Alone with my Venetian maid, Now talkative, now reticent; From her my lips shall learn the tongue Of love which whilom Petrarch sung.