The square filled with a seething throng
Of townsfolk, toward the palace pressing.
A house of grief, it opes its doors
To all, and there the crowd now pours
To see the youthful princess sleeping
On a raised couch clothed in brocade,
The knights and princes o’er the maid
With sombre faces vigil keeping.
Horns, tympans, gusli, tambourines
And trumpets sound. The Prince, grief- worn,
His grey head ‘gainst his child’s feet leans
With silent tears. Beside him, torn
By mute remorse, dismay, self-pity,
Farlaf stands trembling, white of face,
His brashness gone without a trace.
Soon darkness fell, but in- the city
None closed an eye, and all throughout
The night discussed, grouped near their houses,
How it could all have come about,
Some husbands lingering without
And quite forgetting their young spouses,
But when the twin-horned moon on high
Met dawn, its bright rays slowly paling,
There rose throughout a hue and cry,
A din, a clang of arms, a wailing.
A new alarm! And, shaken, all
Come scrambling up the city wall.
A mist the river cloaks. Beyond it
They see white tents, the glint of shields,
Dust raised by horsemen in the field
And moving carts: they are surrounded;
Up on the hilltops campfires flame...
To such scenes Kiev is no stranger;
It’s clear the city is in danger,
The Pechenegs attack again!
While this went on, the Finn, a seer
And ruler of the spirits, waited,
Withdrawn from all the world, to hear
Of happenings anticipated,
Foreseen by him.... Calm, tranquil he:
What is ordained is bound to be.
Deep in the steppe, sun-parched and soundless,
Beyond a chain of hills, the boundless
Realm of wild gales and windstorms, where
The aweless witch will scarcely dare
To walk with the approach of evening,
A vale lies hid that boasts two springs:
One leaps o’er stones and plays and sings,
For it is rich in water living,
The other o’er the valley bed
Flows sluggishly, its waters dead.
All’s silence here, no breezes blowing
That coolness bring; no busy bird
To chatter or to sing is heard;
No age-old pines on sand dunes growing
Are seen to stir; no fawn,, no deer
Drinks of these waters. It is here
On guard two spirits have been standing
Since Time began, the fear commanding
Of all. Before them now the Finn
Appears, two jugs, both empty, bearing;
Their trance is broken, and from him
They flee, to other parts repairing.
He fills the vessels with the pure,
Sweet water ‘fore him softly streaming,
And then is off, to vanish seeming
Into thin air. A second or
Two seconds pass, and in the vale
Where, motionless and deathly pale,
Ruslan lies, he now stands. First he
Dead water o’er the knight sprays, causing
The gaping wounds to heal and rosy
The grey lips turning suddenly;
With living water then he sprays
The comely but still lifeless face —
And death is vanquished, gone its rigor;
Ruslan, full of fresh strength and vigour,
Stands up; life courses in his veins,
The past a ghastly dream remains
Behind him, dim.... O’erjoyed, he faces
The rising day that ‘fore him blazes.
But he’s alone.... Where’s his young bride?..
Of fear a tremor passes through him;
Then his heart leaps, for at his side
He sees the Finn who now says to him:
“It’s as Fate wills. Bliss is in store
For you, my son, but not before
A bloody feast you’ll have attended
And with your sword put down the foe.
You’ll see your bride and gladness know,
Once peace on Kiev has descended.
Here is a ring for you. Her brow
Touch wdth it, and from sleep she’ll waken.
The very sight of you, I vow,
Will leave your foes confused and shaken
And put the lot of them to flight.
Then will maliciousness and spite,
My friend, and all things evil perish.
Be worthy of your love and cherish
Your bride, Ruslan.... And now goodbye...
Beyond the grave will you and I
Meet, not before.” With this he vanished,
And Prince Ruslan, all his fears banished,
O’erjoyed to be to life restored,
Stands with his arms stretched out toward
His friend.... Alas! The grassy lea is
Deserted quite save for the bay
(The dwarfs still in the bag) who whinnies
And rears and shakes his mane. Away
The prince now makes to go, and, springing
Into the saddle, grips the reins.
He’s hale and sound. Across the plains
And woods we see him boldly winging.
And what of Kiev, by the foe
Beleaguered?... There, filled with suspense,
High on its walls and battlements,
The townsfolk crowd. The fields below
Surveying fearfully, they wait
God’s smiting hand, the hand of fate.
Subdued laments come from the houses;
No sound the fear-hushed byways rouses.
Beside his child in earnest prayer
Vladimir kneels, plunged deep in sorrow.
His knights and noblemen and their
Great warrior-host for war prepare:
The bloodv fray’s set for the morrow! ‘
Dawn broke, and down the hills the foes
Poured, armed with swords and spears and bows;
They surged relentless, never slowing,
Wave upon wave across the plains
And toward the city walls came flowing.
The Kiev trumpets started blowing,
And out its men rushed, with the chains
Of the attackers boldly clashing.
The fray begins! In sudden fear,
As death they scent, steeds neigh and rear;
The riders, forward headlong dashing,
In battle meet, their steel swords flashing.
Sent forth in clouds, the arrows hum;
The fields turn red: with blood they run.
A man who’s lost his war-horse faces
A horseman: which of them will smite
The other first? In wild-eyed fright
Across the field a charger races.
Death. Cries for help and battle-calls.
A Pecheneg, a Russian falls.
One’s by an arrow pierced swift-flying;
Another’s maced, his groan unheard;
A foeman’s shield has crushed a third,
And. trampled on, he lies there, dying.
The fray went on till dark set in,
But neither warring side could win....
The slain in mounds lay; blood flowed freely;
Sleep claimed the living, all concealing
From their sight. Through the fearful night’s
Long hours the wounded moaned in pain,
And one could hear the Russian knights
To their God pray and speak His name.
But
paler turned the shade of morn,
And in the swiftly-flowing river
The rippling waves seemed made of silver:
Day, thickly cloaked in mist, was born.
The hills and forests slowly brightened;
The skies, by sun their blueness heightened,
Broke free of sleep.... Yet moveless still
The battlefield remained until
The hostile camp awoke abruptly,
A challenge followed the alarm,
And warfare once again erupting,
Old Kiev lost its short-lived calm.
All rush to watch the scene below
And see a knight in flaming mail
Through ranks of foemen blaze a trail,
See him descend on them and mow
Them boldly down-see his sword flash
And thrust and stab and cut and slash....
It was Ruslan. The dwarf behind him,
His horn triumphantly he blows
And like a thunderbolt the foes
Strikes down; where’er it is we find him
Borne bv his steed, the infidels
Row upon row he vengeful fells,
And awing the enthralled beholders,
With whistling sword parts heads from shoulders....
Where’er he passes, bodies strew
The battleground, crushed, headless, dying,
With spears and arrows near them lying
And heaps of armour. Then, anew
The trumpet’s battle call remorseless
Sounds, and behold!-the Slavic forces
To join Ruslan on horseback fly.
A fierce fray follows.... Pagan, die!
The Pechenegs, those savage raiders,
Round up their scattered horses and
In panic flee. The feared invaders
Of Russ. they can no more withstand
The Slavs’ attack; their wild yells carry
Over the dusty field; their hordes,
The fires of the inferno face....
Kiev exults.... And now our daring
Young prince-his horse he sits with grace-
On through its gate rides, proudly bearing
His sword of victory; his lance
Shines star-like, drawing every glance;
The blood is seen to trickle down
His heavy mail of bronze, he’s wearing
A helm whose top the whiskers crown
Of Chernomor. And all about him
There’s noise and gaiety and shouting.
The very air with his name rings....
Toward the Prince’s house on wings
Of hope he flies, and goes inside.
Here now’s the silent chamber where
Sleeps fair Ludmila; at her side
Her father stands, deep lines of care
Etched on his face. There’s no one near him,
No friend to comfort or to cheer him,
For they have all gone off to war....
Farlaf, alone the call of duty
Denying, at the chamber door
Kept vigil; in him deeply rooted
Was an aversion for things martial,
To calm and comfort he was partial,
And very much so. Seeing who
Was there before, him, he surrendered
To fear; his blood froze; speechless rendered,
On to his knees he fell.... He knew
That retribution was his due,
That he was doomed. Ruslan, however,
The magic ring just then recalled
And, faithful to his love as ever,
Her pale brow touched with it. Behold!-
She oped her eyes and sighed in wonder:
Night had been long, too long.... It seemed
That she was still entranced, still under
The spell of something she had dreamed.
And then her vision cleared-she knew him!
And fell into his arms, and to him
Clung lovingly. By joy made numb,
He saw naught, heard naught, his heart raced.
And Prince Vladimir, overcome,
Wept as his dear ones he embraced.
You will have guessed, and without fail,
How ends mv all too drawn-out tale.
Flown was Vladimir’s wrath ungrounded;
Farlaf confessed his guilt; Ruslan,
So happy was he, in him found it
All to forgive; the dwarf, undone,
His powers lost, was added to
Vladimir-Bright Sun’s retinue;
To mark an end to tribulation
A sumptuous feast of celebration
The Prince held in his chamber high,
By friends and family surrounded.
The ways and deeds of days gone by,
A narrative on legend founded.
EPILOGUE
Thus, the world’s mindless dweller, spending
Life’s precious hours in idle peace,
Its strings my lyre to me lending,
I sang the lore of bygone days.
I sang, the painful blows forgetting
Of fate that blindly o’er us rules,
The wiles of frivolous maids, the petty
And thoughtless jibes of prating fools.
My mind, on wings of fancy soaring,
To parts ethereal was borne,
While all unknown there gathered o’er me
The dark clouds of a mighty storm....
And I was lost.... But vou who always
Watched o’er me in my earlier years,
You, blessed friendship, giving solace
To one whose heart deep sorrow sears!-
You calmed the raging storm, and, heeding
M spirit’s call, brought peace to me;
You saved me-saved my treasured freedom,
Of fiery youth the deity!
Far from the social whirl, the Neva
Behind me left, forgotten even
By rumour, here am I where loom
Caucasian peaks in prideful gloom.
Atop high steeps, mid downward tumbling
Cascades and cataracts of stone,
I stand and drink it all in dumbly,
And revel, to reflection prone,
In nature’s dark and savage beauty;
To wounding thought my soul’s still wed,
Within it sadness lives, deep-rooted,
But the poetic fires are dead,
In vain I seek for inspiration:
Gone is the blithe and happy time
Of love, of merry dreams, of rhyme,
Of all that filled me with elation.
Sweet rapture’s span has not been long,
Flown from me has the Muse of song,
Of softly spoken incantation....
A PRESENTIMENT
A STUDY
A WINTER MORNING
A WISH
ANCIENT RUSSIAN SONG
CONSOLATION
DEATH-THOUGHTS
DESPAIR
DROWNED
ELEGY
ELEGY: HAPPY WHO TO HIMSELF CONFESS
ELEGY: HUSHED I SOON SHALL BE
ELEGY: THE EXTINGUISHED JOY OF CRAZY YEARS
FAME
FIRST LOVE
FRIENDSHIP
GOD GRANT, MY REASON NE’ER BETRAY ME
HOME-SICKNESS
HYMN TO FORCE
I HAVE OUTLIVED MY EVERY WISH
IN AN ALBUM
IN VAIN, DEAR FRIEND
INSANITY
INSPIRING LOVE
INVOCATION
JEALOUSY
LOVE
LOVE AND FREEDOM
LOVE’S DEBT
MON PORTRAIT
MY MONUMENT
MY MUSE
MY PEDIGREE
NOT AT ALL
POLTAVA. CANTO THE FIRST.
POLTAVA. CANTO THE
SECOND.
POLTAVA. CANTO THE THIRD.
QUESTIONINGS
RESIGNED LOVE
RIGHTS
RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FIFTH
RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FIRST
RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE FOURTH
RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE SECOND
RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE SIXTH
RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: CANTO THE THIRD
SIGNS
SING NOT, BEAUTY
SLEEPLESSNESS
SONNET: POET, NOT POPULAR APPLAUSE SHALT THOU PRIZE!
SORROW
SPANISH LOVE-SONG
TARTAR SONG.
THE ANGEL
THE AWAKING
THE BARD
THE BIRDLET
THE BLACK SHAWL
THE BRONZE HORSEMAN. CANTO THE FIRST.
THE BRONZE HORSEMAN. CANTO THE SECOND.
THE BRONZE HORSEMAN. PROLOGUE.
THE BURNT LETTER
THE CLOUD
THE DELIBASH
THE DREAMER
THE FLOWERET
THE FOUNTAIN OF BAKHCHISARAI
THE GIPSIES
THE GRACES
THE GRAVE OF A YOUTH
THE GYPSIES
THE HORSE
THE MERMAID
THE NIGHTINGALE
THE NOISY JOYS OF THOUGHTLESS YEARS ARE SPENT
THE OUTCAST
THE POET
THE PROPHET
THE STORM-MAID
THE TALISMAN
THE TASK
THE THREE SPRINGS
THE UNWASHED
TO —— (KERN)
TO —— (KERN) COMPARISON
TO A BABE
TO THE CALUMNIATORS OF RUSSIA
TO THE SEA
VAIN GIFT, GIFT OF CHANCE
К ***
The Verse Novel
Imperial Lyceum in Tsarskoe Selo — where Pushkin studied and developed his poetry
EUGENE ONEGIN
Translated by Henry Spalding
Regarded by many as Pushkin’s masterpiece, Eugene Onegin is a novel in verse, published in serial form between 1825 and 1832. It consists of 389 stanzas of iambic tetrameter with an unusual rhyme scheme, using a blend of feminine and masculine rhymes, which has since become known as the ‘Onegin stanza’ or the ‘Pushkin sonnet’. This innovative rhyme scheme, as well as the natural tone and diction have helped to establish Pushkin as the acknowledged master of Russian poetry. Eugene Onegin is also admired for its deft handling of verse narrative and its exploration of important themes, such as death, the nature of love, ennui and the defying of conventions.
Set in the 1820s, the story is told by an educated and sensitive narrator, similar to Pushkin himself. The character Eugene Onegin is portrayed as being a bored Saint Petersburg socialite, whose life consists of balls, concerts, parties and little more. When he inherits a landed estate from his uncle, he moves to the country, where he strikes up a friendship with his neighbour, the young poet Vladimir Lensky. One day, Lensky takes Onegin to dine with the family of his fiancée, the sociable but superficial Olga Larina. At this meeting he also catches a glimpse of Olga’s sister Tatyana, one of Pushkin’s most unique and famous characters…