Destiny hath preserved his lay. I have it. Lo! the very thing! “Oh! whither have ye winged your way, Ye golden days of my young spring? What will the coming dawn reveal? In vain my anxious eyes appeal; In mist profound all yet is hid. So be it! Just the laws which bid The fatal bullet penetrate, Or innocently past me fly. Good governs all! The hour draws nigh Of life or death predestinate. Blest be the labours of the light, And blest the shadows of the night. XX “To-morrow’s dawn will glimmer gray, Bright day will then begin to burn, But the dark sepulchre I may Have entered never to return. The memory of the bard, a dream, Will be absorbed by Lethe’s stream; Men will forget me, but my urn To visit, lovely maid, return, O’er my remains to drop a tear, And think: here lies who loved me well, For consecrate to me he fell In the dawn of existence drear. Maid whom my heart desires alone, Approach, approach; I am thine own.” XXI Thus in a style _obscure_ and _stale_,(64) He wrote (’tis the romantic style, Though of romance therein I fail To see aught—never mind meanwhile) And about dawn upon his breast His weary head declined at rest, For o’er a word to fashion known, “Ideal,” he had drowsy grown. But scarce had sleep’s soft witchery Subdued him, when his neighbour stept Into the chamber where he slept And wakened him with the loud cry: “’Tis time to get up! Seven doth strike. Onéguine waits on us, ’tis like.” [Note 64: The fact of the above words being italicised suggests the idea that the poet is here firing a Parthian shot at some unfriendly critic.] XXII He was in error; for Eugene Was sleeping then a sleep like death; The pall of night was growing thin, To Lucifer the cock must breathe His song, when still he slumbered deep, The sun had mounted high his steep, A passing snowstorm wreathed away With pallid light, but Eugene lay Upon his couch insensibly; Slumber still o’er him lingering flies. But finally he oped his eyes And turned aside the drapery; He gazed upon the clock which showed He long should have been on the road. XXIII He rings in haste; in haste arrives His Frenchman, good Monsieur Guillot, Who dressing-gown and slippers gives And linen on him doth bestow. Dressing as quickly as he can, Eugene directs the trusty man To accompany him and to escort A box of terrible import. Harnessed the rapid sledge arrived: He enters: to the mill he drives: Descends, the order Guillot gives, The fatal tubes Lepage contrived(65) To bring behind: the triple steeds To two young oaks the coachman leads. [Note 65: Lepage—a celebrated gunmaker of former days.] XXIV