Души не изменили в нем,
Согретой девственным огнем.
XIX
But ardent youngsters, it’s no doubt,
Are never ready to concealing
And always eager to let out
Their love, or grief, or other feeling.
A loser in the love affairs,
Onegin heard with a stern face
Sincere cordial confession,
The ardent poet’s self-expression;
Vladimir, when in exaltation,
His soul did artlessly display,
Onegin shortly was aware
Of all his love and adoration –
The story rich in sentiments
With quite familiar contents.
XX
Ah, he did love like nowadays
Nobody by love can be blessed,
Since only poet’s soul still prays
To love and feels its real taste.
Wherever, always the same dreaming,
One and the same familiar feeling,
One and the same and well known sorrow,
No promise to relax tomorrow.
Neither long years of separation,
Nor fell into poetic trance,
Nor beauties of a far off place,
Nor learning fruits, nor inspiration
Could change his soul, the same desire
Was heating it by virgin fire.
XXI
Чуть отрок, Ольгою плененный,
Сердечных мук еще не знав,
Он был свидетель умиленный
Ее младенческих забав;
В тени хранительной дубравы
Он разделял ее забавы,
И детям прочили венцы
Друзья соседы, их отцы.
В глуши, под сению смиренной,
Невинной прелести полна,
В глазах родителей, она
Цвела как ландыш потаенный,
Не знаемый в траве глухой
Ни мотыльками, ни пчелой.
XXII
Она поэту подарила
Младых восторгов первый сон,