weet?
Of late I have been quite absurd,--
So many neighbours here exist--
Am I to go through the whole list?"

XXXVII

"How dull you are this morning, nurse!"
"My darling, growing old am I!
In age the memory gets worse,
But I was sharp in times gone by.
In times gone by thy bare command--"
"Oh! nurse, nurse, you don't understand!
What is thy cleverness to me?
The letter is the thing, you see,--
Oneguine's letter!"--"Ah! the thing!
Now don't be cross with me, my soul,
You know that I am now a fool--
But why are your cheeks whitening?"
"Nothing, good nurse, there's nothing wrong,
But send your grandson before long."

XXXVIII

No answer all that day was borne.
Another passed; 'twas just the same.
Pale as a ghost and dressed since morn
Tattiana waits. No answer came!
Olga's admirer came that day:
"Tell me, why doth your comrade stay?"
The hostess doth interrogate:
"He hath neglected us of late."--
Tattiana blushed, her heart beat quick--
"He promised here this day to ride,"
Lenski unto the dame replied,
"The post hath kept him, it is like."
Shamefaced, Tattiana downward looked
As if he cruelly had joked!

XXXIX

'Twas dusk! Upon the table bright
Shrill sang the _samovar_ at eve,(44)
The china teapot too ye might
In clouds of steam above perceive.
Into the cups already sped
By Olga's hand distributed
The fragrant tea in darkling stream,
And a boy handed round the cream.
Tania doth by the casement linger
And breathes upon the chilly glass,
Dreaming of what not, pretty lass,
And traces with a slender finger
Upon its damp opacity,
The mystic monogram, O. E.

[Note 44: The _samovar_, i.e. "self-boiler," is merely an
urn for hot water having a fire in the center. We may observe
a similar contrivance in our own old-fashioned tea-urns which
are provided with a receptacle for a red-hot iron cylinder in
center. The tea-pot is usually placed on the top of the
_samovar_.]

XL

In the meantime her spirit sinks,
Her weary eyes are filled with tears--
A horse's hoofs she hears--She shrinks!
Nearer they come--Eugene appears!
Ah! than a spectre from the dead
More swift the room Tattiana fled,
From hall to yard and garden flies,
Not daring to cast back her eyes.
She fears and like an arrow rushes
Through park and meadow, wood and brake,
The bridge and alley to the lake,
Brambles she snaps and lilacs crushes,
The flowerbeds skirts, the brook doth meet,
Till out of breath upon a seat

XLI

She sank.