When, wrapped in storm, shall I be battling
The billows, while the shrouds are rattling,
And roam the sea's expanse unpent,
Quit of the shore's dull element?
'Tis time to seek the southern surges
Beneath my Afric's sunny sky,
And, there at home, for Russia sigh,
Lamenting in new songs and dirges
The land that knew my love, my pain,
Where long my buried heart is lain.

Eugene Onegin, 1, st. 50