The gilding of life's vanities,

In the world's vortex my success,

My splendid house and gaieties -

What are they? Gladly would I yield

This life in masquerade concealed,

This glitter, riot, emptiness,

For my wild garden and bookcase, -

Yes! for our unpretending home,

Oneguine - the beloved place

Where the first time I saw your face, -

Or for the solitary tomb

Wherein my poor old nurse doth lie

Beneath a cross and shrubbery.

XLVI.

"'Twas possible then, happiness -

Nay, near - but destiny decreed -

My lot is fixed - with thoughtlessness

It may be that I did proceed -

With bitter tears my mother prayed,

And for Tattiana, mournful maid,

Indifferent was her future fate.

I married - now, I supplicate -

For ever your Tattiana leave.

Your heart possesses, I know well,

Honour and pride inflexible.

I love you - to what end deceive? -

But I am now another's bride -

For ever faithful will abide."

XLVII.

She rose - departed. But Eugene

Stood as if struck by lightning fire.

What a storm of emotions keen

Raged round him and of balked desire!

And hark! the clank of spurs is heard