Евгений Онегин / Eugene Onegin. Александр Пушкин

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Tattiana! sweet Tattiana, see!

      What bitter tears with thee I shed!

      Thou hast resigned thy destiny

      Unto a ruthless tyrant dread.

      Thou’lt suffer, dearest, but before,

      Hope with her fascinating power

      To dire contentment shall give birth

      And thou shalt taste the joys of earth.

      Thou’lt quaff love’s sweet envenomed stream,

      Fantastic images shall swarm

      In thy imagination warm,

      Of happy meetings thou shalt dream,

      And wheresoe’er thy footsteps err,

      Confront thy fated torturer!

      Love’s pangs Tattiana agonize.

      She seeks the garden in her need —

      Sudden she stops, casts down her eyes

      And cares not farther to proceed;

      Her bosom heaves whilst crimson hues

      With sudden flush her cheeks suffuse,

      Barely to draw her breath she seems,

      Her eye with fire unwonted gleams.

      And now ’tis night, the guardian moon

      Sails her allotted course on high,

      And from the misty woodland nigh

      The nightingale trills forth her tune;

      Restless Tattiana sleepless lay

      And thus unto her nurse did say:

      “Nurse, ’tis so close I cannot rest.

      Open the window – sit by me.”

      “What ails thee, dear?” – “I feel depressed.

      Relate some ancient history.”

      “But which, my dear? – In days of yore

      Within my memory I bore

      Many an ancient legend which

      In monsters and fair dames was rich;

      But now my mind is desolate,

      What once I knew is clean forgot —

      Alas! how wretched now my lot!”

      “But tell me, nurse, can you relate

      The days which to your youth belong?

      Were you in love when you were young?” —

      “Alack! Tattiana,” she replied,

      “We never loved in days of old,

      My mother-in-law who lately died[31]

      Had killed me had the like been told.”

      “How came you then to wed a man?” —

      “Why, as God ordered! My Ivan

      Was younger than myself, my light,

      For I myself was thirteen quite;[32]

      The matchmaker a fortnight sped,

      Her suit before my parents pressing:

      At last my father gave his blessing,

      And bitter tears of fright I shed.

      Weeping they loosed my tresses long[33]

      And led me off to church with song.”

      “Then amongst strangers I was left —

      But I perceive thou dost not heed – ”

      “Alas! dear nurse, my heart is cleft,

      Mortally sick I am indeed.

      Behold, my sobs I scarce restrain – ”

      “My darling child, thou art in pain. —

      The Lord deliver her and save!

      Tell me at once what wilt thou have?

      I’ll sprinkle thee with holy water. —

      How thy hands burn!” – “Dear nurse, I’m well.

      I am – in love – you know – don’t tell!”

      “The Lord be with thee, O my daughter!” —

      And the old nurse a brief prayer said

      And crossed with trembling hand the maid.

      “I am in love,” her whispers tell

      The aged woman in her woe:

      “My heart’s delight, thou art not well.” —