Eugene Onegin ( without commentary )

IX

Indignation, compassion, pure love of Good, and fame's delicious torment early had stirred his blood. He wandered with a lyre on earth. Under the sky of Schiller and of Goethe, with their poetic fire his soul had kindled; and the exalted Muses of the art he, happy one, did not disgrace: he proudly in his songs retained always exalted sentiments, the surgings of a virgin fancy, and the charm of grave simplicity.

Eugene Onegin x To love submissive, love he sang, and his song was as clear as a naive maid's thoughts, 4 as the sleep of an infant, as the moon in the untroubled deserts of the sky, goddess of mysteries and tender sighs.

He sang parting and sadness, 8 and a vague something, and the dim remoteness, and romantic roses. He sang those distant lands where long into the bosom of the stillness 1s flowed his live tears. He sang life's faded bloom at not quite eighteen years of age.