No More Learning

He deemed his coming would inspire
Olga with trepidation dire.
He was deceived. Just as before
The miserable bard to meet,
As hope uncertain and as sweet,
Olga ran skipping from the door.
She was as heedless and as gay--
Well! just as she was yesterday.

XIV

"Why did you leave last night so soon? "
Was the first question Olga made,
Lenski, into confusion thrown,
All silently hung down his head.
Jealousy and vexation took
To flight before her radiant look,
Before such fond simplicity
And mental elasticity.
He eyed her with a fond concern,
Perceived that he was still beloved,
Already by repentance moved
To ask forgiveness seemed to yearn;
But trembles, words he cannot find,
Delighted, almost sane in mind.

XV

But once more pensive and distressed
Beside his Olga doth he grieve,
Nor enough strength of mind possessed
To mention the foregoing eve,
He mused: "I will her saviour be!
With ardent sighs and flattery
The vile seducer shall not dare
The freshness of her heart impair,
Nor shall the caterpillar come
The lily's stem to eat away,
Nor shall the bud of yesterday
Perish when half disclosed its bloom! "--
All this, my friends, translate aright:
"I with my friend intend to fight! "

XVI

If he had only known the wound
Which rankled in Tattiana's breast,
And if Tattiana mine had found--
If the poor maiden could have guessed
That the two friends with morning's light
Above the yawning grave would fight,--
Ah! it may be, affection true
Had reconciled the pair anew!
But of this love, e'en casually,
As yet none had discovered aught;
Eugene of course related nought,
Tattiana suffered secretly;
Her nurse, who could have made a guess,
Was famous for thick-headedness.
XVII

Lenski that eve in thought immersed,
Now gloomy seemed and cheerful now,
But he who by the Muse was nursed
Is ever thus. With frowning brow
To the pianoforte he moves
And various chords upon it proves,
Then, eyeing Olga, whispers low:
"I'm happy, say, is it not so? "--
But it grew late; he must not stay;
Heavy his heart with anguish grew;
To the young girl he said adieu,
As it were, tore himself away.
Gazing into his face, she said:
"What ails thee? "--"Nothing. "--He is fled.

XVIII

At home arriving he addressed
His care unto his pistols' plight,
Replaced them in their box, undressed
And Schiller read by candlelight.
But one thought only filled his mind,
His mournful heart no peace could find,
Olga he sees before his eyes
Miraculously fair arise,
Vladimir closes up his book,
And grasps a pen: his verse, albeit
With lovers' rubbish filled, was neat
And flowed harmoniously. He took
And spouted it with lyric fire--
Like D[elvig] when dinner doth inspire.

XIX

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?