Stanzas from "Onegin"

Our Northern Winter's fickle Summer, Than Southern Winter scarce more bland— Is undeniably withdrawing On fleeting footsteps from the land. Soon will the Autumn dim the heavens, The light of sunbeams rarer grown— Already every day is shorter, While with a smitten hollow tone The forest drops its shadow leafage; Upon the fields the mists lie white, In lusty caravans the wild geese Now to the milder South take flight; Seasons of tedium draw near, Before the door November drear!

From shivering mist ascends the morning, The bustle, of the fields declines, The wolf walks now upon the highway, In wolfish hunger howls and whines; The traveller's pony scents him, snorting— The heedful wanderer breathless takes His way in haste beyond the mountains! And though no longer when day breaks Forth from their stalls the herd begins To drive the kine,—his noon-day horn recalls. The peasant maiden sings and spins, Before her crackling, flaming bright The pine chips,—friend of Winter night.

And see! The hoar frost colder sparkles And spreads its silver o'er the fields, Alas! the golden days are vanished! Reluctant Nature mournful yields. The stream with ice all frozen over Gleams as some fashionable parquét, And thronging hordes of boyish skaters Sweep forward on its crystal way. On her red claws despondent swimming, The plump goose parts the water cold, Then on the ice with caution stalking She slips and tumbles,—ah behold! Now the first snowflake idling down Stars the depressing landscape brown.

At such a season in the country, What can a man's amusements be? Walk? And but more of empty highway And of deserted village see? Or let him through the far Steppes gallop, His horse can scarcely stand at all— His stamping hoofs in vain seek foothold, The rider dreading lest he fall! So then remain within thy paling, Read thou in Pradt or Walter Scott, Compare thy varying editions, Drink, and thy scoffing mood spare not! As the long evenings drag away So doth the Winter too delay.