Where the first time she met with him.

LI

Thus widely meditation erred,

Forgot the world, the noisy ball,

Whilst from her countenance ne'er stirred

The eyes of a grave general.

Both aunts looked knowing as a judge,

Each gave Tattiana's arm a nudge

And in a whisper did repeat:

"Look quickly to your left, my sweet!"

"The left? Why, what on earth is there?"—

"No matter, look immediately.

There, in that knot of company,

Two dressed in uniform appear—

Ah! he has gone the other way"—

"Who? Is it that stout general, pray?"—

LII

Let us congratulations pay

To our Tattiana conquering,

And for a time our course delay,

That I forget not whom I sing.

Let me explain that in my song

"I celebrate a comrade young

And the extent of his caprice;

O epic Muse, my powers increase

And grant success to labour long;

Having a trusty staff bestowed,

Grant that I err not on the road."

Enough! my pack is now unslung—

To classicism I've homage paid,

Though late, have a beginning made.(77)

[Note 77: Many will consider this mode of bringing the canto to a conclusion of more than doubtful taste. The poet evidently aims a stroke at the pedantic and narrow-minded criticism to which original genius, emancipated from the strait-waistcoat of conventionality, is not unfrequently subjected.]

End of Canto The Seventh

CANTO THE EIGHTH

The Great World

'Fare thee well, and if for ever,

Still for ever fare thee well.'—Byron

Canto the Eighth

[St. Petersburg, Boldino, Tsarskoe Selo, 1880-1881]

I

In the Lyceum's noiseless shade

As in a garden when I grew,

I Apuleius gladly read

But would not look at Cicero.

'Twas then in valleys lone, remote,

In spring-time, heard the cygnet's note

By waters shining tranquilly,

That first the Muse appeared to me.

Into the study of the boy

There came a sudden flash of light,

The Muse revealed her first delight,

Sang childhood's pastimes and its joy,

Glory with which our history teems

And the heart's agitated dreams.

II

And the world met her smilingly,

A first success light pinions gave,

The old Derjavine noticed me,

And blest me, sinking to the grave.(78)

Then my companions young with pleasure

In the unfettered hours of leisure

Her utterances ever heard,

And by a partial temper stirred

And boiling o'er with friendly heat,

They first of all my brow did wreathe

And an encouragement did breathe

That my coy Muse might sing more sweet.

O triumphs of my guileless days,

How sweet a dream your memories raise!

[Note 78: This touching scene produced a lasting impression on Pushkin's mind. It took place at a public examination at the Lyceum, on which occasion the boy poet produced a poem. The incident recalls the "Mon cher Tibulle" of Voltaire and the youthful Parny (see Note 42). Derjavine flourished during the reigns of Catherine the Second and Alexander the First. His poems are stiff and formal in style and are not much thought of by contemporary Russians. But a century back a very infinitesimal endowment of literary ability was sufficient to secure imperial reward and protection, owing to the backward state of the empire. Stanza II properly concludes with this line, the remainder having been expunged either by the author himself or the censors. I have filled up the void with lines from a fragment left by the author having reference to this canto.]

III

Passion's wild sway I then allowed,

Her promptings unto law did make,

Pursuits I followed of the crowd,

My sportive Muse I used to take

To many a noisy feast and fight,

Terror of guardians of the night;

And wild festivities among

She brought with her the gift of song.

Like a Bacchante in her sport

Beside the cup she sang her rhymes

And the young revellers of past times

Vociferously paid her court,

And I, amid the friendly crowd,

Of my light paramour was proud.

IV

But I abandoned their array,

And fled afar—she followed me.

How oft the kindly Muse away

Hath whiled the road's monotony,

Entranced me by some mystic tale.

How oft beneath the moonbeams pale

Like Leonora did she ride(79)

With me Caucasian rocks beside!

How oft to the Crimean shore

She led me through nocturnal mist

Unto the sounding sea to list,