Alas! Tattiana fades away, Grows pale and sinks, but nothing says; Listless is she the livelong day Nor interest in aught betrays. Shaking with serious air the head, In whispers low the neighbours said: ’Tis time she to the altar went! But enough! Now, ’tis my intent The imagination to enliven With love which happiness extends; Against my inclination, friends, By sympathy I have been driven. Forgive me! Such the love I bear My heroine, Tattiana dear. XIX Vladimir, hourly more a slave To youthful Olga’s beauty bright, Into delicious bondage gave His ardent soul with full delight. Always together, eventide Found them in darkness side by side, At morn, hand clasped in hand, they rove Around the meadow and the grove. And what resulted? Drunk with love, But with confused and bashful air, Lenski at intervals would dare, If Olga smilingly approve, Dally with a dishevelled tress Or kiss the border of her dress. XX To Olga frequently he would Some nice instructive novel read, Whose author nature understood Better than Chateaubriand did Yet sometimes pages two or three (Nonsense and pure absurdity, For maiden’s hearing deemed unfit), He somewhat blushing would omit: Far from the rest the pair would creep And (elbows on the table) they A game of chess would often play, Buried in meditation deep, Till absently Vladimir took With his own pawn alas! his rook! XXI Homeward returning, he at home Is occupied with Olga fair, An album, fly-leaf of the tome, He leisurely adorns for her. Landscapes thereon he would design, A tombstone, Aphrodite’s shrine, Or, with a pen and colours fit, 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 à vous, Annette;_ And on the last one, underlined: _Who in thy love finds more delight Beyond this may attempt to write_. XXIII