Throughout their life, so calm, so peaceful,
Sweet old tradition was preserved:
For them, in Butterweek the greaseful,
Russian pancakes were always served;
Two times a year they’d make their fast,
Loved rustic swings of wooden cast,
Soothsaying songs, round-dancing’s pound.
At Trinity, when yawning round,
The peasants prayed all they were able,
They’d shed a tender tear or two
On buttercups still fresh with dew;
They needed kvas like air; at table
Their guests, for all they ate and drank,
Were served in order of their rank.
(Evgeniy Onegin, ch2, XXXV, Translated by Charles Johnston)
Они хранили в жизни мирной
Привычки милой старины;
У них на масленице жирной
Водились русские блины;
Два раза в год они говели;
Любили круглые качели,
Подблюдны песни, хоровод;
В день Троицын, когда народ
Зевая слушает молебен,
Умильно на пучок зари
Они роняли слезки три;
Им квас как воздух был потребен,
И за столом у них гостям
Носили блюда по чинам.
(гл 2, XXXV)
