II

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II

Thus mused a madcap young, who drove

Through clouds of dust at postal pace,

By the decree of Mighty Jove,

Inheritor of all his race.

Friends of Liudmila and Ruslan,

Let me present ye to the man,

Who without more prevarication

The hero is of my narration!

Onegin, O my gentle readers,

Was born beside the Neva, where

It may be ye were born, or there

Have shone as one of fashion’s leaders.

I also wandered there of old,

But cannot stand the northern cold.