Стихи и поэмы
Шрифт:
KING HENRY V AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX.
He pass'd unquestion'd through the camp, Their heads the soldiers bent In silent reverence, or begg'd A blessing as he went; And so the Hermit pass'd along And reached the royal tent. King Henry sate in his tent alone, The map before him lay, Fresh conquests he was planning there To grace the future day. King Henry lifted up his eyes The intruder to behold; With reverence he the hermit saw, For the holy man was old, His look was gentle as a Saint's, And yet his eye was bold. "Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongs Which thou hast done this land! O King, repent in time, for know The judgement is at hand. "I have pass'd forty years of peace Beside the river Blaise, But what a weight of woe hast thou Laid on my latter days! "I used to see along the stream The white sail gliding down, That wafted food in better times To yonder peaceful town. "Henry! I never now behold The white sail gliding down; Famine, Disease, and Death, and Thou Destroy that wretched town. "I used to hear the traveller's voice As here he pass'd along, Or maiden as she loiter'd home Singing her even-song. "No traveller's voice may now be heard, In fear he hastens by; But I have heard the village maid In vain for succour cry. "I used to see the youths row down And watch the dripping oar, As pleasantly their viol's tones Came soften'd to the shore. "King Henry, many a blacken'd corpse I now see floating down! Thou man of blood! repent in time, And leave this leaguer'd town." "I shall go on," King Henry cried, "And conquer this good land; Seest thou not, Hermit, that the Lord Hath given it to my hand?" The Hermit heard King Henry speak, And angrily look'd down;. His face was gentle, and for that More solemn was his frown. "What if no miracle from Heaven The murderer's arm controul, Think you for that the weight of blood Lies lighter on his soul? "Thou conqueror King, repent in time Or dread the coming woe! For, Henry, thou hast heard the threat, And soon shalt feel the blow!" King Henry forced a careless smile, As the hermit went his way; But Henry soon remember'd him Upon his dying day. О, Валентин [20]
20
Перевод Сэнди (Александр Лукьянов)
Go, Valentine
Go, Valentine, and tell that lovely maid Whom fancy still will portray to my sight, How here I linger in this sullen shade, This dreary gloom of dull monastic night; Say, that every joy of life remote At evening's closing hour I quit the throng, Listening in solitude the ring-dome's note, Who pours like me her solitary song; Say, that of her absence calls the sorrowing sigh; Say, that of all her charms I love to speak, In fancy feel the magic of her eye, In fancy view the smile illume her cheek, Court the lone hour when silence stills the grove, And heave the sigh of memory and of love Порлок! [21]
21
Перевод Сэнди (Александр Лукьянов)
PORLOCK!
Porlock! thy verdant vale so fair to sight, Thy lofty hills which fern and furze imbrown, The waters that roll musically down Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight Recalls to memory, and the channel grey Circling its surges in thy level bay. Porlock! I shall forget thee not, Here by the unwelcome summer rain confined; But often shall hereafter call to mind How here, a patient prisoner, 'twas my lot To wear the lonely, lingering close of day, Making my sonnet by the alehouse fire, Whilst Idleness and Solitude inspire Dull rhymes to pass the duller hours away. Распятый раб [22]
22
Перевод Сэнди (Александр Лукьянов)
High in the air exposed
High in the air exposed the slave is hung, To all the birds of heaven, their living food! He groans not, though awaked by that fierce sun New torturers live to drink their parent blood; He groans not, though the gorging vulture tear The quivering fiber. Hither look, O ye Who tore this man from peace and liberty! Look hither, ye who weigh with politic care The gain against the guilt! Beyond the grave There is another world: bear ye in mind, Ere your decree proclaims to all mankind The gain is worth the guilt, that there the Slave, Before the Eternal, "thunder-tongued shall plead Against the deep damnation of your deed. Жалобы бедняков [23]
23
Наташа Булашова, Грег Коул
Бленгеймский бой [24]
24
Наташа Булашова, Грег Коул
"Средь мертвых коротаю дни…" [25]
25
Перевел Сергей Александровский
СТАТЬИ
Николай Гумилёв
Баллады Роберта Саути
Один английский историк литературы трогательно сказал про Саути: «Не было ни одного поэта, который бы писал так хорошо и много и в то же время был так неизвестен, публике». Это верно по отношению к Западу. У нас же, благодаря переводам Жуковского и Пушкина, имя Саути гораздо известнее, чем у него на родине.
Роберт Саути родился в 1774 г. в Бристоле в семье небогатого торговца мануфактурой.
Поделиться с друзьями: