Uil'yam Vordsvort. Izbrannaya lirika

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Uil'yam Vordsvort. Izbrannaya lirika

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Izbrannaya lirika: Sbornik/Sostavl. E. Zykovoj. - M.: OAO Izdatel'stvo
"Raduga", 2001. - Na anglijskom yazyke s parallel'nym russkim tekstom.
OCR Bychkov M.N.
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CONTENTS
SODERZHANIE

Pevec Ozernogo kraya. E. Zykova

From "LYRICAL BALLADS" (1798)
Iz sbornika "LIRICHESKIE BALLADY" (1798)

Lines Left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree which Stands near the Lake of
Esthwaite, on a Desolate Part of the Shore, yet Commanding a Beautiful
Prospect
"Stroki, ostavlennye na kamne v razvetvlenii tisovogo dereva, stoyashchego
nepodaleku ot ozera Istuejd v uedinennoj, no zhivopisnoj chasti poberezh'ya.
Perevod I. Melameda

The Female Vagrant
Strannica. Perevod I. Melameda

Goody Blake and Harry Gill. A True Story
Gudi Blejk i Garri Dzhill. Pravdivaya istoriya. Perevod I. Melameda
Garri-Gill'. Perevod D. Mina

Lines Written at a Small Distance from My House and Sent by My Little
Boy to the Person to Whom They Were Addressed
Stihi, napisannye nepodaleku ot doma i peredannye moim mal'chikom toj, k
komu obrashcheny. Perevod I. Melameda

Simon Lee, the Old Huntsman, with an Incident in Which He Was Concerned
Sajmon Li. Perevod I. Melameda

Anecdote for Fathers, Shewing How the Art of Lying May Be Taught
Istoriya dlya otcov, ili Kak mozhno vospitat' privychku ko lzhi. Perevod I.
Melameda

We are Seven
Nas semero. Perevod I. Kozlova
Nas semero. Perevod E. Korsha
Nas semero. Perevod I. Melameda

Lines Written in Early Spring
Stroki, napisannye ranneyu vesnoj. Perevod I. Melameda

The Thorn
Tern. Perevod A. Sergeeva

The Last of the Hock
Poslednij iz stada. Perevod YU. Danielya

The Mad Mother
Bezumnaya mat'. Perevod I. Melameda

The Idiot Boy
Slaboumnyj mal'chik. Perevod A. Karel'skogo

Lines Written near Richmond upon the Thames, at Evening
Stihi, napisannye vecherom u Temzy vblizi Richmonda. Perevod I. Melameda

Expostulation and Reply
Uveshchevan'e i otvet. Perevod I. Melameda

The Tables Turned, an Evening Scene on the Same Subject
Vse naoborot. Vechernyaya scena, posvyashchennaya toj zhe teme. Perevod I.
Melameda

Old Man Travelling. Animal Tranquillity and Decay. A Sketch
Stranstvuyushchij starik. Pokoj i umiranie. Zarisovka. Perevod I. Melameda

The Complaint of a Forsaken Indian Woman
ZHaloba pokinutoj indianki. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintem Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks
of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798
Stroki, napisannye na rasstoyanii neskol'kih mil' ot Tinternskogo
abbatstva pri povtornom puteshestvii na berega reki Uaj. Perevod V. Rogova

From "LYRICAL BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS" (1800)
IZ "LIRICHESKIH BALLAD I DRUGIH STIHOTVORENIJ" (1800)

There Was a Boy
Mal'chik. Perevod D. Mina

Lucy
Lyusi
I. "Strange fits of passion have I known..."
I. "Kakie tajny znaet strast'..." Perevod S. Marshaka
II. "She dwelt among the untrodden ways..."
II. "Sredi nehozhenyh dorog..." Perevod S. Marshaka
III. "I travelled among unknown men..."
III. "K chuzhim, v dalekie kraya..." Perevod S. Marshaka
"Poka ne nachalas' moya doroga piligrima..." Perevod G. Ivanova
V. "A slumber did my spirit seal..."
V. "Zabyvshis', dumal ya vo sne..." Perevod S. Marshaka

Lucy Gray, or Solitude
Lyusi Grej. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

The Brothers
Brat'ya. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

Michael. A Pastoral Poem
Majkl. Pastusheskaya poema. Perevod A. Karel'skogo

To Joanna
Skala Dzhoanny. Perevod A. Sergeeva

Song for the Wandering Jew
Agasfer. Perevod S. Marshaka
Pesnya vechnogo zhida. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

From "POEMS" (1807)
Iz sbornika "STIHOTVORENIYA" (1807)

Poems Dedicated to National Independence and Liberty
Stihi, posvyashchennye nacional'noj nezavisimosti i svobode

"I grieved for Buonaparte, with a vain..."
"S pechal'yu smutnoj dumal ya ne raz..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova

Calais, August 15, 1802
"Kakih torzhestv svidetelem ya stal..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova

On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic
Na likvidaciyu Venecianskoj respubliki, 1802 g. Perevod V. Levika
Padenie Venecianskoj respubliki. Perevod V. Toporova

To Toussaint L'Ouverture
Tussenu Luvertyuru. Perevod A. Ibragimova

Sonnet Written in London, September, 1802
Angliya, 1802. Perevod V. Levina

London, 1802
London, 1802. Perevod V. Toporova
K Mil'tonu. Perevod K. Bal'monta
London, 1802. Perevod M. Zenkevicha
London, 1802. Mil'ton. Perevod Ark. SHtejnberga

"Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room..."
"Monashke mil svoj nishchij ugolok..." Perevod V. Levina
"Otshel'nicam ne tesno zhit' po kel'yam..." Perevod D. Mina

Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
Sonet, napisannyj na Vestminsterskom mostu 3 sentyabrya 1802 goda.
Perevod V. Levika

Composed by the Sea-Side near Calais, August 1802
Napisannoe na morskom poberezh'e bliz Kale, avgust 1802. Perevod I.
Melameda

"The world is too much with us; late and soon..."
"Nas manit suety izbityj put'..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova

"Gospoden' mir, ego my vsyudu zrim..." Perevod V. Levika
"It is a beauteous evening, calm and free..."

"Prelestnyj vecher tih, chas tajny nastupil..." Perevod I. Kozlova
"Ispolnen vecher istinnoj krasy..." Perevod V. Toporova

Personal Talk
ZHitejskie temy

"I am not One who much or oft delight..."
"Priznat'sya, ya ne ochen'-to ohoch..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova

""Beloved Vale!" I said, "when I shall con...""
"YA dumal: "Milyj kraj! CHrez mnogo let..."" Perevod G. Kruzhkova

To Sleep ("O gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee...")
Son. Perevod A. Ibragimova

To Sleep ("A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by...")
"Zemlya v cvetu i chistyj nebosvod..." Perevod V. Levika
Bessonnica. Perevod N. Konchalovskoj

"With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh..."
"Vse more splosh' useyali suda..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova

To a Butterfly
K motyl'ku. Perevod A. Larina
Motyl'ku. Perevod I. Melameda

"My heart leaps up when I behold..."
"Zajmetsya serdce, chut' zamechu..." Perevod A. Larina

"Among all lovely things my love had been..."
"Moya lyubov' lyubila ptic, zverej..." Perevod V. Levika

Written in March
Napisannoe v marte. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

To a Butterfly
"Nad zheltym naklonyas' cvetkom..." Perevod I. Melameda

The Green Linnet
Zelenyj repolov. Perevod A. SHarapovoj

The Solitary Reaper
Odinokaya zhnica. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

To the Cuckoo
Kukushka. Perevod D. Mina
K kukushke. Perevod G. Ivanova
Kukushka. Perevod S. Marshaka

"She was a Phantom of delight..."
"Sozdan'em zybkoj krasoty..." Perevod |. SHustera

"I wandered lonely as a cloud..."
Narcissy. Perevod A. Ibragimova
ZHeltye narcissy. Perevod I. Lihacheva

The Seven Sisters, or The Solitude of Binnorie
Zamok Binnori. Perevod D. Bel'

To the Spade of a Friend. Composed while We Were Labouring Together in
His Pleasure-Ground
Lopate druga. Stihi, sochinennye, kogda my vmeste trudilis' v ego sadu.
Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

Elegiac Stanzas, Suggested by a Picture of Peel Castle in a Storm,
Painted by Sir George Beaumont
|legicheskie strofy, vnushennye kartinoj sera Dzhordzha Bomonta,
izobrazhayushchej Pilskij zamok vo vremya shtorma. Perevod V. Rogova

A Complaint
Sozhalenie. Perevod A. Ibragimova

Gipsies
Cygany. Perevod Ark. SHtejnberga

From "THE EXCURSION" (1814)
UEDINENIE (otryvok iz poemy "Progulka") (1814)

"What motive drew, that impulse, I would ask..."
"YA govoryu: Kakoe pobuzhden'e..." Perevod K. Bal'monta

From "POEMS" (1815)
Iz sbornika "STIHOTVORENIYA" (1815)

A Night-Piece
Noch'. Perevod A. Ibragimova

Influence of Natural Objects in Calling forth and Strengthening the
Imagination in Boyhood and Early Youth
Vliyanie prirody na razvitie voobrazheniya v detstve i rannej yunosti.
Perevod M. Frolovskogo

Laodamia
Laodamiya. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

"I dropped my pen; and listened to the Wind..."
"YA otlozhil pero; mne shkval'nyj veter pel..." Perevod Ark. SHtejnberga

The French and the Spanish Guerillas
Francuzy i ispanskie partizany. Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

"Weak is the will of Man, his judgement blind..."
"Slab chelovek i razumen'em slep..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova

"Surprised by joy-impatient as the Wind..."
"Smutyas' ot radosti, ya obernulsya..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova
"Ohvachennyj vostorgom, svoj poryv..." Perevod I. Melameda

September 1815
Blizost' oseni. Perevod D. Mina

"Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!.."
"O Sumrak, predvecher'ya gosudar'..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova
"O Sumrak, knyaz' odnoj godiny sonnoj!.." Perevod A. Larina

From the Prologue to "PETER BELL" (1819)
Otryvok iz prologa k poeme "PITER BELL" (1819)

"There's something in a flying horse..."
"Komu bol'shoj vozdushnyj shar..." Perevod N. Kotalovskoj

From "THE RIVER DUDDON, A SERIES OF SONNETS... AND OTHER POEMS" (1820)
Iz sbornika "SONETY K REKE DADCON I DRUGIE STIHOTVORENIYA" (1820)

The River Duddon
Sonety k reke Daddon

"Not envying Latian shades-if yet they throw..."
Mne ne znakoma Latuma prohlada..." Perevod M. Frolovskogo

"Child of the clouds! remote from every taint..."
"Ditya dalekih tuch! V uedinen'ya..." Perevod M. Frolovskogo

"How shall I paint thee? - Be this naked stone..."
U istoka. Perevod G. Kruzhkova

The Plain of Donnerdale
Donnerdel'skaya dolina. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

After-Thought
Proshchal'nyj sonet reke Dadcon. Perevod V. Levika

The Pilgrim's Dream
Son piligrima. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

September 1819
Sentyabr'. Perevod D. Mina

On Seeing a Tuft of Snowdrops in a Storm "Kogda nadezhda v prahe slezy
l'et..." Perevod A. Larina
Glyadya na ostrovok cvetushchih podsnezhnikov v buryu. Perevod G. Kruzhkova

Song for the Spinning Wheel
Pesnya za pryalkoj. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

The Haunted Tree
Okoldovannyj dub. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

From "ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS" (1822)
Iz sbornika "CERKOVNYE SONETY" (1822)

Mutability
Izmenchivost'. Perevod G. Kruzhkova

Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge
V Kapelle Korolevskogo kolledzha v Kembridzhe. Perevod G. Kruzhkova

From "THE POETICAL WORKS" (1827)
Iz knigi "PO|TICHESKIE PROIZVEDENIYA" (1827)

Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, on the Eve of a New Year
ZHaloba Meri, korolevy shotlandcev, v kanun Novogo goda. Perevod G.
Ivanova

To -----("Let other bards of angels sing...")
"Kto vyshel solncem bez pyatna..." Perevod V. Levina

To a Sky-lark
ZHavoronku. Perevod M. Zenkevicha

"Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned..."
"Ne hmur'sya, kritik, ne otrin' soneta!.." Perevod Ark. SHtejnberga

To the Torrent at the Devil's Bridge, North Wales, 1824
Vodopad. Perevod D. Mina

From "YARROW REVISITED, AND OTHER POEMS" (1835)
Iz sbornika "SNOVA V YARROU I DRUGIE STIHOTVORENIYA" (1835)

The Trosachs
Trosseks. Perevod V. Levika

"Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose..."
Vechernie improvizacii. Perevod M. Frolovskogo

A Wren's Nest
Gnezdo penochki. Perevod D. Mina

"If this great world of joy and pain..."
"Nash mir, razlichen i edin..." Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

"Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes..."
Vnutrennee zrenie. Perevod I. Melameda

"Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant..."
"Ty vse molchish'! Kak bystro otcvela..." Perevod V. Levika
Dalekomu drugu. Perevod I. Melameda

From "SONNETS" (1838)
Iz knigi "SONETY" (1838)

Composed on a May Morning, 1838
Sochineno majskim utrom, 1838. Perevod V. Lunina

From "POEMS" (1845)
Iz sbornika "STIHOTVORENIYA" (1845)

The Simplon Pass
Simplonskij pereval. Perevod A. Ibragimova

"Though the bold wings of Poesy affect..."
"Na moshchnyh kryl'yah unosyas' v zenit..." Perevod G. Kruzhkova

PEVEC OZERNOGO KRAYA

Tvorchestvo Uil'yama Vordsvorta prihoditsya na epohu romantizma, vtoroj
(posle Renessansa) zolotoj vek anglijskoj poezii, proslavlennyj imenami
Kol'ridzha, Sauti, Val'tera Skotta, Bajrona, SHelli, Kitsa...
Kakovo mesto Vordsvorta v etom ryadu? U Vordsvorta my ne najdem ni
kol'ridzhevskih genial'nyh vzletov voobrazheniya, ni bajronovskoj buntarskoj
energii, ni umozritel'nogo idealizma SHelli, ni plasticheskoj krasoty
chuvstvennyh obrazov, svojstvennoj poezii Kitsa, ni val'terskottovskogo
uvlecheniya istoricheskimi balladami i fol'klorom. Vordsvorta otlichayut osobaya,
tol'ko emu svojstvennaya poeticheskaya intonaciya, spokojnaya i vdumchivaya, osoboe
sochetanie interesa k konkretnomu, budnichnomu vpechatleniyu so stremleniem
osmyslit' ego skrytuyu sushchnost', uvidet' v siyuminutnom vechnoe, ponyat' ego
mesto v mirozdanii, v obshchej sheme bytiya.
U Vordsvorta est' i sobstvennaya liricheskaya tema, razrabotannaya smelo i
original'no, tochnee, eto tri vzaimosvyazannye temy: priroda ego rodnogo
Ozernogo kraya, sud'by prostyh i bednyh sel'skih zhitelej i vnutrennij mir
poeta, zhivushchego na lone prirody i razmyshlyayushchego nad zhizn'yu svoih sosedej i
sograzhdan.
Dlya istorii anglijskoj poezii osobenno vazhno to, chto Vordsvort yavlyaetsya
odnim iz samyh smelyh reformatorov poeticheskogo yazyka, teoreticheski
obosnovavshim i voplotivshim na praktike svoi idei o neobhodimosti sblizheniya
yazyka poezii i obychnoj razgovornoj rechi; tem samym on ukazal novye puti i
perspektivy ne tol'ko romantikam, no i mnogim pokoleniyam poetov vplot' do XX
v. Poetomu v blestyashchej pleyade imen anglijskih romantikov imya Vordsvorta
sverkaet kak zvezda pervoj velichiny.

x x x

Uil'yam Vordsvort (1770-1850) rodilsya v gorodke Kokermut na
severo-zapade Anglii, nedaleko ot shotlandskoj granicy, v zhivopisnom krayu
skal i ozer, poluchivshem nazvanie Ozernogo kraya (Lake District).
Vordsvorty prinadlezhali k srednemu klassu. Otec Uil'yama byl yuristom, on
sluzhil poverennym krupnogo mestnogo zemlevladel'ca lorda Lonsdeila i zanimal
eshche neskol'ko melkih dolzhnostej v mestnoj administracii. Kogda Uil'yamu bylo
vosem', umerla ego mat', i zhizn' sem'i raspalas': otec otoslal chetveryh
synovej v nachal'nuyu shkolu v sosednij Hokshed, a doch' Doroti - k dedu s
babushkoj. SHkolu soderzhal vypusknik Kembridzha; prepodavanie, osobenno
matematiki, velos' v nej na vysokom urovne. Lyubimym zanyatiem mal'chika stali
peshie progulki po okrestnostyam, vo vremya kotoryh on otkryval dlya sebya vse
novye krasoty rodnogo kraya i chasto razgovarival so vstrechennymi lyud'mi:
fermerami, raznoschikami tovarov, stranstvuyushchimi nishchimi. |ti nespeshnye besedy
pomogli emu ponyat', chto ne tol'ko sil'nye mira sego, o kotoryh
rasskazyvalos' v uchebnikah, no i samye prostye lyudi imeyut kazhdyj svoyu
istoriyu, poroj ne menee . Kogda Uil'yamu bylo trinadcat', umer, prostudivshis'
vo vremya zimnego puteshestviya, ego otec. On ostavil detyam prilichnoe
sostoyanie, no, chtoby poluchit' ego, prishlos' dolgo sudit'sya s lordom
Lonsdejlom, i pyatero sirot mnogo let ostavalis' v polozhenii bednyh
rodstvennikov.
V 1787 g. Vordsvort postupil v Kembridzhskij universitet, gde uchilsya na
stipendiyu dlya bednyh studentov. Atmosfera Kembridzha teh let, gde ton
zadavali bogatye otpryski aristokraticheskih semej, provodivshie vremya v
shumnyh kutezhah, ohladila interes Vordsvorta k naukam, dazhe k lyubimoj im
matematike.
V poslednie kanikuly 1790 g., vmesto togo chtoby gotovit'sya k ekzamenam,
on s priyatelem-studentom otpravilsya v peshee puteshestvie po Al'pam - pobyval
vo Francii, SHvejcarii i severnoj Italii. Vo Francii yunyh puteshestvennikov
zahvatil duh radostnogo ozhidaniya peremen, porozhdennyj vzyatiem Bastilii i
nachalom Velikoj francuzskoj revolyucii, on chuvstvovalsya dazhe v otdalennyh
derevnyah. Rezul'tatom etogo stranstviya stala malen'kaya knizhechka stihov,
vyshedshaya tri goda spustya. Poka zhe, vernuvshis', Vordsvort sdal ekzameny i
poluchil svoj diplom bakalavra, razocharovav dyadej-opekunov posredstvennymi
uspehami v naukah i tumannymi razgovorami o svoem poeticheskom prizvanii.
Medlya s vyborom zhiznennogo puti, Vordsvort vnov' edet vo Franciyu, zhivet
v Parizhe, Orleane, Blua, zavodit znakomyh i sredi royalistov, i sredi
storonnikov revolyucii, pytaetsya razobrat'sya v raznogolosice politicheskih
mnenij. V konce koncov on otdaet predpochtenie zhirondistam - politicheskim
romantikam, pytavshimsya vosproizvesti vo Francii respublikanskij duh Drevnej
Grecii i Rima. No vskore neumolimaya logika revolyucionnogo terrora obrashchaetsya
protiv samih revolyucionerov. Uzhe osen'yu 1792 g., nahodyas' v Parizhe,
Vordsvort s uzhasom vidit kazn' snachala deputata Gorsa, a potom eshche dvadcati
odnogo zhirondista, ne perestavavshih pet' "Marsel'ezu", dazhe kogda golovy ih
tovarishchej uzhe leteli s plahi. Po nastoyatel'nomu trebovaniyu opekunov on
vozvrashchaetsya v Angliyu do nachala yakobinskogo terrora 1793 g. i razryva
diplomaticheskih otnoshenij mezhdu Franciej i Angliej.
Vordsvort eshche neskol'ko let muchitel'no perezhivaet krushenie nadezhd na
revolyucionnoe ustanovlenie bolee spravedlivyh obshchestvennyh otnoshenij. No,
projdya cherez duhovnyj krizis, on prihodit k tverdomu ubezhdeniyu, chto
sohranenie gosudarstvennogo stroya, kakim by nesovershennym on ni byl, vse zhe
predpochtitel'nee toj vakhanalii temnyh strastej, unosyashchej tysyachi nevinnyh
zhiznej, kotoraya neminuema pri razrushenii mehanizma vlasti. Otkazavshis' ot
radikal'nyh idej svoej yunosti, Vordsvort v dal'nejshem tverdo stoyal na
konservativnyh poziciyah, za chto ego ne raz uprekali v otstupnichestve i
predatel'stve radikal'no nastroennye romantiki mladshego pokoleniya, osobenno
Bajron i SHelli (vspomnim hotya by sonet SHelli "K Vordsvortu", 1815).
Desyatiletie spustya Vordsvort nachal rabotat' nad avtobiograficheskoj
poemoj "Prelyudiya". Neskol'ko glav poemy posvyashcheny podrobnomu izobrazheniyu
togo, chto perechuvstvoval i peredumal ee avtor vo Francii. Izvestnyj kritik
konca XIX v. Dzhon Morli s bolee dalekoj, chem Bajron i SHelli, istoricheskoj
distancii ocenil politicheskuyu i chelovecheskuyu poziciyu Vordsvorta v svyazi s
poemoj "Prelyudiya" bolee ob�ektivno: "Tri knigi, opisyvayushchie prebyvanie poeta
vo Francii, predstavlyayut osobuyu, porazitel'nuyu cennost'. Izobrazhennye v nih
izmeneniya umstvennogo sostoyaniya nravstvennogo cheloveka po mere togo, kak
sceny revolyucii odna za drugoj razvorachivayutsya pered nim, imeyut podlinnyj
istoricheskij interes. Bolee togo, eto urok na vse vremena vsem muzhestvennym
lyudyam, kak vesti sebya v minuty obshchestvennyh kataklizmov. (...) devyataya,
desyataya i odinnadcataya knigi "Prelyudii" svoej napryazhennoj prostotoj, svoej
glubokoj iskrennost'yu, svoim medlitel'nym i neumolimym perehodom ot pylkoj
nadezhdy k temnym fantaziyam, predchuvstviyu gryadushchih neschastij, zhalosti ko
vsemu chelovechestvu i serdechnoj boli proniknuty podlinnym duhom velikoj
katastrofy. (...) V syuzhete etih treh knig est' chto-to ot surovosti,
sderzhannosti i bezzhalostnoj neotvratimosti klassicheskoj tragedii i, kak i v
klassicheskoj tragedii, ispolnennyj blagorodstva konec. Francuzskaya revolyuciya
porodila edinstvennyj krizis v intellektual'noj istorii Vordsvorta, nanesla
edinstvennyj moshchnyj udar po tverdyne ego dushi, i on vyshel iz etogo krizisa,
sohraniv vse svoe velichie" {Morley, John. Introduction. In: The Complete
Poetical Works of William Wordsworth. London, 1891, p. LIII-LIX.}.

No ne tol'ko obshchestvennye strasti volnovali nachinayushchego poeta v tot
god, provedennyj vo Francii. V Orleane on vstretil Annet Vallon, sestru
svoego znakomogo P'era Vallona, i perezhil pervuyu v svoej zhizni i, kazhetsya,
edinstvennuyu vsepogloshchayushchuyu strast'. Ob etom romane on ne pisal stihov i
umolchal o nem v "Prelyudii", o nem znali tol'ko samye blizkie lyudi i nichego
ne pisali pervye biografy. Vlyublennyh razdelyalo slishkom mnogoe: i otsutstvie
sredstv k sushchestvovaniyu, i raznoe veroispovedanie (Annet byla katolichkoj), i
dramaticheskie sobytiya revolyucii, zastavivshie Vordsvorta bystro pokinut'
Franciyu. Sestra poeta Doroti predprinyala geroicheskuyu, no bezuspeshnuyu popytku
ubedit' rodstvennikov soglasit'sya na etot brak. V dekabre 1792 g. Annet
rodila doch', kreshchennuyu kak Annet Kerolajn Vordsvort, sama zhe stala nazyvat'
sebya madam Uil'yame, vdovoj. Ona byla na chetyre goda starshe Vordsvorta,
vposledstvii, v napoleonovskie vremena, aktivno zanimalas' politicheskoj
deyatel'nost'yu i byla izvestna v royalistskih krugah. Vordsvort zhe v dvadcat'
odin god eshche nahodilsya v sostoyanii neopredelennosti, poiskov sebya;
vernuvshis' v Angliyu, on stal postepenno nashchupyvat' svoj put', krug svoih
interesov, svoj obraz zhizni, i chem bol'she proyasnyalsya ego mir, tem bolee
anglijskim, sel'skim, dazhe pochvennym on stanovilsya, uvodya poeta vse dal'she
ot ego pervoj lyubvi. V 1802 g., za dva mesyaca do zhenit'by, Vordsvort
otpravilsya v Kale povidat' Annet i doch', i eta proshchal'naya vstrecha ubedila
ego, chto desyat' let, provedennye v raznyh zhiznennyh obstoyatel'stvah, sdelali
ih chuzhimi lyud'mi {Otnosheniyam Vordsvorta i Annet Vallon posvyashchena celaya
kniga: Legouis, Emile. William Wordworth and Annette Vallon. Hamden (Conn.),
1967.}.
S konca 1792 g. krepnet druzhba Vordsvorta s ego sestroj Doroti. Ih
sblizhalo mnogoe: i zhivoe voobrazhenie, i lyubov' k prirode i peshim progulkam,
i zhelanie vnov' ob�edinit' raspavshuyusya sem'yu. Doroti svyato verila v talant
brata i posvyatila zhizn' zabotam o nem. Doroti Vordsvort otnosilas' k chislu
teh zamechatel'nyh zhenshchin epohi romantizma, kotorye byli v sostoyanii
razdelyat' duhovnye interesy svoih blizkih i, hot' sami i ne zanimalis'
literaturnym trudom, sozdavali vokrug sebya tvorcheskuyu, oduhotvorennuyu
atmosferu. Vneshne skromnaya i neyarkaya, kak i ee brat, Doroti otlichalas'
zhivost'yu i teplotoj obrashcheniya, privlekavshimi k nej lyudej. "Ona nastoyashchaya
zhenshchina, - pisal o nej pozzhe Kol'ridzh, - ya imeyu v vidu ee um i serdce;
vneshnost' zhe ee takova, chto esli vy ozhidali uvidet' horoshen'kuyu zhenshchinu, to
najdete ee obyknovennoj, esli zhe vy ozhidali uvidet' obyknovennuyu zhenshchinu, to
sochtete ee horoshen'koj".
Doroti vela dnevnik i napisala za svoyu zhizn' mnozhestvo pisem, no
nikogda ne prednaznachala nichego napisannogo dlya pechati. V konce XIX v. i
dnevnik i pis'ma byli opublikovany; anglijskie kritiki zagovorili o tom, chto
ee obraznoe myshlenie i tonkoe, liricheskoe vospriyatie prirody vozvodit ee
dokumental'nuyu prozu v rang vysokogo iskusstva {Selincourt, Ernest de
Dorothy Wordsworth, a Biography. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1965.}.
Brat i sestra mechtali snyat' kottedzh i poselit'sya vmeste gde-nibud' v
sel'skoj glushi, no eto udalos' ne srazu: ne hvatalo deneg. V 1793 g.
Vordsvort izdal v Londone dva malen'kih tomika stihov: odin iz nih nazyvalsya
"Vechernyaya progulka. Stihotvornoe poslanie. Adresovano molodoj ledi iz
Ozernogo kraya na severe Anglii" (An Evening Walk. Addressed to a Young Lady,
adresatom byla Doroti), vtoroj - "Opisatel'nye zarisovki, sdelannye vo vremya
peshego puteshestviya v Al'pah" (Descriptive Sketches Taken during a Pedestrian
Tour among the Alps).
Oba eti sbornika eshche tesno svyazany s poeticheskoj tradiciej
predshestvuyushchego stoletiya, polny tradicionnyh poeticheskih oborotov i figur
rechi. Odnako Kol'ridzh, kotoromu popalsya v ruki vtoroj iz etih tomikov,
mgnovenno ulovil noviznu obraznogo myshleniya, probivayushchuyusya skvoz'
poeticheskie shtampy. V svoej "Literaturnoj biografii" (Biographic Literaria,
1817) on pisal: "V poslednij god moego prebyvaniya v Kembridzhe ya poznakomilsya
s pervoj publikaciej m-ra Vordsvorta, ozaglavlennoj "Opisatel'nye
zarisovki": redko, esli voobshche kogda-nibud', poyavlenie na literaturnom
gorizonte original'nogo poeticheskogo geniya bylo bolee ochevidno. V forme,
stile i manere vsego sochineniya, v strukture otdel'nyh strok i periodov byla
zhestkost' i rezkost', soedinennaya i spletennaya s kak by pylayushchimi slovami i
obrazami; oni napominali te porozhdeniya rastitel'nogo mira, ch'i roskoshnye
cvety vozvyshayutsya nad tverdoj i kolyuchej obolochkoj ili kozhuroj, vnutri
kotoroj zreet bogatyj plod" {Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. A Critical Edition of
the Major Works. Oxford, New York, Oxford U.P., 1992, pp. 199-200.}.
V sleduyushchem, 1794 g. Vordsvort sovershil puteshestvie na ostrov Uajt i po
doline Sejlsberi s bratom svoego shkol'nogo druga Rejsli Kolvertom. Zdes' on
imel vozmozhnost' uvidet' voochiyu, kak industrial'naya revolyuciya menyala lico
sel'skoj Anglii. Dolina Sejlsberi stala mestom dejstviya poemy "Vina i
skorb'" (Guilt and Sorrow), povestvuyushchej o pechal'noj vstreche dvuh bezdomnyh
brodyag: soldata, kotoryj, vozvrashchayas' s vojny bez grosha, ot otchayaniya ubil i
ograbil putnika na doroge i s teh por skitaetsya vne zakona, ne smeya povidat'
zhenu i detej, i nishchenki, muzh i deti kotoroj pogibli v Amerike vo vremya Vojny
za nezavisimost'. |to pervaya popytka Vordsvorta nashchupat' odnu iz svoih
poeticheskih tem, osmyslit' vliyanie sovremennoj istorii na zhizn' prostogo,
bednogo cheloveka.
YUnyj sputnik Vordsvorta Rejsli Kolvert okazalsya bolen chahotkoj, i poet
ostalsya pri nem v Ozernom krae, podderzhivaya ego do samoj smerti v 1795 g.
Rejsli zaveshchal emu svoi sberezheniya, 900 funtov, summu dlya Vordsvorta
sushchestvennuyu. A vskore ego tovarishchu po universitetu, rano ovdovevshemu,
ponadobilos' ustroit' chetyrehletnego syna na zhit'e v derevnyu, i Vordsvort s
sestroj ohotno soglasilis' opekat' mal'chika, poluchiv dolgozhdannuyu
vozmozhnost' poselit'sya vmeste v sel'skoj glushi.
Oni ustroilis' v Rejsdaune, grafstvo Dorset, i zhili ponachalu v
sovershennom odinochestve, uhazhivaya za rebenkom, sadom i ogorodom. "Nasha
tepereshnyaya zhizn' vovse lishena sobytij, kotorye zasluzhivali by dazhe kratkogo
upominaniya v sluchajnom pis'me, - soobshchal Vordsvort drugu. - My sazhaem
kapustu, i esli absolyutnejshee uedinenie okazhetsya stol' zhe sposobnym
sovershat' prevrashcheniya, kak Ovidievy bogi, to mozhesh' byt' uveren, my
prevratimsya v kapustu" {The early letters of William and Dorothy Wordworth.
Arranged and edited by Ernest de Selincourt. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1935,
p. 100.}. Mezhdu tem eto odinochestvo okazalos' dlya poeta plodotvornym: v
Dorsete on peredelal poemu "Vina i skorb'", napisal tragediyu v stihah
"ZHivushchie na granice" (The Borderers), nachal rabotu nad bol'shoj poemoj
"Razrushennaya hizhina" (The Ruined Cottage).
V tom zhe 1795 g. Vordsvort pobyval v Bristole, gde poznakomilsya s dvumya
molodymi lyud'mi, Kol'ridzhem i Sauti, kotorye pisali stihi, uvlekalis'
filosofiej i politikoj, chitali publichnye lekcii i byli polny vsevozmozhnyh
planov i proektov. V ih chisle byl utopicheskij proekt sozdaniya v Amerike
ideal'noj kolonii "pantisokratii", gde vsestoronne razvitye lyudi mogli by
obsuzhdat' filosofskie problemy, hodya za plugom.
Molodye lyudi byli pomolvleny s sestrami Friker iz Bristolya i vskore
dolzhny byli porodnit'sya. Vprochem, ko vremeni znakomstva s Vordsvortom mysli
o "pantisokratii" byli uzhe ostavleny.
Sauti vyzval uvazhenie Vordsvorta svoej nachitannost'yu. Kol'ridzh proizvel
na nego vpechatlenie cheloveka neobyknovennogo, neotrazimo obayatel'nogo, ch'i
razgovory o poezii okrylyali, davali novye sily. Takoe znakomstvo nel'zya bylo
poteryat'.
Na sleduyushchij god Kol'ridzh izdal svoj pervyj sbornik stihov i vskore
poselilsya s zhenoj i novorozhdennym synom pod Bristolem, arendovav kottedzh v
Nezer-Stoui. Vordsvorty priglasili ego pogostit' v Dorsete, a vskore sami
vmeste so svoim podopechnym perebralis' v Al'foksden, stav sosedyami
Kol'ridzhej. Nachalos' samoe plodotvornoe vremya v zhizni oboih poetov, da i
Doroti: ona v Al'foksdene vpervye stala vesti svoj dnevnik. Vtroem druz'ya
mnogo stranstvovali po okrestnostyam, naslazhdayas' okruzhayushchej prirodoj i
razgovarivaya o poezii; kak skazal
Kol'ridzh, "my - tri cheloveka s odnoj dushoj". Tol'ko Sara, zhena
Kol'ridzha, ne prinimala nikakogo uchastiya v etih progulkah i razgovorah: tot
feericheskij mir volshebnyh vpechatlenij i smelyh fantazij, v kotorom
sushchestvovali eti troe, byl dlya nee zakryt.
Vo vremya sovmestnyh progulok i slozhilsya zamysel znamenityh "Liricheskih
ballad". Vordsvort vposledstvii v kommentariyah k svoim stiham rasskazal etu
istoriyu tak. Vesnoj 1798 goda druz'ya otpravilis' v puteshestvie,
potrebovavshee nekotoryh rashodov, a tak kak deneg, po obyknoveniyu, ne
hvatalo, oni reshili okupit' zatraty, sochiniv po doroge stihotvorenie dlya
"Novogo ezhemesyachnogo zhurnala". Kol'ridzh predlozhil plan "Skazaniya o Starom
Morehode", original'noj avtorskoj versii brodyachego syuzheta o Letuchem
Gollandce, korable-prizrake, stranstvuyushchem po moryam bez komandy ili s
komandoj mertvecov. Vordsvort dobavil neskol'ko detalej, v chastnosti, geroj
poemy dolzhen sovershit' kakoe-to prestuplenie, chtoby dal'nejshee razvitie
syuzheta vosprinimalos' kak rasplata; podskazal i samo prestuplenie: ubijstvo
belogo al'batrosa. No razrabotka fantasticheskogo syuzheta bystro pokazala
Vordsvortu, naskol'ko ego sobstvennaya manera daleka ot kol'ridzhevskoj, i on
pospeshil samoustranit'sya, chtoby ne byt' pomehoj. Posle vozvrashcheniya iz
puteshestviya, o kotorom eshche dolgo s udovol'stviem vspominali, Kol'ridzh
prodolzhal rabotat' nad poemoj, a kogda on konchil ee, stalo yasno, chto ona
pererosla ramki zhurnal'noj publikacii. Togda druz'ya zagovorili o sovmestnom
sbornike stihov, den'gi ot prodazhi kotorogo mozhno bylo by potratit' na
puteshestvie v Germaniyu.
Kol'ridzh v "Literaturnoj biografii" chetko sformuliroval dvuedinyj
zamysel poetov, uchityvavshij raznicu ih darovanij: "Bylo resheno, chto ya
voz'mus' za personazhi i haraktery sverh�estestvennye ili vo vsyakom sluchae,
romanticheskie, s takim, odnako, raschetom, chtoby eti teni, otbrasyvaemye
voobrazheniem, vyzyvali v dushe zhivoj interes, a nekotoroe podobie real'nosti
na kakoe-to mgnovenie porozhdalo v nas zhelanie poverit' v nih, v chem i
sostoit poeticheskaya pravda. V svoyu ochered', mister Vordsvort dolzhen byl
izbrat' svoim predmetom i zastavit' blesnut' noviznoj veshchi povsednevnye i
vyzvat' chuvstva, analogichnye vospriyatiyu sverh�estestvennogo, probuzhdaya razum
ot letargii privychnyh predstavlenij i yavlyaya emu krasotu i udivitel'nost'
okruzhayushchego nas mira, eto neischerpaemoe bogatstvo, kotoroe iz-za lezhashchej na
nem peleny privychnosti i chelovecheskogo egoizma nashi glaza ne vidyat, ushi ne
slyshat, serdca ne chuvstvuyut i ne ponimayut" {Kol'ridzh S. T. Iz "Literaturnoj
biografii". V kn.: Literaturnye manifesty zapadnoevropejskih romantikov. Pod
red. prof. A. S. Dmitrieva. M., Izd-vo MGU, s. 280.}. Dejstvitel'no, ballady
Vordsvorta izobrazhali povsednevnye situacii i rasskazyvali o real'nyh lyudyah,
kotoryh avtor znal sam ili o sud'be kotoryh on slyshal ot znakomyh. V
kommentariyah k svoim stiham, napisannyh v 1840-e gody, Vordsvort rasskazal o
tom, gde, kogda i pri kakih obstoyatel'stvah on vstretil pochti kazhdogo iz
geroev svoih ballad. No, vdohnovlyayas' real'nym vpechatleniem i izobrazhaya
prostuyu, budnichnuyu zhizn', poet otkryval v nej vechnoe i netlennoe: dobrotu,
otzyvchivost' k chuzhomu goryu, dushevnuyu chutkost', intuitivnoe ponimanie
vazhnejshih momentov chelovecheskoj zhizni, - imenno eti prostye chelovecheskie
chuvstva, perezhivaemye vo vsej ih polnote, i delayut geroev Vordsvorta, po
mysli poeta, prichastnymi vechnoj zhizni.
Ballady Vordsvorta - o prostyh, bednyh lyudyah, v osnovnom sel'skih
zhitelyah. Vpervye takogo geroya vveli v poeziyu sentimentalisty. Tomas Grej v
znamenitoj "|legii, napisannoj na sel'skom kladbishche" (Elegy Written in a
Country Churchyard, 1751) razmyshlyal o tom, chto bezvestnost' i skromnaya dolya
sel'skih bednyakov pomogayut im sohranit' dobrodeteli, legko utrachivaemye v
bolee zavidnyh obstoyatel'stvah zhizni; Oliver Goldsmit v "Pokinutoj derevne"
(Deserted Village, 1769) skorbel o razrushenii sel'skoj obshchiny i ob izgnanii
s rodnoj zemli sel'skogo truzhenika, osnovnogo nositelya grazhdanskih
dobrodetelej i hranitelya zdorov'ya nacii. Pozzhe Dzhordzh Krabb, oprovergaya
pastoral'nye illyuzii Greya i Goldsmita, izobrazil v poeme "Derevnya" (Village,
1783) zhizn' sel'skoj bednoty v realisticheskih tonah: vechnuyu nuzhdu, tyazhelyj
trud i neizbezhno soputstvuyushchie im grubost', neobrazovannost', poroki,
perenyatye ot vysshih klassov.
Posle Krabba vozvratit'sya k "naivnoj" idealizacii sel'skoj zhizni bylo
uzhe nevozmozhno, i Vord-svort vzyal mnogoe ot surovoj konkretiki ego stilya, no
vse zhe beskrylyj realizm Krabba ne mog, po ego mneniyu, vyrazit' vsyu polnotu,
vsyu prelest' i vse velichie sel'skoj zhizni. V kommentariyah k odnomu iz samyh
izvestnyh svoih stihotvorenij, "Lyusi Grej", Vordsvort obratil vnimanie
chitatelya na svoyu popytku oduhotvorit' obraz poteryavshejsya v metel' devochki,
odet' tragicheskie fakty real'noj zhizni pokryvalom voobrazheniya, pretvoryaya
dejstvitel'noe proisshestvie v svoego roda legendu, i special'no podcherknul
otlichie svoej traktovki ot togo, kak by Krabb so svoim faktografizmom
predstavil tot zhe syuzhet.
V razrabotke sel'skoj temy Vordsvort vystupil naslednikom Bernsa: on
nikogda ne vosprinimal bednost' sel'skogo zhitelya i tyazhest' ego truda kak
prepyatstvie dlya nravstvennoj zhizni, duhovnogo razvitiya. No tam, gde Berne
spontanno vyrazhal chuvstvo svoego nravstvennogo prevoshodstva nad spesivymi
bogachami, Vordsvort, buduchi intellektualom i glyadya na svoego geroya so
storony, popytalsya izobrazit' ego kak nositelya vysshej duhovnosti i
nravstvennosti. Sochetanie surovoj konkretiki opisaniya bytovyh realij s
idealizaciej nravstvennyh nachal sel'skoj zhizni v garmonii s prirodoj
pobudilo nekotoryh anglijskih kritikov nazvat' proizvedeniya Vordsvorta
"surovoj pastoral'yu" (hard pastoral).
Ballady Vordsvorta byli "liricheskimi": v otlichie ot dramatichnoj,
imeyushchej zakonchennyj syuzhet narodnoj ballady, oni chasto predstavlyali soboj
bessyuzhetnuyu zarisovku, rasskaz o vstreche avtora s chelovekom, ch'ya sud'ba ili
obraz myslej porazili ego; lirizm predpolagal takzhe yavno vyrazhennuyu
avtorskuyu tochku zreniya i distanciyu mezhdu avtorom-rasskazchikom i geroem
ballady. "Tern" i "Gudi Blejk i Garri Dzhill" blizhe vsego k narodnoj ballade
i po zakonchennosti syuzheta, i po povestvovatel'noj tehnike, i po tematike i
nravstvennomu pafosu, po vmeshatel'stvu vysshih sil v dela geroev. V drugih
balladah poet demonstrativno otkazyvaetsya ot celostnogo syuzheta, i ochen'
chasto soderzhanie ballady sostavlyayut vstrecha i razgovor geroya-avtora s
kakim-libo chelovekom ("Nas semero", "Poslednij iz stada", "Sajmon Li",
"Stranstvuyushchij starik") ili monolog-rasskaz geroya o svoej sud'be
("Strannica", "Bezumnaya mat'", "ZHaloba pokinutoj indianki").
Vse geroi vordsvortovskih ballad - lyudi ne tol'ko bednye i prostye, no
slabye i uyazvimye po svoemu polozheniyu: malye deti, nemoshchnye stariki,
vlyublennye zhenshchiny, broshennye s rebenkom na rukah... Ih bedstviya mogli by
vyzvat' i sentimental'nuyu zhalost', i social'nyj protest, no ne eto yavlyalos'
glavnoj cel'yu avtora. Poet byl by ochen' ogorchen, esli by chitatel' ne
razglyadel v ego geroyah sily i vysoty duha - toj, chto proyavlyaetsya ne v
doblesti i geroizme na bol'shoj scene istorii, a v tihom muzhestve terpeniya, v
otzyvchivosti, samozabvennoj zabote o drugih, umenii byt' blagodarnym,
chuvstve nerazryvnoj svyazi so svoimi blizkimi. Geroi Vordsvorta dostojny ne
zhalosti, a podrazhaniya.
Voz'mem balladu "Slaboumnyj mal'chik", kotoraya dolgo vyzyvala narekaniya
kritikov: poeta uprekali v lyubovanii "idiotizmom sel'skoj zhizni". Konechno,
vzyavshis' izobrazit' vnutrennij mir bol'nogo rebenka, Vordsvort podoshel k
samoj granice togo, chto dopustimo mozhet stat' ob�ektom poezii. No kak by
yarko ni byli obrisovany perezhivaniya malen'kogo Dzhonni, glavnaya geroinya
ballady - ego mat': eto ona, ne v silah pomoch' bol'noj sosedke, otvazhivaetsya
poslat' svoego slaboumnogo syna v gorod za doktorom v nadezhde, chto on smozhet
peredat' poruchenie, a potom razryvaetsya mezhdu trevogoj za bol'nuyu staruyu
S'yuzen i perezhivaniyami za svoego rebenka. Drugoj central'nyj personazh
ballady - staruha S'yuzen, kotoraya, otpustiv sosedku iskat' syna, sama v
trevoge o Dzhonni, zabyvaet o svoej bolezni i otpravlyaetsya na ih poiski. Obe
zhenshchiny zabyvayut o svoih neschast'yah v zabote o drugom, i obe tem samym svoi
neschastiya preodolevayut. V finale oni tak rady, chto nashelsya rebenok, chto u
chitatelya sozdaetsya vpechatlenie, budto smertel'naya bolezn' S'yuzen ne prosto
na minutu zabyta, no, vozmozhno blagodarya ee duhovnomu poryvu, otstupila.
K balladam Vordsvort prisoedinil neskol'ko liricheskih stihotvorenij, v
kotoryh vyrazil svoi novye romanticheskie predstavleniya o cennosti intuicii,
neposredstvennogo vpechatleniya, osobenno v sravnenii s knizhnoj premudrost'yu
("Uveshchevan'e i otvet" i "Vse naoborot"), ob osobom statuse detstva, o
vazhnosti detskogo vospriyatiya mira ("Istoriya dlya otcov"), o vliyanii
prirodnogo okruzheniya na vnutrennij mir lichnosti. Znamenitoe "Tinternskoe
abbatstvo", zavershavshee sbornik "Liricheskih ballad", pochti srazu zhe bylo
oceneno kak liricheskij shedevr Vordsvorta, obrazec chutkogo i vdumchivogo
vospriyatiya prirody, v kotorom pejzazh i liricheskie emocii spletayutsya v
nerazryvnoe celoe.
"Liricheskie ballady" vyshli v Bristole anonimno osen'yu 1798 g., avtory
poluchili za nih krohotnyj gonorar v 30 funtov, a izdatel' Dzhozef Kottl pones
ubytki. Sbornik okazalsya dejstvitel'no novatorskim, slishkom vyzyvayushche
novatorskim, chtoby byt' srazu vosprinyatym polozhitel'no. Kritika prinyala ego
v shtyki: ee razdrazhalo vse - personazhi i syuzhety, sovershenno nepodhodyashchie dlya
poezii, strannye idei molodyh avtorov, nepoetichnyj yazyk.
V 1800 g. sbornik byl pereizdan s bol'shim predisloviem Vordsvorta, v
kotorom on popytalsya teoreticheski obosnovat' svoj vzglyad na poeziyu, i vyzval
novyj shkval kritiki. No vremya rabotalo na avtorov "Liricheskih ballad":
napravlenie, imi ukazannoe, ugadyvalo potrebnosti i tendencii razvitiya ih
epohi. "Bud' proizvedeniya mistera Vordsvorta pustymi detskimi stishkami, za
kakovye ih dolgoe vremya vydavali, - pisal Kol'ridzh, - otlichajsya oni ot
sochinenij prochih poetov edinstvenno uproshchennost'yu rechi i nezrelost'yu mysli,
zaklyuchaj oni v sebe na samom dele lish' to, chem harakterny posvyashchennye im
parodii i zhalkie imitacii, i oni totchas zhe sginuli by mertvym gruzom v
tryasine zabveniya... No chislo poklonnikov mistera Vordsvorta god ot goda
roslo, i eto byl ne nizshij razryad chitayushchej publiki, no preimushchestvenno
molodye lyudi, ves'ma zdravomyslyashchie i rassuditel'nye, a ih voshishchenie
(otchasti podogrevaemoe, nado dumat', oppoziciej) otlichalos' strastnost'yu, ya
by dazhe skazal - religioznym poryvom" {Literaturnye manifesty
zapadnoevropejskih romantikov, s. 281.}. Kogda zhe epoha romantizma so vsemi
ee literaturnymi bataliyami otoshla v proshloe, stalo ochevidno, chto "Liricheskie
ballady" Vordsvorta i Kol'ridzha byli vehoj, oznamenovavshej nachalo etoj epohi
v anglijskoj literature, a predislovie Vordsvorta k ih vtoromu izdaniyu -
pervym v Anglii literaturnym manifestom romantizma.
No vernemsya k sentyabryu 1798 g. Poluchiv svoj skromnyj gonorar,
Vordsvort, Doroti i Kol'ridzh otplyli v Germaniyu. Iniciatorom etogo
puteshestviya byl, konechno, Kol'ridzh. Germaniya v konce XVIII v. byla stranoj
velikoj filosofii i zarozhdayushchegosya romantizma, rodinoj novyh romanticheskih
idej i v filosofii, i v literature. Ee intellektual'naya atmosfera
prityagivala Kol'ridzha, i on otpravilsya po universitetskim gorodam, v
sovershenstve osvoil yazyk, slushal lekcii, zavel obshirnye znakomstva, byl dazhe
prinyat v vysshem aristokraticheskom obshchestve.
Ne to Vordsvorty: chuzhdayushchiesya svetskoj zhizni, vsegda dovol'nye
obshchestvom drug druga, so svoej strast'yu k sel'skoj tishine i peshim
puteshestviyam, oni reshili otpravit'sya na yug Germanii v predgor'e Al'p i
proveli zimu v Goslare, u podnozhiya Garca. Vozmozhno, etot ot�ezd nuzhen byl
Vordsvortu lish' zatem, chtoby ostree pochuvstvovat' svoyu nerazryvnuyu svyaz' s
rodnym Ozernym kraem:

Poka ne nachalas' moya
Doroga piligrima,
O Angliya, ne vedal ya,
Kak mnoyu ty lyubima.

Vse, chto Vordsvort napisal v tu zimu v Goslare, ne imelo otnosheniya k
Germanii. On sozdal tam svoj znamenityj liricheskij cikl, posvyashchennyj Lyusi,
miloj devushke, rascvetshej i umershej nezametno, kak polevoj cvetok v Ozernom
krae. Ego mysli vse chashche obrashchalis' k istokam, k rodnym mestam i vremenam
detstva: v eto vremya voznik zamysel i pervye nabroski poemy "Prelyudiya".
Nemeckij davalsya i emu, i Doroti ploho, zhili oni zamknuto i s neterpeniem
ozhidali, kogda konchatsya zimnie holoda, chtoby pustit'sya v obratnyj put'. Im
uzhe bylo yasno, chto oni poselyatsya v Ozernom krae.
Vernuvshis' v Angliyu, Uil'yam i Doroti otpravilis' v rodnye mesta i
ostanovilis' v semejstve Hatchinsonov, s kotorym oni byli znakomy s detstva.
U Hatchinsonov bylo chetyre krasavicy docheri: Peggi, rano umershaya ot chahotki,
schitaetsya geroinej cikla stihotvorenij k Lyusi, Meri v nedalekom budushchem
stanet zhenoj Vordsvorta, ee sestra Sara budet podolgu zhit' s nimi, v nee
mnogie gody budet beznadezhno vlyublen Kol'ridzh, mladshej, Dzhoanne, budet
posvyashcheno stihotvorenie Vordsvorta "Skala Dzhoanny". Poka zhe Vordsvort s
bratom Dzhonom, davshim den'gi na postrojku ili priobretenie doma, i
Kol'ridzhem puteshestvuyut po okrestnostyam, podyskivaya budushchee zhil'e. I vot 17
dekabrya 1799 g. Uil'yam i Doroti perestupili porog svoego doma, izvestnogo
pod nazvaniem Dav-Kottedzh (Golubinyj domik), v selenii Grasmir, nepodaleku
ot ozera s tem zhe nazvaniem. |to byl vazhnyj den': oni sdelali svoj vybor,
nashli svoj obraz zhizni, obreli pochvu pod nogami i oseli. Teper' mozhno bylo
dumat' o zhenit'be.
Tri mesyaca u nih gostil brat Dzhon, ozhidavshij vozvrashcheniya svoego korablya
iz plavaniya i gordyj ne menee Uil'yama i Doroti, chto u sem'i snova est' svoj
dom. Dzhon stal k tomu vremeni kapitanom korablya, vozivshego gruzy v Indiyu,
ego ozhidala neplohaya kar'era, i on skazal Uil'yamu: "YA budu rabotat' na tebya,
a ty postarajsya sdelat' chto-to dlya mira". K neschast'yu, v 1805 g. korabl',
kotorym komandoval Dzhon, na puti v Indiyu popal v buryu i utonul. Uil'yam
tyazhelo perezhival smert' samogo blizkogo iz brat'ev i posvyatil emu
"|legicheskie stihi v pamyat' o moem brate Dzhone Vordsvorte, komandire korablya
Ost-Indskoj kompanii "Graf Abergavenni", pogibshem v korablekrushenii 6
fevralya 1805 g.".
Poselivshis' v Ozernom krae, Uil'yam i Doroti podyskali po sosedstvu dom
dlya Kol'ridzha i ego sem'i, a chut' pozzhe i Sauti s sem'ej poselilsya
poblizosti, v Kesvike, perevezya tuda bol'shuyu biblioteku. Vtroem oni i
sostavili tak nazyvaemuyu "Ozernuyu shkolu" v anglijskoj poezii, hotya na samom
dele byli ochen' razlichny i po urovnyu, i po harakteru darovaniya i, esli ne
schitat' yunosheskih popytok sotrudnichestva Kol'ridzha i Sauti, "Liricheskie
ballady" byli edinstvennym sovmestnym vystupleniem etih poetov v pechati. No,
konechno, obshchenie i obsuzhdenie poeticheskih problem stimulirovali tvorcheskie
poiski kazhdogo i, po krajnej mere dlya Vord-svorta i Kol'ridzha, byli
neobhodimost'yu.
V 1800 g. Vordsvort vypustil v svet vtoroe, rasshirennoe izdanie
"Liricheskih ballad", vo vtoroj tom kotorogo voshla poema "Majkl". Sam poet
opredelil ee zhanr kak pastoral': vidimo, ego interesovali v to vremya
pastoral'naya tradiciya i ee sposoby idealizacii sel'skoj zhizni, tak kak eshche
neskol'ko stihotvorenij, otnosyashchihsya k etomu vremeni, imeyut tot zhe
podzagolovok: "pastoral'". Odno iz nih, "Lenivye pastushki" (The Idle
Shepherd-Boys), izyashchno razvenchaet renessansnuyu pastoral'nuyu ideyu pastusheskoj
zhizni kak prekrasnogo dosuga na lone prirody: poka mal'chishki, pasushchie stado,
igrayut na svireli i begayut vzapuski, yagnenok padaet v gornyj potok, a
spasaet ego ne kto inoj, kak poet, liricheskij geroj stihotvoreniya, kotoromu
prihoditsya brat' na sebya chuzhoj trud. Kak vidim, pastoral' raznoobrazna i
mnogolika. Na protyazhenii XVIII v. ona vse bolee stremilas' k izobrazheniyu
real'nogo sel'skogo zhitelya, a ne uslovnogo poselyanina, i Vordsvort hotel,
chtoby poema "Majkl" vosprinimalas' na fone pastoral'noj tradicii, vozmozhno,
kak razvitie goldsmitovskoj temy razrushennoj pastorali.
Osev na rodnoj zemle i vnikaya v zhizn' svoih nebogatyh zemlyakov,
Vordsvort s trevogoj nablyudal process otchuzhdeniya sel'skogo truzhenika,
nachavshijsya dazhe v ego gluhom, otdalennom ot stolicy krae. Geroya poemy
zaputyvaet denezhnoe poruchitel'stvo, no razve mozhno uprekat' ego v tom, chto
on pytalsya pomoch' svoemu rodstvenniku? Mezhdu tem Majklu grozit poterya chasti
nasledstvennoj zemli, a teryaya zemlyu, on teryaet chuvstvo hozyaina i smysl
svoego truda. Zemlya, kotoruyu on dolzhen ostavit' v nasledstvo synu, doroga
emu tak zhe, kak sam syn, prodolzhatel' roda. |to ne prosto chuvstvo
sobstvennika; kak dlya geroya ballady "Poslednij iz stada", dlya Majkla rech'
idet o dele ego zhizni, o vnutrennej svyazi s rodnym mestom, o smysle svoego
zemnogo prednaznacheniya. I on posylaet syna v gorod, gde legche zarabotat'
den'gi, chtoby rasplatit'sya s dolgami. No gorod dlya Vordsvorta - sredotochie
sovremennoj gubitel'noj, fal'shivoj civilizacii, gde carstvuyut den'gi, i
molodoj chelovek ne vyderzhivaet ego iskushenij i gibnet. ZHelaya spasti chast'
svoej zemli, Majkl teryaet vse, ved' teper' dazhe ostavshuyusya zemlyu nekomu
peredat' v nasledstvo. No mog li starik, vsyu zhizn' prozhivshij v sel'skoj
glushi, osoznavat', kakoj opasnosti on podvergal yunogo syna, posylaya ego v
gorod? Istoriya Majkla tragichna, i Vordsvort schital etu tragediyu odnoj iz
vazhnejshih problem sovremennoj zhizni, on dazhe obratilsya s pis'mom k
prem'er-ministru Anglii, poslav emu etu poemu.
V 1802 g. Vordsvorty poluchili nakonec otcovskoe nasledstvo i Uil'yam
smog zhenit'sya na Meri Hatchinson. Brak byl ochen' schastlivym, chto vidno hotya
by po opublikovannoj perepiske {The Love Letters of William and Mary
Wordsworth. Ed. by Belt Darlington. Ithaka (N. Y.), 1981.}. Esli Doroti
ostavalas' vdohnovitel'nicej ego poezii, to Meri davala poetu oshchushchenie, chto
on tverdo stoit na zemle. S 1803 po 1810 g. u nih rodilos' pyatero detej;
lyubimicej otca byla starshaya doch' Dora. Meri posvyashcheny "K M. X." iz cikla
"Stihotvoreniya o nazvaniyah mest", publikuemoe v nashem sobranii stihotvorenie
"Let other bards of angels sing...", dva soneta, napisannye k ee portretu:
"O dearer far than light and life are dear..." i "How rich that forehead's
calm expance...", kak i mnozhestvo drugih stihotvorenij.
V 1803 g., vskore posle rozhdeniya syna, Vordsvort otpravilsya s Doroti i
Kol'ridzhem v puteshestvie po SHotlandii i posetil Val'tera Skotta. Doroti
zapisala o Skotte v dnevnike: "On privyazan k svoim mestam gorazdo sil'nee,
chem kto-libo iz moih znakomyh; kazhetsya, vse ego serdce i dusha otdany
shotlandskim rekam, YArrou, Tvidu, Tiviotu i ostal'nym, kotorye my znaem po
ego "Balladam shotlandskoj granicy", i ya uverena, chto net ni odnoj istorii,
rasskazyvaemoj u kamina v etih krayah, kotoruyu on ne mog by povtorit'..."
{Wordsworth, Dorothy. Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland, A.D. 1803.
Edinbourgh, 1874, p. 76.}.
Otnoshenie Vordsvorta k rodnym mestam bylo shodnym, tol'ko ego Ozernyj
kraj byl bolee pustynnym, netronutym, menee bogatym istoricheskimi sobytiyami
i vospominaniyami. Skotta zahvatyvali drevnie predaniya. Vordsvorta -
devstvennaya priroda i skromnaya, tihaya chastnaya zhizn' redkih sosedej. Eshche v
1800 g. on sozdal cikl "Poem o mestnyh nazvaniyah" (k nim prinadlezhit "Skala
Dzhoanny", uvekovechiv nazvaniya blizhajshih mest, bytovavshie v ego semejnom,
druzheskom i sosedskom krugu, - nazvaniya, svyazannye ne s obshcheznachimymi
istoricheskimi sobytiyami, no s proisshestviyami i chuvstvami uzkogo, chastnogo
kruga lic. I v etom Vordsvort byl veren svoemu romanticheskomu kredo: dlya
nego istoriya serdca, istoriya chuvstv chastnogo cheloveka byla ne menee znachima
i, vozmozhno, bolee interesna, chem vneshnyaya, politicheskaya istoriya. Zrelaya
lirika Vordsvorta vdohnovlyalas' prirodoj Ozernogo kraya i sama nalozhila svoj
neizgladimyj otpechatok na vospriyatie etogo kraya pokoleniyami anglijskih
chitatelej i puteshestvennikov.
Lyubopytnye vospominaniya ob obraze zhizni Vordsvorta i ego druzej v
Ozernom krae ostavil Tomas de Kvinsi, izvestnyj esseist, proslavivshijsya
pozzhe svoimi "Priznaniyami anglichanina-opiomana" (1821). Uchas' v kolledzhe, on
prochital "Liricheskie ballady" i proniksya blagogovejnoj lyubov'yu k ih avtoram,
chut' pozzhe vstupil v perepisku s Vordsvortom. V konce 1807 g. on vstretil v
Londone Kol'ridzha, kotoryj chital lekcii v Korolevskom Institute, i vyzvalsya
soprovozhdat' ego zhenu i troih detej v Ozernyj kraj. Molodoj chelovek uzhasno
volnovalsya pered vstrechej so svoim kumirom, no, kogda oni pribyli v dom
Vordsvortov nezadolgo do vechernego chaepitiya, ego nervoznost' bystro proshla.
"Vordsvortov, - vspominal on, - otlichalo serdechnoe gostepriimstvo, a
vechernee chaepitie bylo samoj voshititel'noj trapezoj, vremenem otdyha i
besedy". De Kvinsi byl ocharovan razgovorom, to velichestvennym, to kak budto
plyashushchim i iskryashchimsya. Na sleduyushchij den' - na dozhd' zdes' nikto ne obrashchal
vnimaniya - gostya poveli na progulku pokazyvat' ozera (oni proshli okolo shesti
mil'), a eshche cherez tri dnya vsya kompaniya sobralas' k Sauti v Kesvik, do
kotorogo bylo dobryh dvadcat' shest' mil', i nikogo, krome De Kvinsi,
perspektiva prodelat' etot put' peshkom ne smushchala. No chutkaya Doroti ponyala,
chto gost' v panike, i nanyala prostuyu fermerskuyu telegu, kotoroj pravila
sosedskaya devushka (chto ona delala obychno, kogda zatevalos' dal'nee
puteshestvie). De Kvinsi reshil, chto esli takoj sposob peredvizheniya dostatochno
horosh dlya Vordsvortov, to i dlya nego tozhe, no bolee vsego on udivilsya tomu,
chto vid ih kompanii nichut' ne shokiroval vstrechennyh po doroge sosedej.
V obrashchenii Vordsvorta i Sauti De Kvinsi ne zametil osoboj serdechnosti,
skoree emu pokazalos', chto oni dostatochno umny, chtoby podderzhivat'
dobrososedskie otnosheniya, hotya i ne lyubyat sochinenij drug druga. Sauti
gordilsya svoej bogatoj bibliotekoj i, po sluham, skazal o Vordsvorte, chto
pustit' ego v biblioteku - vse ravno chto pustit' medvedya v sad, polnyj
tyul'panov. Vordsvort ne ispytyval blagogoveniya pered knigami. De Kvinsi sam
nablyudal, kak, poluchiv novinku iz Londona, on za zavtrakom razrezal ee
stranicy stolovym nozhom {De Quincey, Thomas. Literary Reminiscences. In 2
vols. Boston, 1851.}.
Gorazdo slozhnee i dramatichnee skladyvalis' otnosheniya Vordsvorta s
Kol'ridzhem. Dva poeta otnosilis' k sovershenno raznym tipam poeticheskoj i
chelovecheskoj lichnosti, no etoj raznost'yu temperamentov i darovanij prekrasno
dopolnyali drug druga, chto i delalo ih obshchenie takim plodotvornym. Dlya
Vordsvorta zhizn' i tvorchestvo sostavlyali odno celoe, ego stihi vyrastali iz
ego zhiznennogo opyta i samonablyudenij, byli vo mnogom avtobiografichny,
odnako pri etom udivitel'nym obrazom lisheny egocentrizma, romanticheskogo
samolyubovaniya. CHelovek tverdyh ubezhdenij, vysokoj nravstvennosti, on byl
centrom, oporoj i dlya svoej sem'i, i dlya svoego kruga druzej, schastlivym
sem'yaninom i uvazhaemym sosedom. Kol'ridzh zhe prinadlezhal k tomu tipu, o
kotorom Pushkin napisal: "Poka ne trebuet poeta k svyashchennoj zhertve
Apollon..." Samozabvenno otdavayas' tvorchestvu, on bolee vsego cenil
druzheskoe obshchenie s blizkimi po duhu lyud'mi, a v obychnyh zhiznennyh
obstoyatel'stvah postupal kak chelovek slaboharakternyj i neposledovatel'nyj.
Otlichayas' slabym zdorov'em, Kol'ridzh eshche s universitetskih let privyk
prinimat' opium, oblegchavshij ego boli. Odno vremya emu kazalos', chto opium
stimuliruet ego tvorchestvo, kogda zhe on ponyal, chto periody depressii
stanovyatsya vse dol'she, a vdohnovenie prihodit vse rezhe, bylo uzhe pozdno.
Vord-svorty s trevogoj nablyudali za uhudsheniem zdorov'ya druga i
odnovremennym uhudsheniem ego otnoshenij s zhenoj. Doroti pisala v svoem
dnevnike, chto Sara "ploho uhazhivaet za Kol'ridzhem, hotya u nee est' neskol'ko
velikih dostoinstv. Ee ochen', ochen' zhal', potomu chto esli odin chelovek -
nepodhodyashchaya para drugomu, to i tot, drugoj, stol' zhe malo podhodit dlya
nego. Sara byla by ochen' horoshej zhenoj dlya mnogih muzhchin, no ne dlya
Kol'ridzha!" {Wordsworth, Dorothy. The Alfoxden Journal, 1798. The Grasmere
Journal, 1800-1803. London, 1958, p. 245.}.
Posle vozvrashcheniya s Mal'ty v avguste 1806 g. Kol'ridzh reshil rasstat'sya
s zhenoj: ona vmeste s det'mi nashla priyut v sem'e svoej sestry v dome Sauti,
Kol'ridzh zhe podolgu zhil u Vordsvortov, i v spokojnoj atmosfere ih sel'skogo
zhilishcha periody ego depressii sokrashchalis', on snizhal dozu opiuma. V
1809 - 1810 gg. on diktoval Sare Hatchinson, chasto gostivshej u sestry,
materialy dlya svoego zhurnala "Drug" (vyshlo 28 nomerov), i ona staratel'no
perepisyvala ih. Odnako bolezn' ego progressirovala, i k oseni
1810 g. iz obayatel'nogo druga i blestyashchego sobesednika on prevratilsya v
kapriznogo i trudnogo v obshchenii cheloveka. Sara Hatchinson sochla za luchshee
uehat'. Vskore posle ee ot�ezda proizoshel razryv i v otnosheniyah Vordsvorta i
Kol'ridzha. Kak vyyasnili biografy, Vordsvort, vidimo v minutu razdrazheniya,
skazal svoemu staromu drugu Bejzilu Montepo, chto Kol'ridzh mnogie gody byl
"nastoyashchim mucheniem" dlya ego sem'i, i tot peredal eti slova Kol'ridzhu.
Kol'ridzh byl potryasen i tut zhe uehal; cherez dva goda Vordsvort otpravilsya k
nemu v London i proizoshlo primirenie, no prezhnie otnosheniya uzhe ne
vosstanovilis'.
Razryv okazal pechal'noe vliyanie na oboih poetov, atmosfera tvorcheskogo
obshcheniya, obmena i vzaimodejstviya byla neobhodima oboim. Bol'shinstvo kritikov
soglasny v tom, chto naibolee plodotvornym periodom tvorchestva Vordsvorta
bylo desyatiletie, posledovavshee za pervoj publikaciej "Liricheskih ballad".
Dvuhtomnyj sbornik "Stihotvorenij" 1807 g. zasluzhenno nazyvayut samym vazhnym
poeticheskim sversheniem etogo desyatiletiya. V nego voshli, pomimo uzhe izvestnyh
chitatelyu "Liricheskih ballad", mnogie shedevry ego lyubovnoj i pejzazhnoj
liriki, zdes' vpervye byli opublikovany samye znamenitye ego sonety.
Vordsvort vspominal, chto on ne interesovalsya sonetom, schitaya ego
iskusstvennoj formoj, vplot' do 1802 g., kogda sestra prochla emu neskol'ko
sonetov Mil'tona. |ti sonety, razrabatyvavshie i lichnye, liricheskie, i
obshchestvennye, grazhdanskie motivy, neozhidanno uvlekali ego mnogoobraziem
vozmozhnostej, garmoniej i sovershenstvom formy. Po primeru Mil'tona Vordsvort
vvel v sonet grazhdanskie i politicheskie motivy: osmyslyaya sovremennye sobytiya
evropejskoj istorii, v tom chisle napoleonovskie vojny, on sozdal cikl
"Sonetov, posvyashchennyh nacional'noj nezavisimosti i svobode" (Poems Dedicated
to National Independence and Liberty, chast' 1 - 1802-1807 gg., chast' II -
1808-1814 gg.). V otlichie ot mnogih drugih romantikov Vordsvort ne
idealiziroval Napoleona, a vosprinimal ego kak tipichnyj produkt sovremennoj
civilizacii, ugrozu svobode i nravstvennomu zdorov'yu Evropy. Duhovnoj
svobode, obretaemoj v edinenii s prirodoj, protivostoit v sonetah Vordsvorta
dobrovol'noe, a inogda i neosoznannoe podchinenie sovremennogo cheloveka
bezduhovnoj i pogryazshej v styazhatel'stve civilizacii.
Sredi sonetov 1810-h godov - mnogie liricheskie shedevry, v kotoryh kak
budto navsegda ostanovleny mgnoveniya yarchajshih vpechatlenij i perezhivanij ot
obshcheniya s prirodoj, peredany perelivy chuvstv i smeny nastroenij po
vozvrashchenii v rodnye kraya, pri vospominanii o mogile dorogogo cheloveka ili
vo vremya nochnoj bessonnicy. Ryad sonetov posvyashchen problemam poeticheskogo
tvorchestva, i v tom chisle razmyshleniyam o samoj forme soneta ("Nuns fret not
at their convent's narrow room...", "Scorn not the Sonnet, Critic..."). V
zrelye gody im sozdany dva izvestnyh cikla: "Sonety k reke Daddon" (The
River Duddon, A Series of Sonnets, 1820) - reke Ozernogo kraya, techenie
kotoroj stanovitsya dlya poeta simvolom chelovecheskoj zhizni, prohodyashchej cherez
raznye vozrastnye etapy; i "Cerkovnye sonety" (Ecclesiastical Sonnets, 1822)
- svoego roda ocherk istorii anglijskoj cerkvi v sonetnoj forme; poslednij
cikl otlichaetsya nekotoroj suhovatost'yu i racionalizmom, svojstvennymi
pozdnemu Vordsvortu. Za svoyu zhizn' poet sozdal bolee 500 sonetov,
sposobstvovav vozrozhdeniyu etoj formy v anglijskoj poezii, ved' posle
Mil'tona na protyazhenii XVIII v. k nej obrashchalis' chrezvychajno redko.
V 1813 g. Vordsvort, ponimaya, chto poeticheskim tvorchestvom rastushchuyu
sem'yu ne prokormit', stal hlopotat' o meste gosudarstvennogo sluzhashchego i
poluchil post raspredelitelya gerbovyh sborov grafstva Vestmorlend; v ego
obyazannosti vhodilo predostavlenie licenzij, vzimanie nalogov na
opredelennye vidy deyatel'nosti i t.p., chto prinosilo okolo 200 funtov v god.
Sem'ya pereehala v bolee prostornyj dom po sosedstvu, v Rajdal-Maunt. Doroti
pishet svoej podruge: "U nas budet tureckij!!! kover v gostinoj i
bryussel'skij - v kabinete Uil'yama. Ty v izumlenii, prostota nashego milogo
kottedzha v Taun-|nd vstaet u tebya pered glazami, i tebe hochetsya skazat':
"Neuzheli oni izmenilis', oni sobirayutsya zhit' s pretenziyami, ustraivat'
vechera, davat' obedy i t.p.?"" {Wordsworth, William and Wordsworth, Dorothy.
The Letters of William and Dorothy Wordsworth. The Middle Age. Arranged and
edited by Ernest de Selincourt. In 2 vols. Oxford, 1937. Vol. 1, p. 100.}.
Izmeneniya dejstvitel'no proishodili. Po rasskazu sovremennikov, "kogda Dzhon
Kits priehal k Vordsvortu, emu prishlos' dolgo zhdat', i kogda Vordsvort vyshel
k nemu, on byl pri polnom parade, v pantalonah do kolen, shelkovyh chulkah i
proch., i ochen' toropilsya, potomu chto sobiralsya obedat' s komissarom po
gerbovym sboram" {Cit. po: Manley, Seen. Dorothy and William Wordsworth: the
Heart of a Circle of Friends. New York, 1974, p. 185.}. I vse zhe v chinovnika
Vordsvort ne prevratilsya i vne svoih administrativnyh obyazannostej ostavalsya
tem zhe neprityazatel'nym i skromnym chelovekom, kakim byl ran'she.
V 1828 g. on vmeste s docher'yu Doroj i Kol'ridzhem puteshestvoval po
doline Rejna v Germanii, gde ih vstretil anglijskij puteshestvennik Tomas
Gratton, ostavivshij ih opisanie: Kol'ridzh byl "rostom okolo pyati futov pyati
dyujmov, polnyj i lenivyj na vid, no ne tolstyj. On byl odet v chernoe, nosil
korotkie bryuki s pugovicami i shnurovkoj u kolen i chernye shelkovye chulki...
Ego lico bylo neobychajno krasivo, s vyrazheniem bezmyatezhnym i
dobrozhelatel'nym, rot osobenno priyaten, a serye glaza, ne bol'shie i ne
navykate, polny umnoj myagkosti. Ego ogromnaya shevelyura absolyutno seda, lob i
shcheki bez morshchin, na poslednih viden zdorovyj rumyanec. Vordsvort byl polnoj
protivopolozhnost'yu Kol'ridzhu, vysokij, zhilistyj, s krupnoj figuroj i
neelegantnogo vida. On byl nebrezhno odet v dlinnyj korichnevyj syurtuk,
parusinovye bryuki v polosku, flanelevye getry i tolstye bashmaki. On bol'she
napominal fermera s gor, chem ozernogo poeta. Ves' ego vid byl neizyskannyj i
neraspolagayushchij. Kazalos', on vpolne dovolen tem, chto ego drug pervenstvuet,
i sovershenno ne imel pretenzij, chto ochen' redko vstretish' dazhe v cheloveke
znachitel'no men'shej literaturnoj reputacii, chem u nego; a v ego otnoshenii k
docheri bylo chto-to nenavyazchivo druzhelyubnoe" {Ibid., pp. 189-190.}.
V 1830-e gody Vordsvortu prishlos' perezhit' neskol'ko tyazhelyh utrat. V
1834 g. umerli dva druga: Kol'ridzh i CHarlz Lem. V tom zhe godu sestra Doroti,
doch' Dora i Sara Hatchinson zaboleli inflyuencej; Sara umerla, Dora
popravilas', no ee zdorov'e s teh por poshatnulos', a u Doroti, kotoraya eshche
do bolezni perezhila neskol'ko pristupov pomutneniya soznaniya, nachalos'
oslozhnenie na mozg, v rezul'tate kotorogo ona poteryala rassudok i uzhe ne
popravilas' do konca zhizni.
V 1834 g. umer Sauti, i Vordsvortu byl predlozhen post poeta-laureata,
predpolagavshij poeticheskoe osveshchenie vazhnejshih sobytij v zhizni gosudarstva i
korolevskoj sem'i. Sauti, po obshchemu priznaniyu, ves'ma dostojno vel sebya na
postu poeta-laureata (hotya Bajron byl na etot schet drugogo mneniya), i
Vordsvortu bylo ne stydno zanyat' posle nego etot post. Blagodarya etomu
Vordsvort neskol'ko raz s�ezdil v London i odnazhdy dazhe byl na korolevskom
balu. No edinstvennym ego proizvedeniem oficial'nogo haraktera stala "Oda na
vvedenie ego korolevskogo vysochestva princa Al'berta v dolzhnost' kanclera
Kembridzhskogo universiteta" 1847 g., k tomu zhe im ne zakonchennaya i
dopisannaya ego plemyannikom, episkopom Linkol'nskim. Vordsvort ostalsya do
konca zhizni veren sebe i oficial'nym poetom ne stal.
Tvorchestvo Vordsvorta poluchilo priznanie nachinaya s 1820-h godov. I hotya
ego proizvedeniya nikogda ne byli poeticheskoj sensaciej, bestsellerami svoego
vremeni, kak vostochnye poemy Bajrona ili "Lalla Ruk" Tomasa Mura, ego
literaturnaya reputaciya neuklonno rosla. V 1830-e gody on uzhe schitalsya
krupnejshim anglijskim poetom, a k koncu XIX v. po kolichestvu lyubimyh citat
zanimal tret'e mesto sredi anglijskih avtorov, srazu posle SHekspira i
Mil'tona.
Tema "Vordsvort v Rossii" eshche zhdet svoego issledovatelya. Ego tvorchestvo
nikogda ne vyzyvalo takogo shirokogo interesa, kak poeziya Bajrona ili SHelli.
Tem ne menee v 1830-e gody poyavlyayutsya pervye stat'i ob Ozernoj shkole v
anglijskoj poezii {Pisho, Amadej. Sovremennaya anglijskaya literatura: SHkola
tak nazyvaemyh ozernyh poetov (lakists): Vordsvort, Kol'ridzh, Sutej //
"Literaturnaya gazeta", 1830. | 58B, s. 175-180, | 59, s. 183-185.}, pervyj
perevod I. I. Kozlova ballady "Nas semero" {Vpervye v Sobranii sochinenij
Ivana Kozlova. Spb., 1833.}, posle smerti Vordsvorta vyhodit ego nekrolog
{ZHurnal ministerstva narodnogo prosveshcheniya, 1850, ch. 67, otd. 7, s. 25-26.}.
A. S. Pushkin upominaet Vordsvorta kak poeta, reshitel'no vystupivshego za
priblizhenie poeticheskogo yazyka k razgovornoj rechi, sozdaet svoe vol'noe
podrazhanie Vordsvortu - "Surovyj Dant ne preziral soneta...". V 1870-e gody
poyavlyayutsya prekrasnye perevody D. Mina, a na rubezhe vekov dva stihotvoreniya
Vordsvorta perevodit K. D. Bal'mont. Dlya perevodchikov XX v. tvorchestvo
Vordsvorta yavlyaetsya klassikoj, ch'e znachenie dlya mirovoj poezii neosporimo.

E. Zykova

"From "Lyrical Ballads"

Iz sbornika "Liricheskie ballady"

LINES LEFT UPON A SEAT IN A YEW-TREE WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF ESTHWAITE,
ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE, YET COMMANDING A BEAUTIFUL PROSPECT

- Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb;
What if these barren boughs the bee not loves;
Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves,
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.

Who he was
That piled these stones, and with the mossy sod
First covered o'er, and taught this aged tree,
Now wild, to bend its arms in circling shade,
I well remember. - He was one who own'd
No common soul. In youth, by genius nurs'd,
And big with lofty views, he to the world
Went forth, pure in his heart, against the taint
Of dissolute tongues, 'gainst jealousy, and hate,
And scorn, against all enemies prepared,
All but neglect: and so, his spirit damped
At once, with rash disdain he turned away,

And with the food of pride sustained his soul
In solitude. - Stranger! these gloomy boughs
Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit,
His only visitants a straggling sheep,
The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper;
And on these barren rocks, with juniper,
And heath, and thistle, thinly sprinkled o'er,
Fixing his downward eye, he many an hour
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here
An emblem of his own unfruitful life:
And lifting up his head, he then would gaze
On the more distant scene; how lovely 'tis
Thou seest, and he would gaze till it became
Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain
The beauty still more beauteous. Nor, that time,
Would he forget those beings, to whose minds,
Warm from the labours of benevolence,
The world, and man himself, appeared a scene
Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh
With mournful joy, to think that others felt
What he must never feel: and so, lost man!
On visionary views would fancy feed,
Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale
He died, this seat his only monument.

If thou be one whose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know, that pride,
Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
Is littleness; that he, who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he has never used; that thought with him
Is in its infancy. The man, whose eye
Is ever on himself, doth look on one,
The least of nature's works, one who might move
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O, be wiser thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love,
True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In lowliness of heart.

STROKI, OSTAVLENNYE NA KAMNE V RAZVETVLENII TISOVOGO DEREVA, STOYASHCHEGO NEPODALEKU
OT OZERA ISTU|JD V UEDINENNOJ, NO ZHIVOPISNOJ CHASTI POBEREZHXYA

Pomedli, putnik! Odinokij tis
Zdes' ot zhil'ya lyudskogo otdalen.
Kak l'net pchela k nagim ego vetvyam!
Kak radostno blestit v trave ruchej!
Dohnet zefir - i laskovyj priboj
Soznan'e ubayukaet tvoe
Dvizhen'em nezhnym, chuzhdym pustote.

Ty znaesh', kto
Slozhil zdes' kamni, dernom ih pokryl,
Kto skryt byl, kak v ob�yatii, - v teni
Gustogo dreva, gologo teper'?
Dushoyu neobychnoj nadelen,
On byl vzrashchen velich'em etih mest,
I v yunosti, vysokih myslej poln
I serdcem chist, on ustremilsya v mir
I byl gotov, kak sobstvennyh vragov,
Zlorech'e, zavist', nenavist' razit'.
Mir prenebreg im. Duhom on upal,
S prezren'em otvernuvshis' oto vseh.

Gordynej v odinochestve svoyu
Pitaya dushu, on lyubil sidet'
Pod etim mrachnym tisom, gde ego
Lish' pticy poseshchali da ovca,
Otstavshaya ot stada svoego.
Po etim dikim skalam, gde rosli
Lish' chahlyj veresk i chertopoloh,
Bluzhdaya vzorom, dolgie chasy
On skorbnoe leleyal torzhestvo,
Voobraziv ih simvolom svoej
Besplodnoj zhizni. Golovu podnyav,
Pejzazh prekrasnyj videl on vdali,
Tak rascvetavshij na ego glazah,
CHto ot izbytka etoj krasoty
Iznemogalo serdce. I togda
On vspominal o teh, chej um sogret
Teplom velikodush'ya, dlya kogo
Soedinyalis' mir i chelovek
Kak by v chudesnom dejstve, - on vzdyhal
I radovalsya gor'ko, chto drugim
Tak chuvstvovat' dano, kak on ne mog.
I grezil on, pokuda vzor ego
Ne zastilali slezy. Umer on
V doline etoj. Pamyatnik emu -
Lish' kamen', na kotorom on sidel.

I esli, putnik, serdca chistotu
Ty s yunyh let sbereg, - zapomni vpred':
Nichtozhna gordost', kak ni naryadi
Ee v velich'e. Luchshie dary
Pogibnut zrya, kol' obladatel' ih
Prezren'e k blizhnim chuvstvuet. I tot,
CHej vzglyad samim soboj lish' pogloshchen, -
Vseh men'she, hudshij iz zhivyh sushchestv.
U mudreca on mog by vyzvat' to
Prezrenie, chto mudrost'yu samoj
Schitaetsya zapretnym. Bud' mudrej!
Lish' istinnoe znanie vedet
K lyubvi, i tot lish' istinno velik,
Kto v tihij chas razdumij i trevog
Sebya teryal i obretal sebya
V smiren'e serdca...

THE FEMALE VAGRANT

By Derwent's side my Father's cottage stood,
(The Woman thus her artless story told)
One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood
Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold.
Light was my sleep; my days in transport roll'd:
With thoughtless joy I stretch'd along the shore
My father's nets, or watched, when from the fold
High o'er the cliffs I led my fleecy store,
A dizzy depth below! his boat and twinkling oar.

My father was a good and pious man,
An honest man by honest parents bred,
And I believe that, soon as I began
To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed,
And in his hearing there my prayers I said:
And afterwards, by my good father taught,
I read, and loved the books in which I read;
For books in every neighbouring house I sought,
And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought.

Can I forget what charms did once adorn
My garden, stored with pease, and mint, and thyme,
And rose and lilly for the sabbath morn?
The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime;
The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time;
My hen's rich nest through long grass scarce espied;
The cowslip-gathering at May's dewy prime;
The swans, that, when I sought the water-side,
From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride.

The staff I yet remember which upbore
The bending body of my active sire;
His seat beneath the honeyed sycamore
When the bees hummed, and chair by winter fire;
When market-morning came, the neat attire
With which, though bent on haste, myself I deck'd;
My watchful dog, whose starts of furious ire,
When stranger passed, so often I have check'd;
The red-breast known for years, which at my casement peck'd.

The suns of twenty summers danced along, -
Ah! little marked, how fast they rolled away:
Then rose a mansion proud our woods among,
And cottage after cottage owned its sway,
No joy to see a neighbouring house, or stray
Through pastures not his own, the master took;
My Father dared his greedy wish gainsay;
He loved his old hereditary nook,
And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook.

But, when he had refused the proffered gold,
To cruel injuries he became a prey,
Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold.
His troubles grew upon him day by day,
Till all his substance fell into decay.
His little range of water was denied;
All but the bed where his old body lay,
All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side,
We sought a home where we uninjured might abide.

Can I forget that miserable hour,
When from the last hill-top, my sire surveyed,
Peering above the trees, the steeple tower,
That on his marriage-day sweet music made?
Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid,
Close by my mother in their native bowers:
Bidding me trust in God, he stood and prayed, -
I could not pray: - through tears that fell in showers,
Glimmer'd our dear-loved home, alas! no longer ours!

There was a youth whom I had loved so long,
That when I loved him not I cannot say.
'Mid the green mountains many and many a song
We two had sung, like little birds in May.
When we began to tire of childish play
We seemed still more and more to prize each other:
We talked of marriage and our marriage day;
And I in truth did love him like a brother,
For never could I hope to meet with such another.

His father said, that to a distant town
He must repair, to ply the artist's trade.
What tears of bitter grief till then unknown!
What tender vows our last sad kiss delayed!
To him we turned:-we had no other aid.
Like one revived, upon his neck I wept,
And her whom he had loved in joy, he said
He well could love in grief: his faith he kept;
And in a quiet home once more my father slept.

Four years each day with daily bread was blest,
By constant toil and constant prayer supplied.
Three lovely infants lay upon my breast;
And often, viewing their sweet smiles, I sighed,
And knew not why. My happy father died
When sad distress reduced the children's meal:
Thrice happy! that from him the grave did hide
The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel,
And tears that flowed for ills which patience could not heal.

'Twas a hard change, an evil time was come;
We had no hope, and no relief could gain.
But soon, with proud parade, the noisy drum
Beat round, to sweep the streets of want and pain.
My husband's arms now only served to strain
Me and his children hungering in his view:
In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain:
To join those miserable men he flew;
And now to the sea-coast, with numbers more, we drew.

There foul neglect for months and months we bore,
Nor yet the crowded fleet its anchor stirred.
Green fields before us and our native shore,
By fever, from polluted air incurred,
Ravage was made, for which no knell was heard.
Fondly we wished, and wished away, nor knew,
'Mid that long sickness, and those hopes deferr'd,
That happier days we never more must view:
The parting signal streamed, at last the land withdrew,

But from delay the summer calms were past.
On as we drove, the equinoctial deep
Ran mountains-high before the howling blast.
We gazed with terror on the gloomy sleep
Of them that perished in the whirlwind's sweep,
Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue,
Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap,
That we the mercy of the waves should rue.
We reached the western world, a poor, devoted crew.

Oh! dreadful price of being to resign
All that is dear in being! better far
In Want's most lonely cave till death to pine,
Unseen, unheard, unwatched by any star;
Or in the streets and walks where proud men are,
Better our dying bodies to obtrude,
Than dog-like, wading at the heels of war,
Protract a curst existence, with the brood
That lap (their very nourishment!) their brother's blood.

The pains and plagues that on our heads came down,
Disease and famine, agony and fear,
In wood or wilderness, in camp or town,
It would thy brain unsettle even to hear.
All perished-all, in one remorseless year,
Husband and children! one by one, by sword
And ravenous plague, all perished: every tear
Dried up, despairing, desolate, on board
A British ship I waked, as from a trance restored.

Peaceful as some immeasurable plain
By the first beams of dawning light impress'd,
In the calm sunshine slept the glittering main.
The very ocean has its hour of rest,
That comes not to the human mourner's breast.
Remote from man, and storms of mortal care,
A heavenly silence did the waves invest;
I looked and looked along the silent air,
Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair.
Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps!
And groans, that rage of racking famine spoke,
Where looks inhuman dwelt on festering heaps!
The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke!
The shriek that from the distant battle broke!
The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid host
Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke
To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish toss'd,
Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!

Yet does that burst of woe congeal my frame,
When the dark streets appeared to heave and gape,
While like a sea the storming army came,
And Fire from Hell reared his gigantic shape,
And Murder, by the ghastly gleam, and Rape
Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child!
But from these crazing thoughts my brain, escape!
- For weeks the balmy air breathed soft and mild,
And on the gliding vessel Heaven and Ocean smiled.

Some mighty gulf of separation past,
I seemed transported to another world:-
A thought resigned with pain, when from the mast
The impatient mariner the sail unfurl'd,
And whistling, called the wind that hardly curled
The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home,
And from all hope I was forever hurled.
For me-farthest from earthly port to roam
Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come.

And oft, robb'd of my perfect mind, I thought
At last my feet a resting-place had found:
Here will I weep in peace, (so fancy wrought,)
Roaming the illimitable waters round;
Here watch, of every human friend disowned,
All day, my ready tomb the ocean-flood -
To break my dream the vessel reached its bound:
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food.

By grief enfeebled was I turned adrift,
Helpless as sailor cast on desert rock;
Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
Nor dared my hand at any door to knock.
I lay, where with his drowsy mates, the cock
From the cross timber of an out-house hung;
How dismal tolled, that night, the city clock!
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
Nor to the beggar's language could I frame my tongue.

So passed another day, and so the third:
Then did I try, in vain, the crowd's resort,
In deep despair by frightful wishes stirr'd,
Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort:
There, pains which nature could no more support,
With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall;
Dizzy my brain, with interruption short
Of hideous sense; I sunk, nor step could crawl,
And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital.

Recovery came with food: but still, my brain
Was weak, nor of the past had memory.
I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain
Of many things which never troubled me;
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee,
Of looks where common kindness had no part,
Of service done with careless cruelty,
Fretting the fever round the languid heart,
And groans, which, as they said, would make a dead
man start.

These things just served to stir the torpid sense,
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.
Memory, though slow, returned with strength; and thence
Dismissed, again on open day I gazed,
At houses, men, and common light, amazed.
The lanes I sought, and as the sun retired,
Came, where beneath the trees a faggot blazed;
The wild brood saw me weep, my fate enquired,
And gave me food, and rest, more welcome, more desired.

My heart is touched to think that men like these,
The rude earth's tenants, were my first relief:
How kindly did they paint their vagrant ease!
And their long holiday that feared not grief,
For all belonged to all, and each was chief.
No plough their sinews strained; on grating road
No wain they drove, and yet, the yellow sheaf
In every vale for their delight was stowed:
For them, in nature's meads, the milky udder flowed.

Semblance, with straw and panniered ass, they made
Of potters wandering on from door to door:
But life of happier sort to me pourtrayed,
And other joys my fancy to allure;
The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor
In barn uplighted, and companions boon
Well met from far with revelry secure,
In depth of forest glade, when jocund June
Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon.

But ill it suited me, in journey dark
O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch;
To charm the surly house-dog's faithful bark,
Or hang on tiptoe at the lifted latch;
The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match,
The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill,
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill;
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still.

What could I do, unaided and unblest?
Poor Father! gone was every friend of thine:
And kindred of dead husband are at best
Small help, and, after marriage such as mine,
With little kindness would to me incline.
Ill was I then for toil or service fit:
With tears whose course no effort could confine,
By high-way side forgetful would I sit
Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit.

I lived upon the mercy of the fields,
And oft of cruelty the sky accused;
On hazard, or what general bounty yields,
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The fields I for my bed have often used:
But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth
Is, that I have my inner self abused,
Foregone the home delight of constant truth,
And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.

Three years a wanderer, often have I view'd,
In tears, the sun towards that country tend
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
And now across this moor my steps I bend -
On! tell me whither-for no earthly friend
Have I. - She ceased, and weeping turned away,
As if because her tale was at an end
She wept; - because she had no more to say
Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.

STRANNICA

ZHil bliz Derventa bednyj moj otec
(Tak nachala rasskaz ona prostoj),
Cvetushchim polem, gorstkoyu ovec
On dorozhil, kak zhiloj zolotoj.
Byl legok son i den' bespechen moj:
Vdol' berega ya seti volokla
Il' nablyudala v bezdne goluboj
S krutoj skaly, gde stado ya pasla,
CHelnok otca i vlazhnyj blesk vesla.

Byl dobr otec moj i blagochestiv -
Ego vzrastila strogaya sem'ya.
Koleni pred krovatkoyu skloniv,
Edva lish' rech' prorezalas' moya,
Za nim molitvy povtoryala ya.
Potom on nauchil menya chitat',
I zhili, kak lyubimye druz'ya,
So mnoyu knigi, - slovno blagodat',
YA v kazhdom dome stala ih iskat'.

Zabudu l' ya, kak liliya cvela
V moem sadu, tim'yan dushistyj ros,
Kak pod voskresnye kolokola
V nem razlilos' blagouhan'e roz?
I kak teper' mne vspomnyatsya bez slez
Pushistye cyplyata po vesne,
I pervocvet v siyan'e rannih ros,
I lebedi, po medlennoj volne
Izdaleka plyvushchie ko mne?

Eshche ya pomnyu posoh staryj - v nem
Otec oporu v nemoshchi nashel;
Skam'yu ego pod klenom letnim dnem
I v znojnom vozduhe zhuzhzhan'e pchel;
Prostoj naryad, kotoryj tak mne shel,
Psa moego, umershego davno,
CHto chasto byl na neznakomcev zol;
Sadivshuyusya na moe okno
Malinovku, klevavshuyu zerno.

Tak dvadcat' let moih sred' etih mest
Mel'knuli i rastayali, kak dym.
Bogatyj zamok hizhiny okrest
Stal pribirat' k vladeniyam svoim.
Polya, luga - vse stalo zdes' chuzhim.
A gospodin byl zhaden i zhestok.
Otec moj ne sklonilsya pered nim:
Nasledstvennyj lyubil on ugolok
I ni za chto rasstat'sya s nim ne mog.

Otec otverg predlozhennuyu mzdu.
I stal on zhertvoj zloby. A kogda
On zagnan byl v surovuyu nuzhdu,
Prishla vosled i hudshaya beda -
Lishilsya on rodimogo gnezda.
Vse otnyali! I lish' ego krovat'
Ne vzyali: on lezhal na nej togda.
I nam ostalos' slezy prolivat'
I novoe pristanishche iskat'.

Zabudu l' chas, kogda otec, molyas',
Glyadel s holma na shpil' poverh vetvej,
Gde s kolokol'ni muzyka lilas'
V den' ih venchan'ya s mater'yu moej?
Kak veril on, chto budet ryadom s nej
Pokoit'sya v zemle svoej rodnoj!
YA zh ne mogla molit'sya: sred' polej,
Skvoz' slezy, chto iz glaz tekli rekoj,
YA videla nash dom - uzhe chuzhoj.

YA tam druzhila s yunoshej odnim,
Kotorogo, kak brata, s davnih por
YA polyubila: my igrali s nim
I pesni peli sred' zelenyh gor.
A povzroslev, drug drugu nezhnyj vzor
Darili my v zalog inyh nagrad.
My zaveli o svad'be razgovor.
Mne grezilsya venchal'nyj nash obryad
I belyj podvenechnyj moj naryad.

No drug uehal v dal'nij kraj ot nas
U gorodskih uchit'sya masterov.
O, skol'ko bylo slez v proshchal'nyj chas,
I pylkih klyatv, i nezabvennyh slov! -
S otcom my pod ego yavilis' krov.
YA plakala, upav k nemu na grud'.
On klyalsya, chto v bede menya gotov
Lyubit', kak v schast'e. Dolgim byl nash put'.
Otec moj vnov' spokojno mog usnut'.

CHetyre goda - Gospodu hvala! -
My dobyvali hleb nelegkij svoj.
YA treh prelestnyh kroshek rodila.
Uteshennyj, otec skonchalsya moj.
Schastlivyj! Nas, izmuchennyh nuzhdoj,
I nashih ishudavshih malyshej
Ne videl on! Skryl kamen' grobovoj
Pustuyu pryalku ot ego ochej,
Ochag ostyvshij, skorb' moih nochej.

Kogda zh borot'sya ne hvatilo sil
I byli my nadezhdy lisheny,
Nadmennyj baraban provozglasil
Izgnan'e vsem, kto slaby i bedny.
Menya, detej, chto byli golodny,
Moj muzh v ob�yat'ya zaklyuchil s toskoj -
Na to i stali ruki lish' godny.
Mol'by naprasny! Na bereg morskoj
My povleklis' s neschastnoyu tolpoj.

My proveli nemalo tyazhkih dnej
Na korable, poka ne otplyl on.
I byl uzhasen vid rodnyh polej:
Nash kraj chumoj byl tak opustoshen,
CHto tam umolk i pohoronnyj zvon.
Skoree proch'! No gorek byl nash beg:
Ne znali my, chto t'ma so vseh storon
I luchshih dnej ne videt' nam vovek,
Kogda vdali rastayal milyj breg.

Uzh minovala letnyaya pora,
I okean vse yarostnee gnal
Volnu, chto vozdymalas', kak gora;
I s uzhasom glyadeli my, kak shkval,
Krutyas' i voya, volny razbival.
O, znat' by nam, kakie tam, vdali,
Nas ozhidayut muki, - v etot val
My brosit'sya by, verno, predpochli!
Tak my dostigli zapadnoj zemli.

O, kak poroyu strashno platish' ty
Za rasstavan'e s samym dorogim!
Uzh luchshe zhit' v peshchere Nishchety,
Gde ty ni dlya odnoj zvezdy ne zrim,
Il' na glumlen'e frantam gorodskim
Plot' gibnushchuyu vystavlyat' svoyu,
CHem begat' v stae, gde vragom tvoim
Stat' dolzhen kazhdyj, v yarostnom boyu,
V stremlen'e vyzhit' p'yushchij krov' tvoyu!

Nas muchili bolezni, golod, strah,
Stradanij zatyanul vodovorot.
V lesah, v polyah, v pustynyah, v gorodah
Nam ne bylo spasen'ya ot nevzgod.
Vojnoj i morom byli v etot god
Ubity muzh i deti! Vsya sem'ya!
No slezy moi vysohli, - i vot,
V otchayan'e, kak posle zabyt'ya,
Ochnulas' na britanskom sudne ya.

Byl rannij chas, i sin' vody morskoj
Rassvetnym otbleskom ozarena.
I na more caril takoj pokoj,
Takaya nezemnaya tishina,
Kakoj dusha v stradan'e lishena.
V prostor, chto byl tak chudno molchaliv,
Privychnoj beznadezhnosti polna,
YA vglyadyvalas' dolgo, oshchutiv
Skvoz' bol' kak budto radosti priliv.

Ah, kak neshozhe eto vse s bylym,
Gde sluh terzal mne golodavshih voj,
Gde gromozdilis' trupy i, kak dym,
Struilsya vozduh chernyj i chumnoj;
Gde oglashalsya voplem dal'nij boj
I vzryvy podnimali k nebu prah,
I lyudi blednoj mertvennoj tolpoj
V podvalah mrachnyh pryatalis', i strah
Otchayan'em ubit byl v ih serdcah!

Kak ya ot gorya ne soshla s uma,
Kogda vryvalas', serdce ledenya,
Vojna, kak burya, v ulicy, v doma,
I yazykami adskogo ognya
Nas dostavala gibel', i reznya
Tam ne shchadila ni ditya, ni mat'!
No otstupi, bezum'e, ot menya!
O, kak legko, glyadyas' v morskuyu glad',
Celebnyj vozduh ya mogla vdyhat'!

Vse prezhnee ostalos' vdaleke,
Kak budto v mire ya zhila drugom.
Sledila ya za parusom v toske,
CHto podnyat byl v bezvetrii morskom
Terpen'e poteryavshim moryakom,
I dumala: ne luchshe l' etot beg
Bescel'nyj dlit', ne znaya, gde moj dom?
O, esli b ya mogla uplyt' navek
Ot mest, gde obitaet chelovek!

Vot zdes', vot zdes', - mechta sheptala mne, -
Priyut poslednij telo obretet.
YA budu mirno plakat' v tishine,
Skitayas' dni i nochi naprolet
V prostranstve bespredel'nyh etih vod -
Mne v nih mogila chudilas' moya.
No sudno v port dostavil morehod,
Razbiv mechty. Bez pishchi, bez zhil'ya
Sred' tysyachi domov brodila ya.

Kazalos', ya bespomoshchnej teper'
Matrosa, chto volnoyu broshen byl
Na skaly, - ni v odnu stuchat'sya dver'
Ne smela ya, kak golod ni tomil.
V chuzhom sarae ya legla bez sil
Sred' spyashchih kur, kogda nastala noch'.
Byl boj chasov na bashne tak unyl!
Nazavtra povtorilos' vse toch'-v-toch':
Mne bylo poproshajnichat' nevmoch'.

Tak den' vtoroj proshel, i tretij vsled;
YA, ne najdya ni hleba, ni ugla,
V otchayan'e, smeshavshem yav' i bred,
V razrushennuyu krepost' zabrela.
Tam bol' menya pronzila, kak igla,
Moj mozg byl polon, kak v koshmarnom sne,
Videnij dikih, vzor zastlala mgla, -
YA chuvstv lishilas', i ochnut'sya mne
Sluchilos' na bol'nichnoj prostyne.

Moj duh byl slab, i mnozhestvo bylyh
Sobytij sterlos' v pamyati moej.
YA vslushivalas' v zhaloby bol'nyh
Na tysyachu mne chuzhdyh melochej:
Na shum shagov, na ston v tishi nochej,
Na zloe vyrazhenie lica
Sidelki, na bezdushie vrachej, -
Vse eto razdrazhalo bez konca
Ih vyalye, ustalye serdca.

YA im byla ne v silah sostradat':
Menya ne bespokoil etot vzdor.
Ko mne vernulas' pamyat', i opyat'
YA vyshla na siyayushchij prostor.
I obratila izumlennyj vzor
Na vse vokrug! A pozdneyu poroj
Menya privlek pylayushchij koster. -
Brodyag potryas rasskaz pechal'nyj moj,
U nih nashla ya pishchu i pokoj.

I otklik na neschastie moe
Tak dorog byl mne v grubyh ih serdcah!
Po ih slovam, ih vol'noe zhit'e
Ne omrachali ni pechal', ni strah.
S poklazhej ne tryaslis' oni v vozah
I nikogda ne brali v ruki plug.
No snop dlya nih byl sobran na polyah,
Dlya nih aleli yagody vokrug,
I teplym stogom sogreval ih lug.

Oni brodili, tochno gonchary,
S nav'yuchennym korzinami oslom.
I sladkoj predstavlyalas' do pory
Ih zhizn' v voobrazhenii moem:
Volynki zvuk v bezmolvii nochnom,
Veselyj pir kompanii chestnoj
V konyushne, ozarennoj fonarem,
Il' na polyane sred' glushi lesnoj
Pod polnoyu i yasnoyu lunoj.

No v chas, kogda nabrasyvala mgla
Na les i gory plotnyj svoj pokrov, -
K chuzhim dvoram ya krast'sya ne mogla
I priruchat' cepnyh ugryumyh psov
Ili tajkom otodvigat' zasov.
Uslovnyj svist v polunochnoj tishi
I drozh' pri zvuke sobstvennyh shagov
Kazalis' novoj pytkoj dlya dushi,
CH'i rany byli vse eshche svezhi.

CHto bylo delat'? CHem unyat' pechal'?
Otec moj bednyj! Vse tvoi druz'ya
Ushli iz zhizni, i pomoch' edva l'
Mogla mne muzha mertvogo sem'ya.
Na nih i ne rasschityvala ya.
K trudu byla ya tozhe ne godna.
CHasami, slezy gor'kie liya,
Sidela u dorogi ya, odna,
Bezvyhodnoj toskoj ugnetena.

I, nebesa v zhestokosti vinya,
Kormilas' ya lish' milost'yu polej
Da tem, chto ostavlyalo dlya menya
Nebrezhnoe sochuvstvie lyudej.
Polya postel'yu sdelalis' moej.
No gordaya dusha sred' etih bed
Oskorblena byla vsego bol'nej.
I chistoj very yasnyh yunyh let
V dobro i pravdu v nej davno uzh net.
Uzhe tri goda tak skitayus' ya,
Skvoz' slezy nablyudaya vsyakij raz,
Kak uplyvaet solnce v te kraya,

Gde pervaya beda so mnoj stryaslas'.
Skazhi, kuda mne put' derzhat' sejchas?
Net u menya ni blizkih, ni druzej!
...Zaplakav, prervala ona rasskaz.
I nechego skazat' uzh bylo ej
O neizbyvnoj goresti svoej.

GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL
A True Story

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still!
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle grey, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his back,
And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,
Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,
Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still!

Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover;
His voice was like the voice of three.
Old Goody Blake was old and poor;
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who passed her door
Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling:
And then her three hours' work at night,
Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for candle-light.
Remote from sheltered village-green,
On a hill's northern side she dwelt,
Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean,
And hoary dews are slow to melt.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,
Two poor old Dames, as I have known,
Will often live in one small cottage;
But she, poor Woman! housed alone.
Twas well enough when summer came,
The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,
Then at her door the canty Dame
Would sit, as any linnet, gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter,
Oh then how her old bones would shake!
You would have said, if you had met her,
'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dead:
Sad case it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed;
And then for cold not sleep a wink.

O joy for her! whene'er in winter
The winds at night had made a rout;
And scattered many a lusty splinter
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had she, well or sick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile beforehand, turf or stick,
Enough to warm her for three days.

Now, when the frost was past enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could any thing be more alluring
Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And, now and then, it must be said,
When her old bones were cold and chill,
She left her fire, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake;
And vowed that she should be detected -
That he on her would vengeance take.
And oft from his warm fire he'd go,
And to the fields his road would take;
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watched to seize old Goody Blake.

And once, behind a rick of barley,
Thus looking out did Harry stand:
The moon was full and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble land.
- He hears a noise-he's all awake -
Again? - on tip-toe down the hill
He softly creeps - 'tis Goody Blake;
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill!

Right glad was he when he beheld her:
Stick after stick did Goody pull:
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had filled her apron full.
When with her load she turned about,
The by-way back again to take;
He started forward, with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cried, "I've caught you then at last!" -
Then Goody, who had nothing said,
Her bundle from her lap let fall;
And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed
To God that is the judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm-
"God! who art never out of hearing,
O may he never more be warm!"
The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray;
Young Harry heard what she had said:
And icy cold he turned away.

He went complaining all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill:
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas! that day for Harry Gill!
That day he wore a riding-coat,
But not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on Thursday brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.

'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
And blankets were about him pinned;
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter;
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say, 'tis plain,
That, live as long as live he may,
He never will be warm again.

No word to any man he utters,
A-bed or up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters,
"Poor Harry Gill is very cold."
A-bed or up, by night or day;
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill!

GUDI BLEJK I GARRI DZHILL
pravdivaya istoriya

Kakaya hvor', kakaya sila
I dni, i mesyacy podryad
Tak sotryasaet Garri Dzhilla,
CHto zuby u nego stuchat?
U Garri nedostatka net
V zhiletah, shubah mehovyh.
I vse, vo chto bol'noj odet,
Sogrelo b i devyateryh.

V aprele, v dekabre, v iyune,
V zharu li, v dozhd' li, v snegopad,
Pod solncem ili v polnolun'e
U Garri zuby vse stuchat!
Vse to zhe s Garri kruglyj god -
Tverdit o nem i star i mlad:
Dnem, utrom, nochi naprolet
U Garri zuby vse stuchat!

On molod byl i krepko slazhen
Dlya remesla gurtovshchika:
V ego plechah kosaya sazhen',
Krov' s molokom - ego shcheka.
A Gudi Blejk stara byla,
I kazhdyj vam povedat' mog,
V kakoj nuzhde ona zhila,
Kak temnyj dom ee ubog.

Za pryazheyu hudye plechi
Ne raspryamlyala den' i noch'.
Uvy, sluchalos', i na svechi
Ej bylo nakopit' nevmoch'.
Stoyal na hladnoj storone
Holma ee promerzshij dom.
I ugol' byl v bol'shoj cene
V selen'e otdalennom tom.

Net blizkoj u nee podrugi,
Delit' ej ne s kem krov i sned'.
Ej, vidno, v nishchenskoj lachuge
Odnoj pridetsya umeret'.
Lish' yasnoj solnechnoj poroj,
S prihodom letnego tepla,
Podobno ptichke polevoj,
Ona byvaet vesela.

Kogda zh zatyanet l'dom potoki -
Ej zhizn' i vovse nevterpezh.
Kak zhzhet ee moroz zhestokij
I kosti probiraet drozh'!
Kogda tak pusto i mertvo
Ee zhilishche v pozdnij chas, -
O, dogadajtes', kakovo
Ot stuzhi ne smykat' ej glaz!

Ej schast'e vypadalo redko,
Kogda, vokrug chinya razboj,
K ee izbe suhie vetki
I shchepki veter gnal nochnoj.
Ne pominala i molva,
CHtob Gudi zapasalas' vprok.
I drov hvatalo ej edva
Lish' na odin-drugoj denek.

Kogda moroz pronzaet zhily
I kosti starye bolyat -
Pleten' sadovyj Garri Dzhilla
Ee prityagivaet vzglyad.
I vot, ochag pokinuv svoj,
Edva ugasnet zimnij den',
Ona ozyabsheyu rukoj
Nashchupyvaet tot pleten'.

No o progulkah Gudi staroj
Dogadyvalsya Garri Dzhill.
On myslenno grozil ej karoj,
On Gudi podsterech' reshil.
On shel vyslezhivat' ee
V polya nochnye, v sneg, v metel',
Ostaviv teploe zhil'e,
Pokinuv zharkuyu postel'.

I vot odnazhdy za skirdoyu
Tailsya on, moroz klyanya.
Pod yarkoj polnoyu lunoyu
Hrustela merzlaya sternya.
Vdrug shum on slyshit i totchas
S holma spuskaetsya, kak ten':
Da eto Gudi Blejk kak raz
YAvilas' razoryat' pleten'!

Byl Garri rad ee userd'yu,
Ulybkoj zlobnoyu rascvel,
I zhdal, pokuda - zherd' za zherd'yu -
Ona napolnit svoj podol.
Kogda zh poshla ona bez sil
Obratno s nosheyu svoej -
Svirepo kriknul Garri Dzhill
I pregradil dorogu ej.

I on shvatil ee rukoyu,
Rukoj tyazheloj, kak svinec,
Rukoyu krepkoyu i zloyu,
Vskrichav: "Popalas', nakonec!"
Siyala polnaya luna.
Poklazhu nazem' uroniv,
Vzmolilas' Gospodu ona,
V snegu koleni prekloniv.

Upav na sneg, vzmolilas' Gudi
I ruki k nebu podnyala:
"Puskaj on vechno merznut' budet!
Gospod', lishi ego tepla!"
Takoj byla ee mol'ba.
Ee uslyshal Garri Dzhill -
I v tot zhe mig ot pyat do lba
Oznob vsego ego pronzil.

Vsyu noch' tryaslo ego, i utrom
Ego pronizyvala drozh'.
Licom unylym, vzorom mutnym
Stal na sebya on ne pohozh.
Spastis' ot stuzhi ne pomog
Emu izvozchichij tulup.
I v dvuh sogret'sya on ne mog,
I v treh byl holoden, kak trup.

Kaftany, odeyala, shuby -
Vse bespolezno s etih por.
Stuchat, stuchat u Garri zuby,
Kak na vetru okonnyj stvor.
Zimoj i letom, v znoj i v sneg
Oni stuchat, stuchat, stuchat!
On ne sogreetsya vovek! -
Tverdit o nem i star i mlad.

On govorit' ni s kem ne hochet.
V siyan'e dnya, v nochnuyu t'mu
On tol'ko zhalobno bormochet,
CHto ochen' holodno emu.
Neobychajnyj sej rasskaz
YA vam pravdivo izlozhil.
Da budut v pamyati u vas
I Gudi Blejk, i Garri Dzhill!

LINES WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY HOUSE AND SENT
BY MY LITTLE BOY TO THE PERSON TO WHOM THEY WERE ADDRESSED

It is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green field.

My sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Now that our morning meal is done,
Make haste, your morning task resign;
Come forth and feel the sun.

Edward will come with you; - and, pray,
Put on with speed your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.

No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living calendar:
We from to-day, my Friend, will date
The opening of the year.

Love, now a universal birth,
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth:
- It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more
Than years of toiling reason:
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.

Some silent laws our hearts will make,
Which they shall long obey:
We for the year to come may take
Our temper from to-day.

And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,
We'll frame the measure of our souls:
They shall be tuned to love.

Then come, my Sister! come, I pray,
With speed put on your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.

STIHI, NAPISANNYE NEPODALEKU OT DOMA I PEREDANNYE MOIM MALXCHIKOM TOJ,
K KOMU OBRASHCHENY

Vesennim pervym teplym dnem
Mig novyj prezhnego prelestnej.
Na dereve u vhoda v dom
Malinovka zavodit pesnyu.

Blazhenstvom vozduh napoen
I vsya ozhivshaya okruga:
Ot golyh gor i golyh kron
Do zeleneyushchego luga.

Pokonchiv s zavtrakom, sestra,
Moe zhelanie ispolni:
Na solnce vybegi s utra
I o delah svoih ne pomni.

Prostoe plat'ice naden'
I ne beri s soboyu chten'e.
YA tak hochu, chtob v etot den'
My vdovol' nasladilis' len'yu.

Uslovnostej privychnyj gnet
S sebya my sbrosim, i segodnya
My novyh dnej nachnem otschet,
Kak posle daty novogodnej.

Vsemu cvetenie sulya,
Ot serdca k serdcu l'net ukradkoj
Lyubov', - i vlazhnaya zemlya
Pronizana istomoj sladkoj.

Mgnoven'e mozhet bol'she dat',
CHem polstolet'ya rassuzhdenij.
My kazhdoj kletkoj blagodat'
Vpitaem v etot den' vesennij.

Ukladu novomu hranya
V serdcah svoih povinoven'e,
Ves' god iz nyneshnego dnya
My budem cherpat' vdohnoven'e.

I sila etogo vokrug
Rasprostranennogo blazhenstva
Pomozhet nam s toboj, moj drug,
Dostich' lyubvi i sovershenstva.

Tak poskoree zhe naden'
Prostoe plat'ice i chten'ya
V put' ne beri - ved' v etot den'
My budem naslazhdat'sya len'yu.

SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN, WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED

In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
An old man dwells, a little man,
I've heard he once was tall.
Of years he has upon his back,
No doubt, a burthen weighty;
He says he is three score and ten,
But others say he's eighty.

A long blue liver-coat has he,
That's fair behind, and fair before;
Yet, meet him where you will, you see
At once that he is poor.
Full five and twenty years he lived
A running huntsman merry;
And, though he has but one eye left,
His cheek is like a cherry.

No man like him the horn could sound,
And no man was so full of glee;
To say the least, four counties round
Had heard of Simon Lee;
His master's dead, and no one now
Dwells in the hall of Ivor;
Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;
He is the sole survivor.

His hunting feats have him bereft
Of his right eye, as you may see:
And then, what limbs those feats have left
To poor old Simon Lee!
He has no son, he has no child,
His wife, an aged woman,
Lives with him, near the waterfall,
Upon the village common.

And he is lean and he is sick,
His little body's half awry
His ancles they are swoln and thick
His legs are thin and dry.
When he was young he little knew
Of husbandry or tillage;
And now he's forced to work, though weak,
- The weakest in the village.

He all the country could outrun,
Could leave both man and horse behind;
And often, ere the race was done,
He reeled and was stone-blind.
And still there's something in the world
At which his heart rejoices;
For when the chiming hounds are out,
He dearly loves their voices!

Old Ruth works out of doors with him,
And does what Simon cannot do;
For she, not over stout of limb,
Is stouter of the two.
And though you with your utmost skill
From labour could not wean them,
Alas! 'tis very little, all
Which they can do between them.

Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
Not twenty paces from the door,
A scrap of land they have, but they
Are poorest of the poor.
This scrap of land he from the heath
Enclosed when he was stronger;
But what avails the land to them,
Which they can till no longer?

Few months of life has he in store,
As he to you will tell,
For still, the more he works, the more
His poor old ankles swell.
My gentle reader, I perceive
How patiently you've waited,
And I'm afraid that you expect
Some tale will be related.

O reader! had you in your mind
Such stores as silent thought can bring,
O gentle reader! you would find
A tale in every thing.
What more I have to say is short,
I hope you'll kindly take it;
It is no tale; but should you think,
Perhaps a tale you'll make it.

One summer-day I chanced to see
This old man doing all he could
About the root of an old tree,
A stump of rotten wood.
The mattock totter'd in his hand
So vain was his endeavour
That at the root of the old tree
He might have worked for ever.

"You're overtasked, good Simon Lee,
Give me your tool," to him I said;
And at the word right gladly he
Received my proffer'd aid.
I struck, and with a single blow
The tangled root I sever'd,
At which the poor old man so long
And vainly had endeavour'd.

The tears into his eyes were brought,
And thanks and praises seemed to run
So fast out of his heart, I thought
They never would have done.
- I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning.
Alas! the gratitude of men
Has oftener left me mourning.

SAJMON LI

Vblizi imeniya Ajvor,
Sred' rajskih Kardiganskih mest
ZHil staryj eger' - s davnih por
Proslavlennyj okrest.
No spinu krepkuyu ego
V dugu sognulo vremya:
Ee vos'midesyati let
Otyagotilo bremya.

Eshche opryaten goluboj
Ego mundir bylyh vremen.
No dogadat'sya mog lyuboj
O tom, chto beden on.
Bespechnym egerem sluzhil
On chetvert' veka s lishnim.
I nyne shcheki u nego
Podobny spelym vishnyam.

Nikto trubit', kak Sajmon Li,
Vo dni minuvshie ne mog:
CHetyre zamka toj zemli
Budil veselyj rog.
Davno uzh pust Ajvor, uvy!
I gospoda v mogilah,
Sobaki, loshadi mertvy -
Lish' Sajmon perezhil ih.

Bylye podvigi ego,
Kak ubedit'sya vy mogli,
Lishili glaza odnogo.
O, bednyj Sajmon Li!
Svoj vek vlachit on bez detej
V sushchestvovan'e skudnom,
S zhenoyu staroyu svoej
Na vygone bezlyudnom.

On ves' osunulsya, zachah,
Figura sgorblena, kriva.
Na toshchih, vysohshih nogah
On derzhitsya edva.
On smolodu ne znal truda,
On ne hodil za plugom -
YAvilas' k Sajmonu nuzhda
S godami i nedugom.

Sred' etih pastbishch i polej
Vslepuyu mog nosit'sya on,
Operezhaya loshadej,
Vedya schastlivyj gon.
On vse eshche ot laya psov
Prihodit v upoen'e,
Ot ih veselyh golosov,
Zvuchashchih v otdalen'e.

Pokrepche Sajmona byla
Ego zhena, staruha Rut,
I chasto na sebya brala
Hozyajskij tyazhkij trud.
No hot' s rabotoj razluchit'
Edva li chto moglo ih, -
Ne mnogo proku bylo v tom,
Uvy, ot nih oboih.

Bliz hizhiny, porosshej mhom,
Prinadlezhal im klok zemli.
Ee na pustyre gluhom
Vozdelal Sajmon Li.
Prishli hudye vremena:
Net prezhnih urozhaev.
Davno zabroshena zemlya
Po slabosti hozyaev.

O tom, chto dozhivaet dni,
On skazhet sam navernyaka.
V trudah raspuhshie stupni
Bolyat u starika.
CHitatel' dobryj, vizhu ya,
Ty krotko zhdesh' razvyazki.
No ya boyus', chto ty zhelal
Kakoj-to chudnoj skazki.

V voobrazhenii tvoem
Istorij raznyh celyj klad.
CHudesnyj vymysel vo vsem
Ty obnaruzhit' rad.
CHitatel', v skazku moj syuzhet
Sam prevratit' poprobuj,
Poskol'ku zdes' ni skazki net,
Ni vydumki osoboj.

Odnazhdy yasnym letnim dnem
YA Sajmona uvidel - on
Nad polusgnivshim starym pnem
Sklonilsya, utomlen.
Uzhe, kazalos', celyj vek,
Otchayan'yu pokoren,
Kirkoj, drozhavsheyu v rukah,
Rubil on krepkij koren'.

"O, milyj Sajmon, - molvil ya, -
Pozvol', tebe ya pomogu!"
I, oblegchen'ya ne taya,
On mne otdal kirku.
I uzlovatyj koren' vraz
S razmahu sokrushil ya,
Odnim udarom zavershiv
Stol' dolgie usil'ya.

Tut slez ne uderzhal starik,
I blagodarnost', i vostorg
S vnezapnoj siloj v tot zhe mig
On iz dushi istorg.
Uvy, serdechnost'yu takoj
Mne redko otvechali.
Ot blagodarnosti lyudskoj
YA chashche byl v pechali.

ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS, SHEWING HOW THE ART OF LYING MAY BE TAUGHT

I have a boy of five years old,
His face is fair and fresh to see;
His limbs are cast in beauty's mould,
And dearly he loves me.

One morn we stroll'd on our dry walk,
Our quiet house all full in view,
And held such intermitted talk
As we are wont to do.

My thoughts on former pleasures ran;
I thought of Kilve's delightful shore,
Our pleasant home, when spring began,
A long, long year before.

A day it was when I could bear
To think, and think, and think again;
With so much happiness to spare,
I could not feel a pain.

My boy was by my side, so slim
And graceful in his rustic dress!
And oftentimes I talked to him,
In very idleness.

The young lambs ran a pretty race;
The morning sun shone bright and warm;
"Kilve," said I, "was a pleasant place,
And so is Liswyn farm."

"My little boy, which like you more,"
I said and took him by the arm-
"Our home by Kilve's delightful shore,
Or here at Liswyn farm?"

"And tell me, had you rather be,"
I said and held him by the arm,
"At Kilve's smooth shore by the green sea,
Or here at Liswyn farm?"

In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, "At Kilve I'd rather be
Than here at Liswyn farm."

"Now, little Edward, say why so;
My little Edward, tell me why;"
"I cannot tell, I do not know."
"Why, this is strange," said I.

"For, here are woods and green-hills warm;
There surely must some reason be
Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm
For Kilve by the green sea."

At this, my boy, so fair and slim,
Hung down his head, nor made reply;
And five times did I say to him,
"Why, Edward, tell me why?"

His head he raised-there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain-
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.

Then did the boy his tongue unlock,
And thus to me he made reply:
"At Kilve there was no weather-cock,
And that's the reason why."

O dearest, dearest boy! my heart
For better lore would seldom yearn,
Could I but teach the hundredth part
Of what from thee I leam.

ISTORIYA DNYA OTCOV, ILI KAK MOZHNO VOSPITATX PRIVYCHKU KO LZHI

Krasiv i stroen mal'chik moj -
Emu vsego lish' pyat'.
I nezhnoj lyubyashchej dushoj
On angelu pod stat'.

U doma nashego vdvoem
My s nim gulyali v rannij chas,
Beseduya o tom, o sem,
Kak prinyato u nas.

Mne vspominalsya dal'nij kraj,
Nash domik proshloyu vesnoj.
I bereg Kil'va, tochno raj,
Voznik peredo mnoj.

I stol'ko schast'ya ya sbereg,
CHto, vozvrashchayas' mysl'yu vspyat',
YA v etot den' bez boli mog
Byloe vspominat'.

Odetyj prosto, bez prikras,
Moj mal'chik byl prigozh i mil.
YA s nim, kak prezhde mnogo raz,
Bespechno govoril.

YAgnyat byl graciozen beg
Na fone solnechnogo dnya.
"Nash Lisvin, kak i Kil'vskij breg,
CHudesen", - molvil ya.

"Tebe milee zdeshnij dom? -
Sprosil ya malysha. -
Il' tot, na beregu morskom?
Otvet', moya dusha!

I gde ty zhit', v krayu kakom
Hotel by bol'she, daj otvet:
Na Kil'vskom beregu morskom
Il' v Lisvine, moj svet?"

Glaza on podnyal na menya,
I vzglyad byl prostodush'ya poln:
"U morya zhit' hotel by ya,
Vblizi zelenyh voln".

"No, milyj |dvard, otchego?
Skazhi, moj mal'chik, pochemu?"
"Ne znayu, - byl otvet ego, -
I sam ya ne pojmu..."

"Zachem zhe etu blagodat'
Lesov i solnechnyh lugov
Ty bezrassudno promenyat'
Na Kil'v morskoj gotov?"

No, otvedya smushchennyj vzglyad,
Ne otvechal on nichego.
YA povtoril pyat' raz podryad:
"Skazhi mne, otchego?"

Vdrug podnyal golovu malysh,
I, yarkim bleskom privlechen,
Uvidel na odnoj iz krysh
Sverkavshij flyuger on.

I mig spustya ego otvet,
Stol' dolgozhdannyj, byl takov:
"Vse delo v tom, chto v Kil've net
Vot etih petuhov".

YA stat' mudrej by ne mechtal,
Kogda, moj dorogoj synok,
Tomu, chto ot tebya uznal,
Sam nauchit' by mog.

WE ARE SEVEN

- A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
- Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell.
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven! - I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

NAS SEMERO

Legko radushnoe ditya
Privykshee dyshat',
Zdorov'em, zhizniyu cvetya,
Kak mozhet smert' ponyat'?

Navstrechu devochka mne shla:
Let vosem' bylo ej;
Ee golovku oblegla
Struya gustyh kudrej.

I dik byl vid ee stepnoj,
I dik prostoj naryad,
I radoval menya krasoj
Malyutki milyj vzglyad.

"Vseh skol'ko vas, - ej molvil ya, -
I brat'ev, i sester?"
- Vsego? Nas sem'! - i, na menya
Divyas', brosaet vzor.

"A gde zh oni?" - Nas sem' vsego, -
V otvet malyutka mne. -
Nas dvoe zhit' poshli v selo
I dva na korable.

I na kladbishche brat s sestroj
Lezhat iz semeryh,
A za kladbishchem ya s rodnoj:
ZHivem my podle nih.

"Kak? Dvoe zhit' v selo poshli,
Pustilis' dvoe plyt',
A vas vse sem'! Druzhok, skazhi,
Kak eto mozhet byt'?"

- Nas sem', nas sem'! - ona totchas
Opyat' skazala mne.
- Zdes' na kladbishche dvoe nas
Pod ivoyu v zemle.

"Ty begaesh' vokrug nee,
Ty vidno, chto zhiva;
No vas lish' pyat', ditya moe,
Kogda pod ivoj dva".

- Na ih grobah zemlya v cvetah,
I desyati shagov
Net ot dverej rodnoj moej
Do milyh nam grobov.

YA chasto zdes' chulki vyazhu,
Platok moj zdes' rublyu,
I podle ih mogil sizhu,
I pesni im poyu.

I esli pozdneyu poroj
Svetlo gorit zarya,
To, vzyav moj syr i hleb s soboj,
Zdes' uzhinayu ya.

Malyutka Dzhenni den' i noch'
Tomilasya, bol'na;
No Bog ej ne zabyl pomoch' -
I spryatalas' ona.

Kogda zh ee my pogrebli
I rascvela zemlya -
K nej na mogilku my prishli
Rezvit'sya, Dzhon i ya.

No tol'ko dozhdalas' zimoj
Kon'kov ya i sanej,
Ushel i Dzhon, bratishka moj,
I leg on ryadom s nej.

"Tak skol'ko zh vas?" - byl moj otvet. -
Na nebe dvoe, ver'!
Vas tol'ko pyat'". - O, barin, net!
Sochti - nas sem' teper'.

"Da net uzh dvuh: oni v zemle,
A dushi v nebesah!"
No byl li prok v moih slovah?
Vse devochka tverdila mne:
- O net, nas sem', nas sem'!

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:-
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

STROKI, NAPISANNYE RANNEYU VESNOJ

V prozrachnoj roshche, v den' vesennij
YA slushal mnogozvuchnyj shum.
I radost' svetlyh razmyshlenij
Smenyalas' grust'yu mrachnyh dum.

Vse, chto priroda sotvorila,
ZHilo v ladu s moej dushoj.
No chto, - podumal ya unylo, -
CHto sdelal chelovek s soboj?

Sred' primul, polnyh likovan'ya,
Barvinok nezhnyj vil venok.
Ot svoego blagouhan'ya
Blazhenstvoval lyuboj cvetok.

I, nablyudaya ptic kruzhen'e, -
Hot' i ne mog ih myslej znat', -
YA veril: kazhdoe dvizhen'e
Dlya nih - vostorg i blagodat'.

I vetki vetra dunoven'e
Lovili veerom svoim.
YA ne ispytyval somnen'ya,
CHto eto bylo v radost' im.

I kol' uverennost' moya -
Ne navazhdenie pustoe,
Tak chto, - s toskoyu dumal ya, -
CHto sdelal chelovek s soboyu?

THE THORN

"There is a Thorn - it looks so old,
In truth, you'd find it hard to say
How it could ever have been young,
It looks so old and grey.
Not higher than a two years' child
It stands erect, this aged Thorn;
No leaves it has, no prickly points;
It is a mass of knotted joints,
A wretched thing forlorn,
It stands erect, and like a stone
With lichens is it overgrown.

"Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown,
With lichens to the very top,
And hung with heavy tufts of moss,
A melancholy crop:
Up from the earth these mosses creep,
And this poor Thorn they clasp it round
So close, you'd say that they are bent
With plain and manifest intent
To drag it to the ground;
And all have joined in one endeavour
To bury this poor Thorn for ever.

III

"High on a mountain's highest ridge,
Where oft the stormy winter gale
Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds
It sweeps from vale to vale;
Not five yards from the mountain path,
This Thorn you on your left espy;
And to the left, three yards beyond,
You see a little muddy pond
Of water-never dry
Though but of compass small, and bare
To thirsty suns and parching air.

"And, close beside this aged Thorn,
There is a fresh and lovely sight,
A beauteous heap, a hill of moss,
Just half a foot in height.
All lovely colours there you see,
All colours that were ever seen;
And mossy network too is there,
As if by hand of lady fair
The work had woven been;
And cups, the darlings of the eye,
So deep is their vermilion dye.

"Ah me! what lovely tints are there
Of olive green and scarlet bright,
In spikes, in branches, and in stars,
Green, red, and pearly white!
This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss,
Which close beside the Thorn you see,
So fresh in all its beauteous dyes,
Is like an infant's grave in size,
As like as like can be:
But never, never any where,
An infant's grave was half so fair.

"Now would you see this aged Thorn,
This pond, and beauteous hill of moss,
You must take care and choose your time
The mountain when to cross.
For oft there sits between the heap
So like an infant's grave in size,
And that same pond of which I spoke,
A Woman in a scarlet cloak,
And to herself she cries,
'Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!'"

VII

"At all times of the day and night
This wretched Woman thither goes;
And she is known to every star,
And every wind that blows;
And there, beside the Thorn, she sits
When the blue daylight's in the skies,
And when the whirlwind's on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
And to herself she cries,
'Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!'"

VIII

"Now wherefore, thus, by day and night,
In rain, in tempest, and in snow,
Thus to the dreary mountain-top
Does this poor Woman go?
And why sits she beside the Thorn
When the blue daylight's in the sky
Or when the whirlwind's on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
And wherefore does she cry? -
O wherefore? wherefore? tell me why
Does she repeat that doleful cry?"

"I cannot tell; I wish I could;
For the true reason no one knows:
But would you gladly view the spot,
The spot to which she goes;
The hillock like an infant's grave,
The pond-and Thorn, so old and grey;
Pass by her door - 'tis seldom shut -
And, if you see her in her hut -
Then to the spot away!
I never heard of such as dare
Approach the spot when she is there."

"But wherefore to the mountain-top
Can this unhappy Woman go?
Whatever star is in the skies,
Whatever wind may blow?"
"Full twenty years are past and gone
Since she (her name is Martha Ray)
Gave with a maiden's true good-will
Her company to Stephen Hill;
And she was blithe and gay,
While friends and kindred all approved
Of him whom tenderly she loved.

"And they had fixed the wedding day,
The morning that must wed them both;
But Stephen to another Maid
Had sworn another oath;
And, with this other Maid, to church
Unthinking Stephen went-
Poor Martha! on that woeful day
A pang of pitiless dismay
Into her soul was sent;
A fire was kindled in her breast,
Which might not burn itself to rest.

XII

"They say, full six months after this,
While yet the summer leaves were green,
She to the mountain-top would go,
And there was often seen.
What could she seek? - or wish to hide?
Her state to any eye was plain;
She was with child, and she was mad;
Yet often was she sober sad
From her exceeding pain.
O guilty Father-would that death
Had saved him from that breach of faith!

XIII

"Sad case for such a brain to hold
Communion with a stirring child!
Sad case, as you may think, for one
Who had a brain so wild!
Last Christmas-eve we talked of this,
And grey-haired Wilfred of the glen
Held that the unborn infant wrought
About its mother's heart, and brought
Her senses back again:
And, when at last her time drew near,
Her looks were calm, her senses clear.

XIV

"More know I not, I wish I did,
And it should all be told to you;
For what became of this poor child
No mortal ever knew;
Nay-if a child to her was born
No earthly tongue could ever tell;
And if 'twas born alive or dead,
Far less could this with proof be said;
But some remember well,
That Martha Ray about this time
Would up the mountain often climb.

"And all that winter, when at night
The wind blew from the mountain-peak,
Twas worth your while, though in the dark,
The churchyard path to seek:
For many a time and oft were heard
Cries coming from the mountain head:
Some plainly living voices were;
And others, I've heard many swear,
Were voices of the dead:
I cannot think, whate'er they say,
They had to do with Martha Ray.

XVI

"But that she goes to this old Thorn,
The Thorn which I described to you,
And there sits in a scarlet cloak
I will be sworn is true.
For one day with my telescope,
To view the ocean wide and bright,
When to this country first I came,
Ere I had heard of Martha's name,
I climbed the mountain's height:-
A storm came on, and I could see
No object higher than my knee.

XVII

"'Twas mist and rain, and storm and rain:
No screen, no fence could I discover;
And then the wind! in sooth, it was
A wind full ten times over.
I looked around, I thought I saw
A jutting crag, -and off I ran,
Head-foremost, through the driving rain,
The shelter of the crag to gain;
And, as I am a man,
Instead of jutting crag, I found
A Woman seated on the ground.

XVIII

"I did not speak - I saw her face;
Her face! - it was enough for me;
I turned about and heard her cry,
'Oh misery! oh misery!'
And there she sits, until the moon
Through half the clear blue sky will go;
And, when the little breezes make
The waters of the pond to shake,
As all the country know,
She shudders, and you hear her cry,
'Oh misery! oh misery!'"

XIX

"But what's the Thorn? and what the pond?
And what the hill of moss to her?
And what the creeping breeze that comes
The little pond to stir?"
"I cannot tell; but some will say
She hanged her baby on the tree;
Some say she drowned it in the pond,
Which is a little step beyond:
But all and each agree,
The little Babe was buried there,
Beneath that hill of moss so fair.

"I've heard, the moss is spotted red
With drops of that poor infant's blood;
But kill a new-born infant thus,
I do not think she could!
Some say, if to the pond you go,
And fix on it a steady view,
The shadow of a babe you trace,
A baby and a baby's face,
And that it looks at you;
Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain
The baby looks at you again.

XXI

"And some had sworn an oath that she
Should be to public justice brought;
And for the little infant's bones
With spades they would have sought.
But instantly the hill of moss
Before their eyes began to stir!
And, for full fifty yards around,
The grass - it shook upon the ground!
Yet all do still aver
The little Babe lies buried there,
Beneath that hill of moss so fair.

XXII

"I cannot tell how this may be,
But plain it is the Thorn is bound
With heavy tufts of moss that strive
To drag it to the ground;
And this I know, full many a time,
When she was on the mountain high,
By day, and in the silent night,
When all the stars shone clear and bright,
That I have heard her cry,
'Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!'"

TPRN

- Ty nabredesh' na staryj Tern
I oshchutish' mogil'nyj holod:
Kto, kto teper' voobrazit,
CHto Tern byl svezh i molod!
Starik, on rostom nevelik,
S dvuhgodovalogo mladenca.
Ni list'ev, dazhe ni shipov -
Odni uzly krivyh suchkov
Venchayut otshchepenca.
I, kak stoyachij kamen', mhom
Otzhivshij Tern obros krugom.

Obrosshij, slovno kamen', mhom
Ternovyj kust neuznavaem:
S vetvej svisayut kosmy mha
Unylym urozhaem,
I ot kornej vzobralsya moh
K vershine bednogo rasten'ya,
I navalilsya na nego,
I ne skryvaet svoego
Upornogo stremlen'ya -
Neschastnyj Tern k zemle sklonit'
I v nej navek pohoronit'.

III

Tropoyu gornoj ty vzojdesh'
Tuda, gde burya tochit kruchi,
Otkuda v mirnyj dol ona
Svergaetsya skvoz' tuchi.
Tam ot tropy shagah v pyati
Zametish' Tern sedoj i mrachnyj,
I v treh shagah za nim vidna
Lozhbinka, chto vsegda polna
Vodoyu neprozrachnoj:
Ej nipochem i suhovej,
I zhadnost' solnechnyh luchej.

No vozle dryahlogo kusta
Ty vstretish' zrelishche inoe:
Pokrytyj mhom prelestnyj holm
V polfuta vyshinoyu.
On vsemi kraskami cvetet,
Kakie est' pod nebesami,
I mnitsya, chto ego pokrov
Spleten iz raznocvetnyh mhov
Devich'imi rukami.
On zeleneet, kak trostnik,
I pyshet plamenem gvozdik.

O Bozhe, chto za kruzheva,
Kakie zvezdy, vetvi, strely!
Tam - izumrudnyj zavitok,
Tam - luch zhemchuzhno-belyj.
I kak vse bleshchet i zhivet!
Zachem zhe ryadom Tern unylyj?
CHto zh, mozhet byt', i ty najdesh',
CHto etot holm chertami shozh
S mladencheskoj mogiloj.
No kak by ty ni rassudil,
Na svete krashe net mogil.

Ty rvesh'sya k Ternu, k ozerku,
K holmu v tainstvennom cveten'e?
Speshit' nel'zya, osteregis',
Umer' na vremya rven'e:
Tam chasto ZHenshchina sidit,
I alyj plashch ee pylaet;
Ona sidit mezh ozerkom
I yarkim malen'kim holmom
I skorbno povtoryaet:
"O, gore mne! O, gore mne!
O, gore, gore, gore mne!"

VII

Neschastnaya tuda bredet
V lyuboe vremya dnya i nochi;
Tam vetry duyut na nee
I zvezd vzirayut ochi;
Bliz Terna ZHenshchina sidit
I v chas, kogda lazur' blistaet,
I v chas, kogda iz l'distyh stran
Nad nej pronositsya buran, -
Sidit i prichitaet:
"O, gore mne! O, gore mne!
O, gore, gore, gore mne!"

VIII

- Molyu, skazhi, zachem ona
Pri svete dnya, v nochnuyu poru,
Skvoz' dozhd' i sneg i uragan
Vzbiraetsya na goru?
Zachem bliz Terna tam sidit
I v chas, kogda lazur' blistaet,
I v chas, kogda iz l'distyh stran
Nad nej pronositsya buran, -
Sidit i prichitaet?
Molyu, otkroj mne, chem rozhden
Ee unylyj dolgij ston?

- Ne znayu; nikomu u nas
Zagadka eta ne pod silu.
Ty ubedish'sya: holm pohozh
Na detskuyu mogilu,
I muten prud, i mrachen Tern.
No prezhde na krayu selen'ya
Vzglyani v ee ubogij dom,
I ezheli hozyajka v nem,
Togda lovi mgnoven'e:
Pri nej nikto eshche ne smel
Vojti v pechal'nyj tot predel.

- No kak sluchilos', chto ona
Na eto mesto god ot godu
Prihodit pod lyuboj zvezdoj,
V lyubuyu nepogodu?
- Let dvadcat' minulo s pory,
Kak drugu Marta Rej vruchila
Svoi mechty i vsyu sebya,
Vruchila, strastno polyubya
Lihogo Stiva Hilla.
Kak bezzabotna, vesela,
Kak schastliva ona byla!

Rodnya blagoslovila ih
I ob�yavila den' venchan'ya;
No Stiv drugoj podruge dal
Drugoe obeshchan'e;
S drugoj podrugoj pod venec
Poshel, likuya, Stiv bespechnyj.
A Marta, - ot neschastnyh dum
V nej skoro pomrachilsya um,
I vspyhnul ugol' vechnyj,
CHto tajno pepelit serdca,
No ne szhigaet do konca.

XII

Tak polugoda ne proshlo,
Eshche listva ne pozheltela,
A Marta v gory povleklas',
Kak budto chto hotela
Tam otyskat' - il', mozhet, skryt'.
Vse zamechali ponevole,
CHto v nej ditya, a razum dik
I chut' svetleet lish' na mig
Ot neposil'noj boli.
Uzh luchshe b umer podlyj Stiv,
Ee lyubvi ne oskorbiv!

XIII

O, chto za grust'! Voobrazi,
Kak pomutnennyj um tomitsya.
Kogda pod serdcem vse sil'nej
Mladenec shevelitsya!
Sedoj Dzherom pod Rozhdestvo
Nas udivil takim rasskazom:
CHto, v materi nabravshis' sil,
Mladenec chudo sotvoril,
I k nej vernulsya razum,
I ochi glyanuli svetlo;
A tam i vremya podoshlo.

XIV

CHto bylo dal'she - znaet Bog,
A iz lyudej nikto ne znaet;
V selen'e nashem do sih por
Tolkuyut i gadayut,
CHto bylo - ili byt' moglo:
Rodilsya li rebenok bednyj,
I kol' rodilsya, to kakim,
Lishennym zhizni il' zhivym,
I kak ischez bessledno.
No tol'ko s teh osennih dnej
Uhodit v gory Marta Rej.

Eshche ya slyshal, chto zimoj
Pri v'yuge, lyubopytstva radi,
V nochi stekalis' smel'chaki
K kladbishchenskoj ograde:
Tuda po vetru s gornyh kruch
Sletali gor'kie rydan'ya,
A mozhet, eto iz grobov
Rvalis' naruzhu mertvecov
Nevnyatnye stenan'ya.
No vryad li byl polnochnyj ston
K neschastnoj Marte obrashchen.

XVI

Odno izvestno: kazhdyj den'
Naverh bredet ona uporno
I tam v pylayushchem plashche
Toskuet vozle Terna.
Kogda ya pribyl v etot kraj
I nichego ne znal, to vskore
S moej podzornoyu truboj
YA pospeshil krutoj tropoj
Vzglyanut' s gory na more.
No smerklos' tak, chto ya ne mog
Uvidet' sobstvennyh sapog.

XVII

Popolz tuman, polilsya dozhd',
Mne ne bylo puti obratno,
Tem bolee chto veter vdrug
Okrep desyatikratno.
YA oziralsya, ya speshil
Najti ubezhishche ot shkvala,
I, chto-to smutno uvidav,
YA brosilsya tuda stremglav,
I predo mnoj predstala -
Net, ne rasselina v skale,
No ZHenshchina v pustynnoj mgle.

XVIII

YA onemel - ya prochital
Takuyu bol' v pogasshem vzore,
CHto proch' bezhal, a vsled neslos':
"O, gore mne! O, gore!"
Mne ob�yasnyali, chto v gorah
Ona sidit bezglasnoj ten'yu,
No lish' luna vzojdet v zenit
I vody ozerka vzryabit
Nochnoe dunoven'e,
Kak razdaetsya v vyshine:
"O, gore, gore, gore mne!"

XIX

- I ty ne znaesh' do sih por,
Kak svyazany s ee sud'boyu
I Tern, i holm, i mutnyj prud,
I veyan'e nochnoe?
- Ne znayu; lyudi govoryat,
CHto mat' mladenca udavila,
Povesiv na krivom suchke;
I govoryat, chto v ozerke
Pod polnoch' utopila.
No vse sojdutsya na odnom:
Ditya lezhit pod yarkim mhom.

Eshche ya slyshal, budto holm
Ot krovi prolitoj bagritsya -
No tak s rebenkom obojtis'
Navryad li mat' reshitsya.
I budto - esli postoyat'
Nad toj lozhbinkoyu nagornoj,
Na dne ditya uvidish' ty,
I razlichish' ego cherty,
I vstretish' vzglyad upornyj:
Kakoj by v nebe ni byl chas,
Ditya s tebya ne svodit glaz.

XXI

A kto-to gnevom vospylal
I stal vzyvat' o pravosud'e;
I vot s lopatami v rukah
K holmu yavilis' lyudi.
No tot zhe mig pered tolpoj
Cvetnye mhi zashevelilis',
I na poleta shagov vokrug
Trava zatrepetala vdrug,
I lyudi otstupilis'.
No vse uvereny v odnom:
Ditya zaryto pod holmom.

XXII

Ne znayu, tak ono il' net;
No tol'ko Tern po proizvolu
Tyazhelyh mrachnyh grozd'ev mha
Vse vremya gnetsya dolu;
I sam ya slyshal s gornyh kruch
Neschastnoj Marty prichitan'ya;
I dnem, i v tishine nochnoj
Pod yasnoj bleshchushchej lunoj
Pronosyatsya rydan'ya:
"O, gore mne! O, gore mne!
O, gore, gore, gore mne!"

THE LAST OF THE FLOCK

In distant countries have I been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown,
Weep in the public roads, alone.
But such a one, on English ground,
And in the broad highway, I met;
Along the broad highway he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet:
Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
And in his arms a Lamb he had.

He saw me, and he turned aside,
As if he wished himself to hide:
And with his coat did then essay
To wipe those briny tears away.
I followed him, and said, "My friend,
What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"
-"Shame on me, Sir! this lusty Lamb,
He makes my tears to flow.
To-day I fetched him from the rock;
He is the last of all my flock.

III

"When I was young, a single man,
And after youthful follies ran,
Though little given to care and thought,
Yet, so it was, an ewe I bought;
And other sheep from her I raised,
As healthy sheep as you might see;
And then I married, and was rich
As I could wish to be;
Of sheep I numbered a full score,
And every year increased my store.

"Year after year my stock it grew;
And from this one, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
As fine a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the Quantock hills they fed;
They throve, and we at home did thrive:
- This lusty Lamb of all my store
Is all that is alive;
And now I care not if we die,
And perish all of poverty.

"Six Children, Sir! had I to feed:
Hard labour in a time of need!
My pride was tamed, and in our grief
I of the Parish asked relief.
They said, I was a wealthy man;
My sheep upon the uplands fed,
And it was fit that thence I took
Whereof to buy us bread.
'Do this: how can we give to you,'
They cried, 'what to the poor is due?'

"I sold a sheep, as they had said,
And bought my little children bread,
And they were healthy with their food
For me-it never did me good.
A woeful time it was for me,
To see the end of all my gains,
The pretty flock which I had reared
With all my care and pains,
To see it melt like snow away -
For me it was a woeful day.

VII

"Another still! and still another!
A little lamb, and then its mother!
It was a vein that never stopped-
Like blood drops from my heart they dropped.
'Till thirty were not left alive
They dwindled, dwindled, one by one
And I may say, that many a time
I wished they all were gone-
Reckless of what might come at last
Were but the bitter struggle past.

VIII

"To wicked deeds I was inclined,
And wicked fancies crossed my mind;
And every man I chanced to see,
I thought he knew some ill of me:
No peace, no comfort could I find,
No ease, within doors or without;
And, crazily and wearily
I went my work about;
And oft was moved to flee from home,
And hide my head where wild beasts roam.

"Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me
As dear as my own children be;
For daily with my growing store
I loved my children more and more.
Alas! it was an evil time;
God cursed me in my sore distress;
I prayed, yet every day I thought
I loved my children less;
And every week, and every day,
My flock it seemed to melt away.

"They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see!
From ten to five, from five to three,
A lamb, a wether, and a ewe;-
And then at last from three to two;
And, of my fifty, yesterday
I had but only one:
And here it lies upon my arm,
Alas! and I have none;-
To-day I fetched it from the rock;
It is the last of all my flock."

POSLEDNIJ IZ STADA

Proshla v skitan'yah zhizn' moya,
No ochen' redko videl ya,
CHtoby muzhchina, polnyj sil,
Tak bezuteshno slezy lil,
Kak tot, kakogo povstrechal
YA na krugah rodnoj zemli:
On po doroge shel odin,
I slezy gor'kie tekli.
On shel, ne utiraya slez,
I na plechah yagnenka nes.

Svoeyu slabost'yu smushchen,
Stydyas', otvorotilsya on,
Ne smeya poglyadet' v upor,
I rukavom glaza uter.
- Moj drug, - skazal ya, - chto s toboj?
O chem ty? CHto tebya gnetet?
- Zastavil plakat', dobryj ser,
Menya yagnenok etot vot,
Poslednij, - s nyneshnego dnya
Net bol'she stada u menya...

III

YA smolodu bespechen byl;
No, obrazumivshis', kupil
Ovcu - ne znaya, est' li prok
V takih delah, no v dolzhnyj srok
Moya ovca, na radost' mne,
Horoshih prinesla yagnyat;
ZHelaniya moi sbylis' -
ZHenilsya ya i stal bogat.
Plodilis' ovcy; chto ni god
So stadom vmeste ros dohod.

Ot leta k letu vremya shlo,
I vse roslo ovec chislo,
I vot ih stalo pyat'desyat,
Otbornyh matok i yagnyat!
Dlya nih byl raem gornyj lug,
Dlya nas byl raem nash ochag...
Odin yagnenok ucelel -
Ego nesu ya na plechah,
I pust' nam sginut' suzhdeno
Ot nishchety - mne vse ravno.

YA shesteryh detej kormil,
Na eto ne hvatalo sil
V neurozhajnyj, gor'kij god -
YA poprosil pomoch' prihod.
A mne skazali: "Ty bogat -
Bogatstvo na lugu tvoem,
A hochesh' hleba - obhodis'
Svoim netronutym dobrom.
Prihodskij hleb - dlya bednoty,
Ego prosit' ne smeesh' ty!"

Ovcu ya prodal, i moya
Dosyta stala est' sem'ya,
Okrepli deti - mne zh kusok
I gorek byl, i shel ne vprok.
Nastala strashnaya pora,
Smyatenie voshlo v moj dom:
Ovech'e stado - moj oplot,
Moim zhe sozdannyj trudom, -
Kak sneg rastayalo, i nas
Nastig bedy i skorbi chas.

VII

Eshche ovca, eshche odna
Pokinut' pastbishche dolzhna!
I kazhdaya iz nih byla
Kak kaplya krovi. Krov' tekla
Iz ran moih - vot tak pustel
Moj lug, i skol'ko tam v zhivyh,
YA ne schital - ya lish' mechtal,
CHtob ne ostalos' vovse ih,
CHtob volyu dat' sud'be slepoj,
CHtob konchit' gor'kij etot boj!

VIII

YA zamknut stal, ya stal ugryum,
Mutilsya um ot chernyh dum,
V grehah podozreval ya vseh
I sam sposoben stal na greh.
Pechalen dom, vrazhdeben mir,
I navsegda ushel pokoj,
Ustalo k svoemu koncu
YA shel, ohvachennyj toskoj;
Poroj hotelos' brosit' dom
I zhit' v chashchobah, so zver'em.

Takih ovec ne videl svet,
Ceny im ne bylo i net;
Klyanus', ya porovnu lyubil
Detej - i teh, kto ih kormil, -
Moih ovec... I vot, molyas',
YA dumal, chto, naverno, Bog
Karal za to, chto bol'she ya
Svoih detej lyubit' by mog...
Redelo stado s kazhdym dnem,
Ovec vse men'she bylo v nem.

Vse gorshe bylo ih schitat'!
Vot ih pyatnadcat', desyat', pyat',
Ih tri, - uzh blizko do konca! -
YAgnenok, valuh i ovca...
Iz stada v pyat'desyat golov
Odin ostalsya, da i tot,
Ostavshijsya, iz ruk moih
V chuzhie ruki perejdet,
Poslednij, - s nyneshnego dnya
Net bol'she stada u menya...

THE MAD MOTHER

Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair;
Her eyebrows have a rusty stain,
And she came far from over-the main.
She has a baby on her arm,
Or else she were alone:
And underneath the hay-stack warm,
And on the greenwood stone,
She talked and sung the woods among,
And it was in the English tongue.

"Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
But nay, my heart is far too glad;
And I am happy when I sing
Full many a sad and doleful thing:
Then, lovely baby, do not fear!
I pray thee have no fear of me;
But safe as in a cradle, here,
My lovely baby! thou shall be:
To thee I know too much I owe;
I cannot work thee any woe.

III

"A fire was once within my brain;
And in my head a dull, dull pain;
And fiendish faces, one, two, three,
Hung at my breast, and pulled at me;
But then there came a sight of joy;
It came at once to do me good;
I waked, and saw my little boy,
My little boy of flesh and blood;
Oh joy for me that sight to see!
For he was here, and only he.

"Suck, little babe, oh suck again!
It cools my blood; it cools my brain:
Thy lips I feel them, baby! they
Draw from my heart the pain away.
Oh! press me with thy little hand;
It loosens something at my chest;
About that tight and deadly band
I feel thy little fingers prest.
The breeze I see is in the tree:
It comes to cool my babe and me.

"Oh! love me, love me, little boy!
Thou art thy mother's only joy;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping torrents when they howl;
The babe I carry on my arm,
He saves for me my precious soul;
Then happy lie; for blest am I;
Without me my sweet babe would die.

"Then do not fear, my boy! for thee
Bold as a lion will I be;
And I will always be thy guide,
Through hollow snows and rivers wide.
I'll build an Indian bower; I know
The leaves that make the softest bed:
And, if from me thou wilt not go,
But still be true till I am dead,
My pretty thing! then thou shall sing
As merry as the birds in spring.

VII

"Thy father cares not for my breast,
Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest;
Tis all thine own! - and, if its hue
Be changed, that was so fair to view,
'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove!
My beauty, little child, is flown,
But thou wilt live with me in love,
And what if my poor cheek be brown?
Tis well for me, thou canst not see
How pale and wan it else would be.

VIII

"Dread not their taunts, my little Life;
I am thy father's wedded wife;
And underneath the spreading tree
We two will live in honesty.
If his sweet boy he could forsake,
With me he never would have stayed:
From him no harm my babe can take;
But he, poor man! is wretched made;
And every day we two will pray
For him that's gone and far away.

"I'll teach my boy the sweetest things:
I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
My little babe! thy lips are still,
And thou hast almost sucked thy fill.
- Where art thou gone, my own dear child?
What wicked looks are those I see?
Alas! alas! that look so wild,
It never, never came from me:
If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
Then I must be for ever sad.

"Oh! smile on me, my little lamb!
For I thy own dear mother am:
My love for thee has well been tried:
I've sought thy father far and wide.
I know the poisons of the shade;
I know the earth-nuts fit for food:
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid:
We'll find thy father in the wood.
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
And there, my babe, we'll live for aye."

BEZUMNAYA MATX

Po bezdorozh'yu naugad, -
Prostovolosa, dikij vzglyad, -
Svirepym solncem sozhzhena,
V gluhom krayu bredet ona.
I na rukah ee ditya,
A ryadom - ni dushi.
Pod stogom duh perevedya,
Na kamne sred' lesnoj tishi
Poet ona, lyubvi polna,
I pesn' anglijskaya slyshna:

"O, moj malyutka, zhizn' moya!
Vse govoryat: bezumna ya.
No mne legko, kogda moyu
Pechal' ya pesnej utolyu.
I ya molyu tebya, malysh,
Ne bojsya, ne strashis' menya!
Ty slovno v kolybeli spish',
I, ot bedy tebya hranya,
Mladenec moj, ya pomnyu svoj
Velikij dolg pered toboj.

III

Moj mozg byl plamenem ob�yat,
I bol' tumanila moj vzglyad,
I grud' zhestoko toj poroj
Terzal zloveshchih duhov roj.
No, probudyas', v sebya pridya,
Kak schastliva ya videt' vnov'
I chuvstvovat' svoe ditya,
Ego zhivuyu plot' i krov'!
Mnoj pobezhden koshmarnyj son,
So mnoj moj mal'chik, tol'ko on.

K moej grudi, synok, pril'ni
Gubami nezhnymi - oni
Kak by iz serdca moego
Vytyagivayut skorb' ego.
Pokojsya na grudi moej,
Ee ty pal'chikami tron':
Daruet oblegchen'e ej
Tvoya prohladnaya ladon'.
Tvoya ruka svezha, legka,
Kak dunoven'e veterka.

Lyubi, lyubi menya, malysh!
Ty schast'e materi darish'!
Ne bojsya zlobnyh voln vnizu,
Kogda ya na rukah nesu
Tebya po ostrym grebnyam skal.
Mne skaly ne sulyat bedy,
Ne strashen mne revushchij val -
Ved' zhizn' moyu spasaesh' ty.
Blazhenna ya, ditya hranya:
Emu ne vyzhit' bez menya.

Ne bojsya, malen'kij! Pover',
Otvazhnaya, kak dikij zver',
Tvoim vozhatym budu ya
CHerez dremuchie kraya.
Ustroyu tam tebe zhil'e,
Iz list'ev - myagkuyu krovat'.
I esli ty, ditya moe,
Do sroka ne pokinesh' mat', -
Lyubimyj moj, v glushi lesnoj
Ty budesh' pet', kak drozd vesnoj.

VII

Spi na grudi moej, ptenec!
Ee ne lyubit tvoj otec.
Ona poblekla, otcvela.
Tebe zh, moj svet, ona mila.
Ona tvoya. I ne beda,
CHto krasota moya ushla:
Ty budesh' veren mne vsegda,
A v tom, chto stala ya smugla,
Est' malyj prok: ved' blednyh shchek
Moih ne vidish' ty, synok.

VIII

Ne slushaj lzhi, lyubov' moya!
S tvoim otcom venchalas' ya.
Napolnim my v lesnoj teni
Nevinnoj zhizn'yu nashi dni.
A on ne stanet zhit' so mnoj,
Kogda toboyu prenebreg.
No ty ne bojsya: on ne zloj,
On sam neschasten, vidit Bog!
I kazhdym dnem s toboj vdvoem
Molit'sya budem my o nem.

YA obuchu vo t'me lesov
Tebya nochnomu pen'yu sov.
Nedvizhny guby malysha.
Ty, verno, syt, moya dusha?
Kak stranno pomutilis' vmig
Tvoi nebesnye cherty!
Moj milyj mal'chik, vzor tvoj dik!
Uzh ne bezumen li i ty?
Uzhasnyj znak! Kol' eto tak -
Vo mne navek pechal' i mrak.

O, ulybnis', yagnenok moj!
I mat' rodnuyu uspokoj!
YA vse sumela prevozmoch':
Otca iskala den' i noch',
Mne ugrozhali duhi t'my,
Syroj zemlyankoj byl moj dom.
No ty ne bojsya, milyj, my
S toboj v lesu otca najdem.
Vsyu zhizn' svoyu v lesnom krayu,
Synok, my budem kak v rayu".

THE IDIOT BOY

Tis eight o'clock, - a clear March night,
The moon is up, - the sky is blue,
The owlet, in the moonlight air,
Shouts from nobody knows where;
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!

- Why bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret?
And why on horseback have you set
Him whom you love, your Idiot Boy?

Scarcely a soul is out of bed;
Good Betty, put him down again;
His lips with joy they burr at you;
But, Betty! what has he to do
With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?

But Betty's bent on her intent;
For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,
Old Susan, she who dwells alone,
Is sick, and makes a piteous moan
As if her very life would fail.

There's not a house within a mile,
No hand to help them in distress;
Old Susan lies a-bed in pain,
And sorely puzzled are the twain,
For what she ails they cannot guess.

And Betty's husband's at the wood,
Where by the week he doth abide,
A woodman in the distant vale;
There's none to help poor Susan Gale;
What must be done? what will betide?

And Betty from the lane has fetched
Her Pony, that is mild and good;
Whether he be in joy or pain,
Feeding at will along the lane,
Or bringing faggots from the wood.

And he is all in travelling trim, -
And, by the moonlight, Betty Foy
Has on the well-girt saddle set
(The like was never heard of yet)
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy.

And he must post without delay
Across the bridge and through the dale,
And by the church, and o'er the down,
To bring a Doctor from the town,
Or she will die, old Susan Gale.

There is no need of boot or spur,
There is no need of whip or wand;
For Johnny has his holly-bough,
And with a _hurly-burly_ now
He shakes the green bough in his hand.

And Betty o'er and o'er has told
The Boy, who is her best delight,
Both what to follow, what to shun,
What do, and what to leave undone,
How turn to left, and how to right.

And Betty's most especial charge,
Was, "Johnny! Johnny! mind that you
Come home again, nor stop at all, -
Come home again, whate'er befall,
My Johnny, do, I pray you do."

To this did Johnny answer make,
Both with his head and with his hand,
And proudly shook the bridle too;
And then! his words were not a few,
Which Betty well could understand.

And now that Johnny is just going,
Though Betty's in a mighty flurry,
She gently pats the Pony's side,
On which her Idiot Boy must ride,
And seems no longer in a hurry.

But when the Pony moved his legs,
Oh! then for the poor Idiot Boy!
For joy he cannot hold the bridle,
For joy his head and heels are idle,
He's idle all for very joy.

And while the Pony moves his legs,
In Johnny's left hand you may see
The green bough motionless and dead:
The Moon that shines above his head
Is not more still and mute than he.

His heart it was so full of glee,
That till full fifty yards were gone,
He quite forgot his holly whip,
And all his skill in horsemanship:
Oh! happy, happy, happy John.

And while the Mother, at the door,
Stands fixed, her face with joy o'erflows,
Proud of herself, and proud of him,
She sees him in his travelling trim,
How quietly her Johnny goes.

The silence of her Idiot Boy,
What hopes it sends to Betty's heart!
He's at the guide-post-he turns right;
She watches till he's out of sight,
And Betty will not then depart.

Burr, burr - now Johnny's lips they burr,
As loud as any mill, or near it;
Meek as a lamb the Pony moves,
And Johnny makes the noise he loves,
And Betty listens, glad to hear it.

Away she hies to Susan Gale:
Her Messenger's in merry tune;
The owlets hoot, the owlets curr,
And Johnny's lips they burr, burr, burr,
As on he goes beneath the moon.

His steed and he right well agree;
For of this Pony there's a rumour,
That, should he lose his eyes and ears,
And should he live a thousand years,
He never will be out of humour.

But then he is a horse that thinks!
And when he thinks, his pace is slack;
Now, though he knows poor Johnny well,
Yet, for his life, he cannot tell
What he has got upon his back.

So through the moonlight lanes they go,
And far into the moonlight dale,
And by the church, and o'er the down,
To bring a Doctor from the town,
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.

And Betty, now at Susan's side,
Is in the middle of her story,
What speedy help her Boy will bring,
With many a most diverting thing,
Of Johnny's wit, and Johnny's glory.

And Betty, still at Susan's side,
By this time is not quite so flurried:
Demure with porringer and plate
She sits, as if in Susan's fate
Her life and soul were buried.

But Betty, poor good woman! she,
You plainly in her face may read it,
Could lend out of that moment's store
Five years of happiness or more
To any that might need it.

But yet I guess that now and then
With Betty all was not so well;
And to the road she turns her ears,
And thence full many a sound she hears,
Which she to Susan will not tell.

Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans;
"As sure as there's a moon in heaven,"
Cries Betty, "he'll be back again;
They'll both be here-'tis almost ten-
Both will be here before eleven."

Poor Susan moans, poor Susan groans;
The clock gives warning for eleven;
'Tis on the stroke-"He must be near,"
Quoth Betty, "and will soon be here,
As sure as there's a moon in heaven."

The clock is on the stroke of twelve,
And Johnny is not yet in sight:
- The Moon's in heaven, as Betty sees,
But Betty is not quite at ease;
And Susan has a dreadful night.

And Betty, half an hour ago,
On Johnny vile reflections cast:
"A little idle sauntering Thing!"
With other names, an endless string;
But now that time is gone and past.

And Betty's drooping at the heart,
That happy time all past and gone,
"How can it be he is so late ?
The Doctor, he has made him wait;
Susan! they'll both be here anon."

And Susan's growing worse and worse,
And Betty's in a sad _quandary_;
And then there's nobody to say
If she must go, or she must stay!
- She's in a sad _quandary_.

The clock is on the stroke of one;
But neither Doctor nor his Guide
Appears along the moonlight road;
There's neither horse nor man abroad,
And Betty's still at Susan's side.

And Susan now begins to fear
Of sad mischances not a few,
That Johnny may perhaps be drowned;
Or lost, perhaps, and never found;
Which they must both for ever rue.

She prefaced half a hint of this
With, "God forbid it should be true!"
At the first word that Susan said
Cried Betty, rising from the bed,
"Susan, I'd gladly stay with you.

"I must be gone, I must away:
Consider, Johnny's but half-wise;
Susan, we must take care of him,
If he is hurt in life or limb" -
"Oh God forbid!" poor Susan cries.

"What can I do?" says Betty, going,
"What can I do to ease your pain?
Good Susan tell me, and I'll stay;
I fear you're in a dreadful way,
But I shall soon be back again."

"Nay, Betty, go! good Betty, go!
There's nothing that can ease my pain."
Then off she hies; but with a prayer
That God poor Susan's life would spare,
Till she comes back again.

So, through the moonlight lane she goes,
And far into the moonlight dale;
And how she ran, and how she walked,
And all that to herself she talked,
Would surely be a tedious tale.

In high and low, above, below,
In great and small, in round and square,
In tree and tower was Johnny seen,
In bush and brake, in black and green;
Twas Johnny, Johnny, every where.

And while she crossed the bridge, there came
A thought with which her heart is sore -
Johnny perhaps his horse forsook,
To hunt the moon within the brook,
And never will be heard of more.

Now is she high upon the down,
Alone amid a prospect wide;
There's neither Johnny nor his Horse
Among the fern or in the gorse;
There's neither Doctor nor his Guide.

"O saints! what is become of him?
Perhaps he's climbed into an oak,
Where he will stay till he is dead;
Or, sadly he has been misled,
And joined the wandering gipsy-folk.

"Or him that wicked Pony's carried
To the dark cave, the goblin's hall;
Or in the castle he's pursuing
Among the ghosts his own undoing;
Or playing with the waterfall."

At poor old Susan then she railed,
While to the town she posts away;
"If Susan had not been so ill,
Alas! I should have had him still,
My Johnny, till my dying day."

Poor Betty, in this sad distemper,
The Doctor's self could hardly spare:
Unworthy things she talked, and wild;
Even he, of cattle the most mild,
The Pony had his share.

But now she's fairly in the town,
And to the Doctor's door she hies;
Tis silence all on every side;
The town so long, the town so wide,
Is silent as the skies.

And now she's at the Doctor's door,
She lifts the knocker, rap, rap, rap;
The Doctor at the casement shows
His glimmering eyes that peep and doze!
And one hand rubs his old night-cap.

"O Doctor! Doctor! where's my Johnny?"
"I'm here, what is't you want with me?"
"O Sir! you know I'm Betty Foy,
And I have lost my poor dear Boy,
You know him-him you often see;

"He's not so wise as some folks be:"
"The devil take his wisdom!" said
The Doctor, looking somewhat grim,
"What, Woman! should I know of him?"
And, grumbling, he went back to bed!

"O woe is me! O woe is me!
Here will I die; here will I die;
I thought to find my lost one here,
But he is neither far nor near,
Oh! what a wretched Mother I!"

She stops, she stands, she looks about;
Which way to turn she cannot tell.
Poor Betty! it would ease her pain
If she had heart to knock again;
- The clock strikes three - a dismal knell!

Then up along the town she hies,
No wonder if her senses fail;
This piteous news so much it shocked her,
She quite forgot to send the Doctor,
To comfort poor old Susan Gale.

And now she's high upon the down,
And she can see a mile of road:
"O cruel! I'm almost threescore;
Such night as this was ne'er before,
There's not a single soul abroad."

She listens, but she cannot hear
The foot of horse, the voice of man;
The streams with softest sound are flowing,
The grass you almost hear it growing,
You hear it now, if e'er you can.

The owlets through the long blue night
Are shouting to each other still:
Fond lovers! yet not quite hob nob,
They lengthen out the tremulous sob,
That echoes far from hill to hill.

Poor Betty now has lost all hope,
Her thoughts are bent on deadly sin,
A green-grown pond she just has past,
And from the brink she hurries fast,
Lest she should drown herself therein.

And now she sits her down and weeps;
Such tears she never shed before;
"Oh dear, dear Pony! my sweet joy!
Oh carry back my Idiot Boy!
And we will ne'er o'erload thee more."

A thought is come into her head:
The Pony he is mild and good,
And we have always used him well;
Perhaps he's gone along the dell,
And carried Johnny to the wood.

Then up she springs as if on .wings;
She thinks no more of deadly sin;
If Betty fifty ponds should see,
The last of all her thoughts would be
To drown herself therein.

O Reader! now that I might tell
What Johnny and his Horse are doing
What they've been doing all this time,
Oh could I put it into rhyme,
A most delightful tale pursuing!

Perhaps, and no unlikely thought!
He with his Pony now doth roam
The cliffs and peaks so high that arc,
To lay his hands upon a star,
And in his pocket bring it home.

Perhaps he's turned himself about,
His face unto his horse's tail,
And, still and mute, in wonder lost,
All silent as a horseman-ghost,
He travels slowly down the vale.

And now, perhaps, is hunting sheep,
A fierce and dreadful hunter he;
Yon valley, now so trim and green,
In five months' time, should he be seen,
A desert wilderness will be!

Perhaps, with head and heels on fire,
And like the very soul of evil,
He's galloping away, away,
And so will gallop on for aye,
The bane of all that dread the devil!

I to the Muses have been bound
These fourteen years, by strong indentures:
O gentle Muses! let me tell
But half of what to him befell;
He surely met with strange adventures.
O gentle Muses! is this kind?

Why will ye thus my suit repel?
Why of your further aid bereave me?
And can ye thus unfriended leave me
Ye Muses! whom I love so well.

Who's yon, that, near the waterfall,
Which thunders down with headlong force,
Beneath the moon, yet shining fair,
As careless as if nothing were,
Sits upright on a feeding horse?

Unto his horse-there feeding free,
He seems, I think, the rein to give;
Of moon or stars he takes no heed;
Of such we in romances read:
- 'Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I live.

And that's the very Pony, too!
Where is she, where is Betty Foy?
She hardly can sustain her fears;
The roaring waterfall she hears,
And cannot find her Idiot Boy.

Your Pony's worth his weight in gold:
Then calm your terrors, Betty Foy!
She's coming from among the trees,
And now all full in view she sees
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy.

And Betty sees the Pony too:
Why stand you thus, good Betty Foy?
It is no goblin, 'tis no ghost,
Tis he whom you so long have lost,
He whom you love, your Idiot Boy.

She looks again - her arms are up -
She screams - she cannot move for joy;
She darts, as with a torrent's force,
She almost has o'erturned the Horse,
And fast she holds her Idiot Boy.

And Johnny burrs, and laughs aloud;
Whether in cunning or in joy
I cannot tell; but while he laughs,
Betty a drunken pleasure quaffs
To hear again her Idiot Boy.

And now she's at the Pony's tail,
And now is at the Pony's head, -
On that side now, and now on this;
And, almost stifled with her bliss,
A few sad tears does Betty shed.

She kisses o'er and o'er again
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy;
She's happy here, is happy there,
She is uneasy every where;
Her limbs are all alive with joy.

She pats the Pony, where or when
She knows not, happy Betty Foy!
The little Pony glad may be,
But he is milder far than she,
You hardly can perceive his joy.

"Oh! Johnny, never mind the Doctor;
You've done your best, and that is all:"
She took the reins, when this was said,
And gently turned the Pony's head
From the loud waterfall.

By this the stars were almost gone,
The moon was setting on the hill,
So pale you scarcely looked at her:
The little birds began to stir,
Though yet their tongues were still.

The Pony, Betty, and her Boy,
Wind slowly through the woody dale;
And who is she, betimes abroad,
That hobbles up the steep rough road?
Who is it, but old Susan Gale?

Long time lay Susan lost in thought;
And many dreadful fears beset her,
Both for her Messenger and Nurse;
And, as her mind grew worse and worse,
Her body - it grew better.

She turned, she tossed herself in bed,
On all sides doubts and terrors met her;
Point after point did she discuss;
And, while her mind was fighting thus,
Her body still grew better.

"Alas! what is become of them?
These fears can never be endured;
I'll to the wood." - The word scarce said,
Did Susan rise up from her bed,
As if by magic cured.

Away she goes up hill and down,
And to the wood at length is come;
She spies her Friends, she shouts a greeting;
Oh me! it is a merry meeting
As ever was in Christendom.

The owls have hardly sung their last,
While our four travellers homeward wend;
The owls have hooted all night long,
And with the owls began my song,
And with the owls must end.

For while they all were travelling home,
Cried Betty, "Tell us, Johnny, do,
Where all this long night you have been,
What you have heard, what you have seen:
And, Johnny, mind you tell us true."

Now Johnny all night long had heard
The owls in tuneful concert strive;
No doubt too he the moon had seen;
For in the moonlight he had been
From eight o'clock till five.

And thus, to Betty's question, he
Made answer, like a traveller bold,
(His very words I give to you,)
"The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo,
And the sun did shine so cold!"
- Thus answered Johnny in his glory,
And that was all his travel's story.

SLABOUMNYJ MALXCHIK

Uzh smerklos'. Rovnyj svet luny
Lezhit na roshchah i lugu.
Bog vest' otkuda gulkij klich
Podruge shlet ugryumyj sych.
Tosklivo v lunnoj tishine
"Ugu!" - plyvet - "Ugu-u! Ugu-u!".

CHto tak speshish', chto tak drozhish',
CHto ne v sebe ty, Betti Foj?
Zachem na poni vodruzhen
Bednyazhka slaboumnyj Dzhon,
Synochek goremychnyj tvoj?

Uzh vse v okruge spyat davno.
Snimi, snimi ego s sedla!
On gord, on radostno mychit;
No, Betti! on li vdrug pomchit
Skvoz' sumrak veshnij, kak strela?

No Betti znaet lish' odno:
V bede sosedka, S'yuzen Gej;
Ona stara, ona bol'na,
Sovsem odna zhivet ona,
I ochen' hudo nynche ej.

A ryadom ni dushi zhivoj,
Ni doma na verstu vokrug.
Kto vrazumit ih v etu noch',
Kak staroj S'yuzen im pomoch',
CHem oblegchit' ee nedug?

Oni odni, temno krugom,
I muzha Betti doma net:
On drovosek; v sosednij dol
Vchera on les valit' ushel.
CHto delat' im? Kto dast otvet?

I Betti poni svoego
Togda vyvodit so dvora.
Konek tot vsyudu i vezde -
CHto na kormezhke, chto v uzde -
YAvlyal otmenno smirnyj nrav.

Osedlan dobryj poni vmig,
I - sluchaj vidan li takoj? -
V dorogu Betti snaryazhen
Bednyazhka slaboumnyj Dzhon,
Ee synochek dorogoj.

Vniz po doline, cherez most
Puskaj on v gorod mchit skorej.
U cerkvi doktor tam zhivet,
Puskaj ego on pozovet,
A to pomret ved' S'yuzen Gej.

Ne nuzhno Dzhonni ni hlysta,
Ni ostryh shpor, ni sveta dnya.
Lish' vetkoj ostrolista on
Razmahivaet, vozbuzhden,
Nad holkoj svoego konya.

Polna trevog, polna zabot,
Vnushala dolgo synu mat',
Kakoj derzhat' on dolzhen put',
Gde vpravo, vlevo gde svernut',
Kak mest opasnyh izbegat'.

A samoj glavnoj iz zabot
Byla: "Synok, potom domoj!
Nigde ne zhdi, nigde ne stoj,
Pozval vracha - i vraz domoj.
Ty ponyal, Dzhon, razumnik moj?"

I Dzhonni radostno v otvet
Mychit, kivaet, v put' gotov,
Uzdechku dergaet, spesha.
I materinskaya dusha
Otvet tot ponyala bez slov.

Hot' Betti vporu ih vernut',
Ona sderzhala svoj poryv,
Loshadke legkij dav shlepok.
I vot uzh tronulsya konek,
I Betti vsled glyadit, zastyv.

No tol'ko tronulsya konek, -
Bednyazhka slaboumnyj Dzhon! -
Ot schast'ya sam on stal ne svoj,
Ne shevel'net rukoj-nogoj,
Uzdechku ele derzhit on.

V ruke ponikshej ostrolist
Zastyl nedvizhen; v vyshine
Nad lesom martovskim luna
Ne tak tiha, ne tak nema,
Kak etot mal'chik na kone.

Vse likovalo, pelo v nem.
Tak s polversty proehal on,
Zabyv i povod pod rukoj,
I chto naezdnik on lihoj, -
On schastliv, schastliv, schastliv Dzhon!

A mat' stoyala u vorot,
Soboj gorda, synkom gorda,
I vse emu smotrela vsled:
Uzh tak spokoen on v sedle,
Tak vypravka ego tverda!

Ego molchan'e - dobryj znak:
Doedet, Bog ego hranit.
Vot on svernul napravo v les,
Sovsem iz vida uzh ischez,
A Betti vse vosled glyadit.

Von pesnyu zamurchal svoyu,
V tishi nochnoj ona slyshna -
ZHurchit, kak mel'nichnyj ruchej.
I kon' pod nim ovcy smirnej -
I noch' uzh Betti ne strashna.

Teper' - uteshit' S'yuzen Gej:
V puti gonec ih udaloj.
Krichat sychi, krichat v nochi,
A Dzhonni "tru-tru-tru" murchit -
Bespechnyj vsadnik pod lunoj.

I poni s Dzhonni zaodno:
Dobrej kon'ka v okruge net.
CHto b ni prishlos' emu snesti,
On budet tak zhe dobr i tih,
Hot' prozhivi on tyshchu let.

No on i myslit! A uzh tut
SHag zamedlyaetsya vdvojne.
On Dzhonni znaet; no sejchas
On s tolku sbit; na etot raz
Vse tak tam stranno, na spine!

Tak dvizhutsya oni skvoz' les,
Po lunnym tropam v lunnyj dol.
U cerkvi doktor tam zhivet,
Ego-to Dzhon i pozovet,
CHtob k hvoroj S'yuzen on prishel.

A Betti, sidya pri bol'noj,
O Dzhonni vse zavodit rech':
CHto uzh vot-vot vernetsya on,
I kak on hrabr, i kak umen, -
CHtob S'yuzen hot' chut'-chut' otvlech'.

I Betti, sidya pri bol'noj,
Za nej zabotlivo sledit:
To hleb, to kovsh pridvinet k nej -
Kak budto lish' o S'yuzen Gej
Sejchas dusha u nej bolit.

No glyanem glubzhe ej v glaza:
Ot nas, bednyazhke, ej ne skryt',
CHto schast'em, gordost'yu ona
V minutu etu tak polna,
CHto vsem gotova ih darit'.

I vse zhe otchego poroj
Ona glyadit v okno tajkom?
To rech' vedet - to smolknet vdrug,
Kak budto lovit kazhdyj zvuk
V lesu bezmolvnom za oknom.

Vse gromche stonet S'yuzen Gej.
A Betti ej: "Sejchas, sejchas.
Luna yasna, oni v puti,
Oni vot-vot dolzhny prijti.
Uzh na dvore desyatyj chas".

No stonet, stonet S'yuzen Gej.
Von i odinnadcat' uzh b'et.
A Betti vse svoe tverdit:
"Luna yasna, oni v puti,
Oni poyavyatsya vot-vot".

Priblizilsya polnochnyj chas.
Luna po-prezhnemu yasna,
L'et na okrugu rovnyj svet.
A doktora vse net i net,
I bednoj S'yuzen ne do sna.

A Betti? CHas nazad ona
Branilas' v shutku: "Vot lentyaj!
Zameshkalsya v puti, vidat'.
Teper' emu nesdobrovat' -
Poluchit znatnyj nagonyaj!"

No chas proshel, a Dzhonni net;
Teper' uzh ne do shutok ej.
Ego vse net. CHto s nim stryaslos'?
On zhdet tam doktora nebos'.
Zabot tak mnogo u vrachej.

Vse gromche stonet S'yuzen Gej.
CHto delat' Betti? Kak ej byt'?
Bezhat' li v les synka iskat' -
Il' pri bol'noj sidet' i zhdat'?
Kto ej podskazhet, kak ej byt'?

Uzh vremya za polnoch' davno,
A doktor k S'yuzen ne speshit.
Plyvet nad lesom lunnyj svet,
A Dzhonni net, i poni net,
A Betti vse s bol'noj sidit.

Da i bol'noj ne po sebe -
Ne perechest' tut strahov vseh.
Vdrug utonul, propal v puti,
Vdrug i sledov uzh ne najti?
Kakoj na dushu lyazhet greh!

I lish' ona skazala vsluh -
SHepnula: "Upasi Gospod'!", -
Kak Betti, slovno vraz reshas',
Ryvkom so stula podnyalas',
Sebya ne v silah poborot'.

"Ah, S'yuzen, ya pojdu za nim!
Pojdu! uzh ty ne obessud'!
Ved' on eshche ditya, nash Dzhon,
Da i golovkoj ne silen.
Teper' bluzhdaet gde-nibud'.

Pojdu! YA migom obernus'!
No kol' sovsem tebe nevmoch',
To ya ostanus', tak i byt'.
CHto dat' tebe, chem posobit'?
O Bozhe pravyj! Nu i noch'!" -

"Idi, golubushka, idi!
YA poterplyu, dostanet sil".
I Betti pticej za porog,
S molitvoj Bogu, chtob pomog,
CHtob S'yuzen Gej on ohranil.

I vot speshit ona skvoz' les,
Po lunnym tropam v lunnyj dol...
No o puti o tom rasskaz
Ne sokratit' li mne sejchas?
Lish' skuku b on na vseh navel.

Vse, vse, chto lovit zhadnyj vzor:
I stroj stvolov, i vyaz' vetvej,
I donnyj mrak, i lunnyj blik, -
Vse ej yavlyaet Dzhonni lik,
Povsyudu Dzhonni mnitsya ej.

Vot shatkij most cherez ruchej -
I novoj mukoj mysl' polna:
On slez s konya, vstupil v zaton -
Dostat' lunu tyanulsya on, -
A v etom meste glub' bez dna.

Vot na holme ona; zastyv,
Glazami obegaet dol.
No sredi roshch, sred' ivnyaka -
Ni Dzhonni, ni ego kon'ka,
Ves' lunnyj dol i pust i gol.

"Otcy svyatye! Mozhet, on,
Uvlekshis' chem, zalez v duplo,
Zadohsya tam? Zabrel, blazhnoj,
K cyganam, i ego s soboj
Brodyazh'e plemya uvelo?

Il' etot poni, karla zloj,
Ego k kikimoram zavel?
Il' v tot on zamok nezhiloj
Popal, gde v'etsya duhov roj,
Pogibel' tam svoyu nashel?"

Uvy, v serdcah ona uprek
SHlet i bednyazhke S'yuzen Gej:
Ne zahvoraj ona ne v srok,
On byl by s nej, ee synok,
Utehoj do skonchan'ya dnej.

Sama ot gorya ne svoya,
Ona i doktora korit.
Potom kon'ka nastal chered -
Hot' nravom tak uzh krotok tot,
CHto muhe zla ne prichinit.

Vot domik doktorskij; ona
Bezhit k dveryam ego v slezah.
A za spinoyu gorod leg,
On tak shirok, v nem sto dorog -
I tish', kak v nebesah.

Stuchitsya v doktorskuyu dver',
Stuchit, zovet i tak i syak.
Tot vysunulsya iz okna,
Morgaet, shchuritsya so sna
I popravlyaet svoj kolpak.

"Gde Dzhonni, doktor, moj synok?" -
"Ty chto shumish' v stol' pozdnij chas?" -
"Prostite, ser. YA Betti Foj.
Propal synochek bednyj moj,
Ego vidali vy ne raz.

On... slabovat chutok umom".
A tot serdito ej v otvet:
"Da chto mne do ego uma?
V svoem li ty ume sama?"
Hlop stavnej - i ego uzh net.

"Oh, gore mne! Hot' pomiraj! -
Zaprichitala Betti Foj. -
Gde mne ego teper' iskat'?
Neschastnej est' li v mire mat'?
Propal, propal synochek moj!"

Mutitsya um - kuda teper',
V tot temnyj dol? Bezzhiznen on
I pust, kuda ni posmotri.
I boj chasov - probilo tri! -
Zvuchit, kak pohoronnyj zvon.

I vot - nazad, v obratnyj put'.
I divo l', chto v bede svoej,
Toskoyu smertnoj srazhena,
Zabyla doktora ona
Poslat' k bednyazhke S'yuzen Gej?

Vot snova podnyalas' na holm.
Lish' dali mglistye krugom.
Kuda teper'? Da i nevmoch'
Uzhe bezhat' ej. CHto za noch'!
I ni odnoj dushi krugom.

Ne slyshen v chutkoj tishine
Ni konskij shag, ni glas lyudskoj.
Lish' mozhno slyshat' - no ne ej! -
Kak mezh polej bezhit ruchej,
Kak travy vshodyat nad zemlej.

Pereklikayas' v sinej mgle,
Vse stonut, uhayut sychi.
Tak dushi teh, chto vlyubleny,
No zloj sud'boj razlucheny,
Drug drugu znak dayut v nochi.

Vot prud. I Betti pered nim
Ostanovilas', vsya drozhit:
Tak tyanet vniz ee voda!
O smertnyj greh! I ot pruda
Ona v smyaten'e proch' bezhit.

I sela nazem' nakonec,
I plachet, plachet v tri ruch'ya.
Teper' uzh molit i kon'ka:
"Ty privezi domoj synka,
Skotinka dobraya moya!

Uzh ya l' ne holila tebya?
Ne luchshij li tebe oves
V kormushku klala? Verno, ty
Sam zaplutal sred' temnoty
I v dal'nij les ego uvez?"

I pticeyu vzmetnulas' vnov' -
Stenat' i meshkat' ej ne sled!
Kol' prud ee na smertnyj greh
CHut' ne navel, to myslej teh
Sejchas uzh i v pomine net.

Teper', chitatel', ne pora l'
Nam vzor na Dzhonni obratit'?
YA medlyu - dar mne tot li dan?
Kakoj volnuyushchij roman
YA v rifmy dolzhen perelit'!

Byt' mozhet, on s konem - kak znat'? -
Skitaetsya mezh gornyh skal,
S nebesnoj vroven' sinevoj,
CHtob, s tverdi snyav, prinest' domoj
Zvezdu, kotoruyu iskal?

Ili, k hvostu kon'ka licom
Razvorotyas', v sebya ushel
I, dumoj chudnoyu plenen,
Nem i nedvizhen edet on,
Kak vsadnik-prizrak, cherez dol?

Il' on ohotnik, dik i smel,
Groza baranov, bich ovec!
Vot tot luzhok - nedelek pyat',
I vam ego uzh ne uznat':
Dotla opustoshen, vkonec!

Il' demon on, ischad'e zla,
Ves' plamya s golovy do pyat;
Kak vihr' on mchit, vzmetaya prah,
Truslivym dusham vsem na strah,
CHto pered d'yavolom drozhat!

O Muzy! Dale vas molyu -
Vash davnij vernyj uchenik:
Kak, v meru dara moego,
Mne vossozdat' hot' chast' togo,
CHto ispytal on, chto postig?

No, Muzy! |to l' mne otvet?
Otvet na vsyu moyu lyubov'?
Vy otvernulis' ot menya,
Ni vdohnoven'ya, ni ognya
Darit' mne ne hotite vnov'!

CHto zh... Kto von tam, v teni vetvej,
Gde vodopad vzryvaet tish',
Zastyl, kak prazdnyj piligrim?
Bespechnyj vsadnik, a pod nim
Pasetsya mirno kon'-malysh.

Na volyu svoego kon'ka
Ezdok, vidat', otdalsya ves'.
CHto noch' emu i chto luna?
Vse kak v romane - sut' yasna:
Ved' eto Dzhonni! On i est'!

I poni s nim, priyatel' nash.
A chto zh bednyazhka Betti Foj?
U nej na serdce vse mrachnej:
SHum vodopada slyshen ej,
No Dzhonni - gde zhe on, rodnoj?

Glyan', kto u poni na spine!
Proch' vse trevogi, Betti Foj!
Smahni slezu, razdvin' kusty -
Kogo vdali tam vidish' ty?
To on, synochek tvoj rodnoj!

Nu chto zh k nemu ty ne speshish'?
Stoish' - zastyla, Betti Foj?
Ne leshij on, ne prizrak on,
Ved' eto tvoj bednyazhka Dzhon,
Synochek nerazumnyj tvoj!

I ruki vskinula ona -
Zashlas' ot radosti - streloj
Metnulas' - chut' ne sbila s nog
Loshadku: "Dzhonni, moj synok,
Golubchik nenaglyadnyj moj!"

A Dzhonni radostno mychit,
Potom zalilsya smehom vdrug -
Lukavym, laskovym - kak znat'?
No s zhadnost'yu vpivaet mat'
Iz ust rodnyh malejshij zvuk.

Vkrug poni mechetsya ona,
To k morde, to k hvostu speshit;
Vse v nej poet - a na glaza
Net-net i nabezhit sleza
I tam pechal'no tak drozhit.

No Dzhonni cel! Ona ego
Celuet, gladit to i znaj,
I vsya siyaet, i slegka
Synka styditsya i kon'ka -
No radost' b'et v nej cherez kraj!

I poni shlepaet ona,
I terebit, i shutit s nim.
A poni, mozhet, tozhe rad,
No na vostorgi skupovat,
I vid ego nevozmutim.

"A doktor - Bog s nim, moj rodnoj!
Bog s nim! Ty sdelal vse, chto mog!" -
I za uzdu kon'ka vzyala
I proch' ot mesta otvela,
Gde penilsya potok.

A zvezdy uzh pochti soshli
S nebes, i nad holmom luna
Blednee polotna. V kustah
Uzh slyshno shevelen'e ptah,
Hot' pesn' eshche i ne slyshna.

Bredut oni lesnoj tropoj,
I kazhdyj dumoj poln svoej.
No kto speshit navstrechu im,
Zabotoj ranneyu gonim?
Ona, starushka S'yuzen Gej!

Ona o Dzhonni ne mogla
Zabyt' sred' vseh zhestokih muk:
Kuda, boleznyj, on propal?
Vse blizhe strah k nej podstupal,
I - otstupal nedug.

V trevoge neotvyaznoj ej
CHego-chego ne mnilos' vdrug!
I bilas' mysl', metalsya um
V smyatennom vihre etih dum -
I otstupal nedug.

"Net, muki etoj mne ne snest'!" -
I vot, ne tratya lishnih slov,
Ona vse sily napryagla,
S posteli vstala - i poshla,
Kak by na vlastnyj zov.

I vot bezhit, vse v nej drozhit -
Najti b ih tol'ko udalos'!
I vdrug vdali svoih druzej
Zavidela - i serdce v nej
Ot radosti zashlos'!

Bredut oni domoj skvoz' les,
I ne perestaet zvuchat'
Sychej pogudka pod lunoj.
S nee rasskaz ya nachal svoj -
Uzh eyu i konchat'.

Sprosit' reshilas' mat' gonca:
"Tak chto zh ty ne vernulsya v srok?
Gde nochkoj temnoj ty plutal,
CHto ty vidal, chto ty slyhal?
Skazhi nam vse kak est', synok!"

A on, konechno, v etu noch'
Ne raz slyhal sychinyj zov,
I v nebesah lunu vidal -
V podlunnom mire on bluzhdal
Ne zrya azh celyh sem' chasov.

I vot dopodlinnyj otvet,
CHto Betti dal ee posol.
On vse skazal, kak na duhu:
"Petuh - on pel: ku-gu-u! ku-gu-u!
Ot solnyshka - uh, holod shel!"
Vse rasskazal nash molodec -
I tut istorii konec.

LINES WRITTEN NEAR RICHMOND UPON THE THAMES, AT EVENING

How richly glows the water's breast
Before us, tinged with evening hues,
While, facing thus the crimson west,
The boat her silent course pursues!
And see how dark the backward stream!
A little moment past so smiling!
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Some other loiterers beguiling.

Such views the youthful Bard allure;
But, heedless of the following gloom,
He deems their colours shall endure
Till peace go with him to the tomb.
- And let him nurse his fond deceit,
And what if he must die in sorrow!
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
Though grief and pain may come to-morrow?

Glide gently, thus for ever glide,
O Thames! that other bards may see
As lovely visions by thy side
As now, fair river! come to me.
O glide, fair stream! for ever so,
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
Till all our minds for ever flow
As thy deep waters now are flowing.

Vain thought! - Yet be as now thou art,
That in thy waters may be seen
The image of a poet's heart,
How bright, how solemn, how serene!
Such as did once the Poet bless,
Who murmuring here a later ditty,
Could find no refuge from distress
But in the milder grief of pity.

Now let us, as we float along,
For _him_ suspend the dashing oar;
And pray that never child of song
May know that Poet's sorrows more.
How calm! how still! the only sound,
The dripping of the oar suspended!
- The evening darkness gathers round
By virtue's holiest Powers attended.

STIHI, NAPISANNYE VECHEROM U TEMZY VBLIZI RICHMONDA

Kak yarok otblesk vstrechnyh voln
V chas letnih sumerek, poka
Na alyj zapad tihij cheln
Stremit vechernyaya reka!
A pozadi rastayal svet -
Ulybka kratkogo mgnoven'ya!
I lovit dvizhushchijsya vsled
Obmanchivoe otrazhen'e.

Tak yunyj dumaet pevec,
CHto krasok etih vechen pir,
Poka v mogile, nakonec,
S nim ne ischeznet etot mir.
Hot' i umret v pechali on -
Pust' grezoj teshitsya dotole!
Kto zh ne leleyal sladkij son
V preddver'e gorechi i boli?

Struis' zhe do skonchan'ya let,
O Temza, v bleske nezhnyh voln,
CHtob zdes' mechtal drugoj poet,
Kak ya, videnij chudnyh poln!
Teki, prekrasnaya reka,
Pokuda tem zhe plavnym hodom
I dushi nashi na veka
Ne uplyvut, podobno vodam.

Net, bud' takoyu do konca,
Kak ty sejchas yavilas' mne,
Zatem chto svetlyj duh pevca
V tvoej siyaet glubine!
Sej duh blagoslovil togo,
Kto, sam nuzhdayas' v uteshen'e,
Oplakal brata svoego
Poslednej pesnej sozhalen'ya.

O Pamyat', pomolis' so mnoj,
CHelna ostanovivshi beg,
CHtob etoj skorbi ledyanoj
Drugoj poet ne znal vovek!
Kakaya tish'! Lish' kapel' zvuk,
S vesla upavshih! Mir v ob�yat'e
Vechernej t'my, i vse vokrug
Kak v snizoshedshej blagodati.

EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY

"Why, William, on that old grey stone,
Thus for the length of half a day,
Why, William, sit you thus alone,
And dream your time away?

"Where are your books? - that light bequeathed
To Beings else forlorn and blind!
Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed
From dead men to their kind.

"You look round on your Mother Earth,
As if she for no purpose bore you;
As if you were her first-born birth,
And none had lived before you!"

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
When life was sweet, I knew not why,
To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply:

"The eye - it cannot choose but see;
We cannot bid the ear be still;
Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
Against or with our will.

"Nor less I deem that there are Powers
Which of themselves our minds impress;
That we can feed this mind of ours
In a wise passiveness.

"Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum
Of things for ever speaking,
That nothing of itself will come,
But we must still be seeking?

"- Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
Conversing as I may,
I sit upon this old grey stone,
And dream my time away."

UVESHCHEVANXE I OTVET

"Skazhi mne, Vil'yam, pochemu,
Na serom kamne sidya prazdno,
Voobrazhen'yu svoemu
CHasy ty zhertvuesh' naprasno?

CHitaj! Nam v knigah yavlen svet.
I chtob ne byt' slepym i dikim,
Uchis' u teh, kogo uzh net,
Ispolnis' duhom ih velikim.

Vokrug ty smotrish', kak ditya,
Kak budto, pervenec tvoren'ya,
Prirodoj sozdan ty shutya,
Bez celi i prednaznachen'ya".

Tak u ozernyh vod, v krayu,
Gde zhizn' sladka i vozduh svetel,
Mne govoril moj drug Met'yu,
I vot chto ya emu otvetil:

"Ne vybiraya, vidit glaz.
Sluh chutok ne po prikazan'yu.
Ne sprashivayut chuvstva nas,
YAvlyayas' vopreki zhelan'yu.

I, nesomnenno, sily est',
CHto daryat znan'e nam blagoe
I serdcu posylayut vest'
V chas sozercan'ya i pokoya.

I esli ih nesmetnyj roj
Nas napolnyaet golosami,
I vse dano samo soboj, -
Zachem dolzhny iskat' my sami?

Teper', nadeyus', ponyal ty,
Moj milyj drug, chto ne naprasno
YA vremya trachu na mechty,
Na serom kamne sidya prazdno".

THE TABLES TURNED, AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless -
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:-
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

VSP NAOBOROT
Vechernyaya scena, posvyashchennaya toj zhe teme

Vstan'! Otorvis' ot knig, moj drug!
K chemu besplodnoe tomlen'e?
Vzglyani vnimatel'nej vokrug,
Ne to tebya sostarit chten'e!

Vot solnce nad gromadoj gor
Vosled poludennomu znoyu
Zelenyj zalilo prostor
Vechernej nezhnoj zheltiznoyu.

Kak sladko ivolga poet!
Speshi vnimat' ej! pen'e pticy
Mne bol'she mudrosti daet,
CHem eti skuchnye stranicy.

Poslushat' propoved' drozda
Stupaj v zelenuyu obitel'!
Tam prosvetish'sya bez truda:
Priroda - luchshij tvoj uchitel'.

Bogatstvo chudnoe svoe
Ona daruet nam s lyubov'yu.
I v otkroveniyah ee
Vesel'e dyshit i zdorov'e.

Tebe o sushchnosti dobra
I chelovech'em naznachen'e
Rasskazhut veshnie vetra,
A ne mudrenye uchen'ya.

Ved' nash bezzhiznennyj yazyk,
Nash razum v suete naprasnoj
Prirody iskazhayut lik,
Raz�yav na chasti mir prekrasnyj.

Iskusstv ne nado i nauk.
V stremlen'e k podlinnomu znan'yu
Ty serdce nauchi, moj drug,
Vnimaniyu i poniman'yu.

OLD MAN TRAVELLING
ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY
A Sketch

The little hedgerow birds,
That peck along the roads, regard him not.
He travels on, and in his face, his step,
His gait, is one expression: every limb,
His look and bending figure, all bespeak
A man who does not move with pain, but moves
With thought. - He is insensibly subdued
To settled quiet: he is one by whom
All effort seems forgotten; one to whom
Long patience hath such mild composure given,
That patience now doth seem a thing of which
He hath no need. He is by nature led
To peace so perfect that the young behold
With envy, what the Old Man hardly feels.
I asked him whither he was bound, and what
The object of his journey; he replied
"Sir! I am going many miles to take
A last leave of my son, a mariner,
Who from a sea-fight has been brought to Falmouth,
And there is dying in a hospital."

STRANSTVUYUSHCHIJ STARIK
POKOJ I UMIRANIE
zarisovka

Ne vozbuzhdaya lyubopytstva ptic,
Oblyubovavshih pridorozhnyj kust,
On vse idet - lico ego, shagi,
Pohodka vyrazhayut lish' odno:
I v sgorblennoj figure, i v glazah
Taitsya ne stradanie, no mysl';
On tak uporno priuchal sebya
K besstrast'yu, chto pri vzglyade na nego
Ne pomnish' ob usil'yah; on iz teh,
Kogo dolgoterpen'e privelo
K stol' krotkomu smiren'yu, chto emu
Terpet' uzhe ne trudno. I pokoj
Ego tak sovershenen, chto yunec,
Zaviduya, glyadit emu vosled.
Na moj vopros, kuda on derzhit put',
S kakoyu cel'yu? - on otvetil tak:
"Idu ya v Felmut k synu svoemu.
On ranen byl v srazhenii morskom.
Sejchas v bol'nice umiraet on,
I ya hochu uspet' prostit'sya s nim".

THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN

When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his
journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with
deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of
the place with afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions
intend to pursue, and if he be unable to follow, or overtake them, he
perishes alone in the desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall
in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still
more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work Heame's
_Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean_. In the high northern
latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary
their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as
alluded to in the following poem.

Before I see another day,
Oh let my body die away!
In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
The stars, they were among my dreams;
In rustling conflict through the skies,
I heard, I saw the flashes drive,
And yet they are upon my eyes,
And yet I am alive;
Before I see another day,
Oh let my body die away!

My fire is dead: it knew no pain;
Yet is it dead, and I remain:
All stiff with ice the ashes lie;
And they are dead, and I will die.
When I was well, I wished to live,
For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;
But they to me no joy can give,
No pleasure now, and no desire.
Then here contented will I lie!
Alone, I cannot fear to die.

III

Alas! ye might have dragged me on
Another day, a single one!
Too soon I yielded to despair;
Why did ye listen to my prayer?
When ye were gone my limbs were stronger;
And oh, how grievously I rue,
That, afterwards, a little longer,
My friends, I did not follow you!
For strong and without pain I lay,
Dear friends, when ye were gone away.

My Child! they gave thee to another,
A woman who was not thy mother.
When from my arms my Babe they took,
On me how strangely did he look!
Through his whole body something ran,
A most strange working did I see;
- As if he strove to be a man,
That he might pull the sledge for me:
And then he stretched his arms, how wild!
Oh mercy! like a helpless child.

My little joy! my little pride!
In two days more I must have died.
Then do not weep and grieve for me;
I feel I must have died with thee.
O wind, that o'er my head art flying
The way my friends their course did bend,
I should not feel the pain of dying,
Could I with thee a message send;
Too soon, my friends, ye went away;
For I had many things to say.

I'll follow you across the snow;
Ye travel heavily and slow;
In spite of all my weary pain
I'll look upon your tents again.
- My fire is dead, and snowy white
The water which beside it stood:
The wolf has come to me to-night,
And he has stolen away my food.
For ever left alone am I;
Then wherefore should I fear to die?

VII

Young as I am, my course is run,
I shall not see another sun;
I cannot lift my limbs to know
If they have any life or no.
My poor forsaken Child, if I
For once could have thee close to me.
With happy heart I then would die,
And my last thought would happy be;
But thou, dear Babe, art far away,
Nor shall I see another day.

ZHALOBA POKINUTOJ INDIANKI

Na severe, esli indeec, istoshchennyj dorogoj, ne v silah sledovat' za
svoim plemenem, tovarishchi nakryvayut ego olen'imi shkurami i, snabdiv vodoj,
pishchej i, esli vozmozhno, toplivom, ostavlyayut odnogo. Emu govoryat, kakim putem
oni namereny sledovat', i esli on slishkom slab, chtoby ih dognat', - on
osuzhden na odinokuyu smert' v pustyne, razve chto, po schast'yu, na nego
nabredet drugoe plemya. ZHenshchiny naravne s muzhchinami, esli ne chashche,
podvergayutsya etoj uchasti. Smotri po etomu povodu interesnejshij trud Hirna
"Puteshestvie ot Gudzonova zaliva k Ledovitomu okeanu". V severnyh shirotah,
soobshchaet tot zhe pisatel', kogda severnoe siyanie menyaet svoe polozhenie v
nebe, ono izdaet suhoj tresk, o kotorom i upominaetsya v etoj poeme.

Uzhel' mne videt' utro snova?
YA umeret' davno gotova,
Net, ya ne splyu i ne vo sne
YA vizhu vspyshki v vyshine,
Siyan'yu severnomu vnemlyu,
YA slyshu tresk ego ognej, -
Prishla pora pokinut' zemlyu,
Prishla pora rasstat'sya s nej.
Uzhel' mne videt' utro snova?
YA umeret' davno gotova.

Koster pogas. I ya pogasnu.
K chemu zhe plakat' ponaprasnu?
Zola pokrylas' korkoj l'da,
Potuh ogon' moj navsegda.
YA vspominayu, kak, byvalo,
O krove, pishche i ogne
I ya prosila, ya mechtala, -
Teper' k chemu vse eto mne?
S ognem pogasnut vse zhelan'ya, -
YA vstrechu smert' bez sodrogan'ya.

III

Byt' mozhet, den'-drugoj za vami,
Druz'ya, nevernymi shagami
Smogla b eshche tashchit'sya ya...
K chemu vy slushali menya!
YA tak zhaleyu, chto molila
Menya ostavit' umirat',
Ko mne opyat' vernulis' sily,
Mogla b ya v put' idti opyat'.
No vy dorogoyu dalekoj
Uzhe ushli ot odinokoj.

Moe ditya! Tebya, kachaya,
Neset otnyne mat' chuzhaya,
Ty ot rodnyh otorvan ruk.
V tvoih glazah skvozil ispug,
Byt' mozhet, gnev muzhchiny rannij,
Ty ne hotel pokinut' mat',
Rvanulsya ty zapryach' ej sani,
CHtob vmeste put' s nej prodolzhat'.
No tak bespomoshchno ruchonki
Ty protyanul na plach moj gromkij.

Ty moya radost', moj malyutka,
Zdes' umirat' odnoj tak zhutko,
Zato ty zhiv - i ne zhalej
O bednoj materi tvoej.
Slova kogda by uletali
S poryvom vetra vam vosled -
YA umerla by bez pechali,
ZHdala b uslyshat' vash otvet.
Hochu skazat' eshche tak mnogo,
No vy ushli svoej dorogoj.

Tyazhel vash put' skvoz' mrak moroznyj,
I vas nagnat' eshche ne pozdno
I na shatry vzglyanut' hot' raz,
Uvidet' ih v predsmertnyj chas.
Pogas koster vo mgle holodnoj,
Voda zamerzla, net ognya.
Segodnya noch'yu volk golodnyj
Unes vsyu pishchu ot menya.
Odna, odna v pustyne snezhnoj,
Odna so smert'yu neizbezhnoj.

VII

Krov' zastyvaet v moih zhilah,
YA shevel'nut' rukoj ne v silah,
ZHizn' prozhita, i dlya menya
Naveki skrylsya otblesk dnya.
Ditya moe, kogda b mogla ya
Prizhat' tebya k grudi svoej,
YA b umerla, blagoslovlyaya
Konec svoih nedolgih dnej.
No ty ne slyshish', ty daleko,
YA umirayu odinoko.

LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS
OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR.
JULY 13, 1798

Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur. - Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration:-feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened: - that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on, -
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft -
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart -
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thoughts
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
1 came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led; more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all. - I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye. - That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing often-times
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear, - both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms.
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance -
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence - wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love - oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

STROKI, NAPISANNYE NA RASSTOYANII NESKOLXKIH MILX OT TINTERNSKOGO ABBATSTVA
PRI POVTORNOM PUTESHESTVII NA BEREGA REKI UAJ

Pyat' let proshlo; zima, smenyaya leto,
Pyat' raz yavlyalas'! I opyat' ya slyshu
Negromkij rokot vod, begushchih s gor,
Opyat' ya vizhu hmurye utesy -
Oni v gluhom, uedinennom meste
Vnushayut mysli ob uedinen'e
Drugom, glubokom, i soedinyayut
Okrestnosti s nebesnoj tishinoj.
Opyat' nastala mne pora prilech'
Pod temnoj sikomoroj i smotret'
Na hizhiny, sady i ogorody,
Gde v eto vremya goda vse plody,
Nezrelye, zelenye, sokryty
Sredi gustoj listvy. Opyat' ya vizhu
ZHivye izgorodi, chto polzut,
Podobno otvetvlen'yam lesa; myzy,
Plyushchom pokrytye; i dym vitoj,
CHto tishina vzdymaet mezh derev'ev!
I smutno brezzhat mysli o brodyagah,
V lesu zhivushchih, ili o peshchere,
Gde u ognya sidit otshel'nik.
Dolgo
Ne videl ya landshaft prekrasnyj etot,
No dlya menya ne stal on smutnoj grezoj.
Net, chasto, sidya v komnate unyloj
Sred' gorodskogo shuma, byl emu ya
Obyazan v chas toski priyatnym chuvstvom,
ZHivyashchim krov' i v serdce oshchutimym,
CHto pronikalo v um, lishennyj skverny,
Spokojnym obnovleniem; i chuvstva
Otrad zabytyh, teh, chto, mozhet byt',
Nemaloe vliyanie okazhut
Na luchshee, chto znaet chelovek, -
Na melkie, nevidnye deyan'ya
Lyubvi i dobroty. O, veryu ya:
Inym ya, vysshim darom im obyazan,
Blazhennym sostoyan'em, pri kotorom
Vse tyagoty, vse tajny i zagadki,
Vse gor'koe, tomitel'noe bremya
Vsego nepoznavaemogo mira
Oblegcheno pokoem bezmyatezhnym,
Kogda blagie chuvstva nas vedut,
Poka telesnoe dyhan'e nashe
I dazhe krovi tok u nas v sosudah
Edva l' ne prekratitsya - telo spit,
I my stanovimsya zhivoj dushoj,
A vzorom, uspokoennym po vole
Garmonii i radosti glubokoj,
Proniknem v sut' veshchej.
I esli v etom
YA oshibayus', vse zhe - ah! - kak chasto
Vo t'me, sred' oblikov mnogoobraznyh
Bezradostnogo dnya, kogda vse v mire
Vozbuzhdeno besplodnoj suetoj, -
Kak chasto ya k tebe stremilsya duhom,
Skitalec Uaj, tekushchij v dikih chashchah,
Kak chasto ya dushoj k tebe stremilsya.

A nyne, pri mercan'e zybkih myslej,
V neyasnoj dymke poluuznavan'ya
I s nekoej rasteryannost'yu grustnoj,
V ume kartina ozhivaet vnov':
YA tut stoyu, ne tol'ko oshchushchaya
Otradu v nastoyashchem, no otradno
Mne v mige etom videt' zhizn' i pishchu
Gryadushchih let. Nadeyat'sya ya smeyu,
Hot' ya ne tot, kakim ya byl, kogda,
Popav syuda vpervye, slovno lan',
Skitalsya po goram, po beregam
Glubokih rek, ruch'ev uedinennyh,
Kuda vela priroda; ya skoree
Napominal togo, kto ubegaet
Ot strashnogo, a ne togo, kto ishchet
Otradnoe. Togda byla priroda
(V dni nizmennyh, mal'chisheskih uteh,
Davno proshedshih beshenyh vostorgov)
Vsem dlya menya. YA opisat' ne v silah
Sebya v tu poru. Grohot vodopada
Menya presledoval, vershiny skal,
Gora, glubokij i ugryumyj les -
Ih ochertan'ya i cveta rozhdali
Vo mne vlechen'e - chuvstvo i lyubov',
Kotorye chuzhdalis' vysshih char,
Rozhdennyh mysl'yu, i ne obol'shchalis'
Nichem nezrimym. - Ta pora proshla,
I bol'she net ee uteh shchemyashchih,
Ee ekstazov bujnyh. No ob etom
YA ne skorblyu i ne ropshchu: vzamen
YA znal dary inye, i obil'no
Vozmeshcheny poteri. YA teper'
Ne tak prirodu vizhu, kak poroj
Bezdumnoj yunosti, no chasto slyshu
CHut' slyshnuyu melodiyu lyudskuyu
Pechal'nuyu, bez grubosti, no v silah
Smiryat' i podchinyat'. YA oshchushchayu
Prisutstvie, palyashchee vostorgom,
Vysokih myslej, blagostnoe chuvstvo
CHego-to, pronikayushchego vglub',
CH'e obitalishche - luchi zakata,
I okean, i zhivotvornyj vozduh,
I nebo sinee, i um lyudskoj -
Dvizhenie i duh, chto napravlyaet
Vse myslyashchee, vse predmety myslej,
I vse pronizyvaet. Potomu-to
YA do sih por lyublyu lesa, luga
I gory - vse, chto na zemle zelenoj
My videt' mozhem; ves' moguchij mir
Ushej i glaz - vse, chto oni primetyat
I polusozdadut; ya rad priznat'
V prirode, v yazyke vrozhdennyh chuvstv
CHistejshih myslej yakor', pristan' serdca,
Vozhatogo, nastavnika i dushu
Prirody nravstvennoj moej.
Byt' mozhet,
Ne znaj ya etogo, moj duh v upadok
Prijti by mog; so mnoj ty na bregah
Reki prekrasnoj - ty, moj luchshij drug,
Moj milyj, milyj drug; v tvoih rechah
Byloj yazyk dushi moej ya slyshu,
Lovlyu bylye radosti v sverkan'e
Tvoih bezumnyh glaz. O da! Poka
Eshche v tebe ya vizhu, chem ya byl,
Sestra lyubimaya! Tvoryu molitvu,
Uveren, chto Priroda ne predast
Ee lyubivshij duh: ee velen'em
Vse gody, chto s toboj my vmeste, stali
CHredoyu radostej; ona sposobna
Tak mysl' nastroit' nashu, tak ispolnit'
Prekrasnym i pokojnym, tak nasytit'
Vozvyshennymi dumami, chto vvek
Zloslovie, glumlen'e sebyalyubcev,
Pospeshnyj sud, i lzhivye privety,
I skuka povsednevnoj suety
Ne odoleyut nas i ne smutyat
Veseloj very v to, chto vse krugom
Polno blagoslovenij. Pust' zhe mesyac
Tebya v chasy progulki ozarit,
Pust' gornyj veterok tebya obveet,
I esli ty v gryadushchie goda
|kstazy bezrassudnye zamenish'
Spokojnoj, trezvoj radost'yu, i um
Vse obliki prekrasnogo vmestit,
I v pamyati tvoej prebudut vechno
Garmoniya i sladostnye zvuki, -
O, esli odinochestvo i skorb'
Poznaesh' ty, to kak celebno budet
Tebe pripomnit' s nezhnost'yu menya
I uveshchaniya moi! Byt' mozhet,
YA budu tam, gde golos moj ne slyshen,
Gde ya uvizhu vzor bezumnyj tvoj,
Zazhzhennyj proshloj zhizn'yu, - pomnya vse zhe,
Kak my na beregu prekrasnyh vod
Stoyali vmeste; kak ya, s davnih por
Prirody obozhatel', ne otreksya
Ot moego sluzhen'ya, no pylal
Vse bol'she - o! - vse plamennee rven'em
Lyubvi svyatejshej. Ty ne pozabudesh',
CHto posle mnogih stranstvij, mnogih let
Razluki, eti chashchi i utesy
I ves' zelenyj kraj mne stal dorozhe...
On sam tomu prichinoj - no i ty!

From "Lyrical Ballads, and Other Poems"

THERE WAS A BOY

There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander! - many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,
That they might answer him. - And they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call, - with quivering peals;
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause
Of silence such as baffled his best skill:
Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs
Upon a slope above the village-school;
And, through that church-yard when my way has led
On summer-evenings, I believe, that there
A long half-hour together I have stood
Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies!

Iz "Liricheskih ballad i drugih stihotvorenij"

MALXCHIK

Byl mal'chik. Vam znakom on byl, utesy
I ostrova Vinandra! Skol'ko raz,
Po vecheram, lish' tol'ko nad verhami
Holmov zazhgutsya iskry rannih zvezd
V lazuri temnoj, on stoyal, byvalo,
V teni derev, nad ozerom blestyashchim.
I tam, skrestivshi pal'cy i ladon'
Svedya s ladon'yu napodob'e trubki,
On podnosil ee k gubam i krikom
Trevozhil mir v lesu dremuchih sov.
I na prizyv ego, so vseh storon,
Nad vodnoyu ravninoj razdavalsya
Ih dikij krik, pronzitel'nyj i rezkij.
I zvonkij svist, i hohot, i v gorah
Gul perekatnyj eha - chudnyh zvukov
Volshebnyj hor! Kogda zhe, vsled za tem,
Vdrug nastupala tishina, on chasto
V bezmolvii prirody, na skalah,
Sam oshchushchal nevol'nyj v serdce trepet,
Zaslyshav gde-to daleko zhurchan'e
Klyuchej nagornyh. Divnaya kartina
Togda v vostorg v nem dushu privodila
Svoej torzhestvennoj krasoj, svoimi
Utesami, lesami, teplym nebom,
V puchine vod neyasno otrazhennym.

Ego zh uzh net! Bednyazhka umer rano,
Let devyati on sverstnikov ostavil.
O, kak prekrasna tihaya dolina,
Gde on rodilsya! Vsya plyushchom uvita,
Visit so skal nad sel'skoj shkoloj cerkov'.
I esli mne sluchitsya v letnij vecher
Idti cherez kladbishche, ya gotov
Tam celyj chas stoyat' s glubokoj dumoj
Nad tihoyu mogiloj, gde on spit.

LUCY

Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the Lover's ear alone,
What once to me befell.

When she I loved looked every day
Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening-moon.

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
Those paths so clear to me.

And now we reached the orchard-plot;
And, as we climbed the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot
Came near, and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a Lover's head!
"O mercy!" to myself I cried,
"If Lucy should be dead!"

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
- Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!

III

I travelled among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;
And she I cherished turned her wheel
Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine too is the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

LYUSI

Kakie tajny znaet strast'!
No tol'ko tem iz vas,
Kto sam lyubvi izvedal vlast',
Doveryu svoj rasskaz.

Kogda, kak roza veshnih dnej,
Lyubov' moya cvela,
YA na svidan'e mchalsya k nej,
So mnoj luna plyla.

Lunu ya vzglyadom provozhal
Po svetlym nebesam.
A kon' moj veselo bezhal -
On znal dorogu sam.

Vot nakonec fruktovyj sad,
Vzbegayushchij na sklon.
Znakomyj kryshi gladkij skat
Lunoyu ozaren.

Ohvachen sladkoj vlast'yu sna,
Ne slyshal ya kopyt
I tol'ko videl, chto luna
Na hizhine stoit,

Kopyto za kopytom, kon'
Po sklonu vverh stupal.
No vdrug luny pogas ogon',
Za krysheyu propal.

Toska mne serdce oblegla,
CHut' tol'ko svet pogas.
"CHto, esli Lyusi umerla?" -
Skazal ya v pervyj raz.

Sredi nehozhenyh dorog,
Gde klyuch studenyj bil,
Ee uznat' nikto ne mog
I malo kto lyubil.

Fialka pryatalas' v lesah,
Pod kamnem chut' vidna.
Zvezda mercala v nebesah
Odna, vsegda odna.

Ne opechalit nikogo,
CHto Lyusi bol'she net,
No Lyusi net - i ottogo
Tak izmenilsya svet.

III

K chuzhim, v dalekie kraya
Zabroshennyj sud'boj,
Ne znal ya, rodina moya,
Kak svyazan ya s toboj.

Teper' ochnulsya ya ot sna
I ne pokinu vnov'
Tebya, rodnaya storona -
Poslednyaya lyubov'.

V tvoih gorah yutilsya dom.
Tam devushka zhila.
Pered rodimym ochagom
Tvoj len ona pryala.

Tvoj den' laskal, tvoj mrak skryval
Ee zelenyj sad.
I po tvoim holmam bluzhdal
Ee proshchal'nyj vzglyad.

Zabyvshis', dumal ya vo sne,
CHto u begushchih let
Nad toj, kto vseh dorozhe mne,
Otnyne vlasti net.

Ej v kolybeli grobovoj
Voveki suzhdeno
S gorami, morem i travoj
Vrashchat'sya zaodno.

LUCY GRAY, OR SOLITUDE

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
- The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night -
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon -
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!"

At this the Father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band;
He plied his work;-and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.

They wept-and, turning homeward, cried,
"In heaven we all shall meet;"
- When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!

- Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

LYUSI GREJ

Ne raz ya videl Lyusi Grej
V zadumchivoj glushi,
Gde tol'ko shorohi vetvej,
I znoj, i ni dushi.

Nikto ej drugom byt' ne mog
Sredi gluhih bolot.
Nikto ne znal, kakoj cvetok
V lesnom krayu rastet.

V lesu vstrechayu ya drozda
I zajca na lugu,
No miloj Lyusi nikogda
YA vstretit' ne smogu.

- |j, Lyusi, gde-to nasha mat',
Ne sbilas' by s puti.
Voz'mi fonar', stupaj vstrechat',
Stemneet - posveti.

- Otec, ya spravlyus' dotemna,
Vsego-to tri chasa.
Eshche edva-edva luna
Vzoshla na nebesa.

- Idi, da tol'ko ne zabud',
My k nochi buryu zhdem. -
I Lyusi smelo vyshla v put'
So starym fonarem.

Strojna, provorna i legka,
Kak kozochka v gorah,
Ona udarom bashmaka
Vzmetala snezhnyj prah.

Potom spustilsya polog t'my,
Zavylo, zamelo.
Vzbiralas' Lyusi na holmy,
No ne prishla v selo.

Naprasno zval otec-starik.
Iz temnoty v otvet
Ne doletal ni plach, ni krik
I ne mayachil svet.

A poutru s nemoj toskoj
Smotreli stariki
Na most, chernevshij nad rekoj,
Na vetly u reki.

Otec promolvil: - Ot bedy
Ni stavnej, ni zamkov. -
I vdrug zametil on sledy
Znakomyh bashmakov.

Sledy vedut na kosogor,
Otchetlivo vidny,
CHerez prolomannyj zabor
I dal'she vdol' steny.

Otec i mat' speshat vpered.
Do poyasa v snegu.
Sledy idut, idut - i vot
Oni na beregu.

Na svayah ledyanoj narost,
Voda stremit svoj beg.
Sledy peresekayut most...
A dal'she chistyj sneg.

No do sih por peredayut,
CHto Lyusi Grej zhiva,
CHto i teper' ee priyut -
Lesnye ostrova.

Ona bolotom i leskom
Petlyaet naugad,
Poet pechal'nym goloskom
I ne glyadit nazad.

THE BROTHERS

"These Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live
A profitable life: some glance along,
Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
And they were butterflies to wheel about
Long as the summer lasted: some, as wise,
Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag,
Pencil in hand and book upon the knee,
Will look and scribble, scribble on and look,
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.
But, for that moping Son of Idleness,
Why, can he tarry yonder? - In our church yard
Is neither epitaph nor monument,
Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread
And a few natural graves."
To Jane, his wife,
Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale.
It was a July evening; and he sate
Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves
Of his old cottage, - as it chanced, that day,
Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone
His wife sate near him, teasing matted wool,
While, from the twin cards toothed with glittering wire,
He fed the spindle of his youngest child,
Who, in the open air, with due accord
Of busy hands and back-and-forward steps,
Her large round wheel was turning. Towards the field
In which the Parish Chapel stood alone,
Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall,
While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent
Many a long look of wonder: and at last,
Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white ridge
Of carded wool which the old man had piled
He laid his implements with gentle care,
Each in the other locked; and, down the path
That from his cottage to the churchyard led,
He took his way, impatient to accost
The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering there.
'Twas one well known to him in former days,
A Shepherd-lad; who ere his sixteenth year
Had left that calling, tempted to entrust
His expectations to the fickle winds
And perilous waters; with the mariners
A fellow-mariner; - and so had fared
Through twenty seasons; but he had been reared
Among the mountains, and he in his heart
Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas.
Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard
The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds
Of caves and trees: - and, when the regular wind
Between the tropics filled the steady sail,
And blew with the same breath through days and weeks,
Lengthening invisibly its weary line
Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours
Of tiresome indolence, would often hang
Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze;
And, while the broad blue wave and sparkling foam
Flashed round him images and hues that wrought
In union with the employment of his heart,
He, thus by feverish passion overcome,
Even with the organs of his bodily eye,
Below him, in the bosom of the deep,
Saw mountains; saw the forms of sheep that grazed
On verdant hills-with dwellings among trees,
And shepherds clad in the same country grey
Which he himself had worn.
And now, at last,
From perils manifold, with some small wealth
Acquired by traffic 'mid the Indian Isles,
To his paternal home he is returned,
With a determined purpose to resume
The life he had lived there; both for the sake
Of many darling pleasures, and the love
Which to an only brother he has borne
In all his hardships, since that happy time
When, whether it blew foul or fair, they two
Were brother-shepherds on their native hills.
- They were the last of all their race: and now,
When Leonard had approached his home, his heart
Failed in him; and, not venturing to enquire
Tidings of one so long and dearly loved,
He to the solitary churchyard turned;
That, as he knew in what particular spot
His family were laid, he thence might learn
If still his Brother lived, or to the file
Another grave was added. - He had found ,
Another grave, - near which a full half-hour
He had remained; but, as he gazed, there grew
Such a confusion in his memory,
That he began to doubt; and even to hope
That he had seen this heap of turf before, -
That it was not another grave; but one
He had forgotten. He had lost his path,
As up the vale, that afternoon, he walked
Through fields which once bad been well known to him:
And oh what joy this recollection now
Sent to his heart! he lifted up his eyes,
And, looking round, imagined that he saw
Strange alteration wrought on every side
Among the woods and fields, and that the rocks,
And everlasting hills themselves were changed.
By this the Priest, who down the field had come,
Unseen by Leonard, at the churchyard gate
Stopped short, - and thence, at leisure, limb by limb
Perused him with a gay complacency.
Ay, thought the Vicar, smiling to himself,
Tis one of those who needs must leave the path
Of the world's business to go wild alone:
His arms have a perpetual holiday;
The happy man will creep about the fields,
Following his fancies by the hour, to bring
Tears down his cheek, or solitary smiles
Into his face, until the setting sun
Write fool upon his forehead. - Planted thus
Beneath a shed that over-arched the gate
Of this rude churchyard, till the stars appeared
The good Man might have communed with himself,
But that the Stranger, who had left the grave,
Approached; he recognised the Priest at once,
And, after greetings interchanged, and given
By Leonard to the Vicar as to one
Unknown to him, this dialogue ensued.

Leonard.

You live, Sir, in these dales, a quiet life:
Your years make up one peaceful family;
And who would grieve and fret, if, welcome come
And welcome gone, they are so like each other,
They cannot be remembered? Scarce a funeral
Comes to mis churchyard once in eighteen months;
And yet, some changes must take place among you:
And you, who dwell here, even among these rocks,
Can trace the finger of mortality,
And see, that with our threescore years and ten
We are not all that perish. - - I remember,
(For many years ago I passed this road)
There was a foot-way all along the fields
By the brook-side - 'tis gone - and that dark cleft!
To me it does not seem to wear the face
Which then it had!

Priest.

Nay, Sir, for aught I know,
That chasm is much the same -

Leonard.

But, surely, yonder -

Priest.

Ay, there, indeed, your memory is a friend
That does not play you false. - On that tall pike
(It is the loneliest place of all these hills)
There were two springs which bubbled side by side,
As if they had been made that they might be
Companions for each other: the huge crag
Was rent with lightning-one hath disappeared;
The other, left behind, is flowing still.
For accidents aud changes such as these,
We want not store of them; - a water-spout
Will bring down half a mountain; what a feast
For folks that wander up and down like you,
To see an acre's breadth of that wide cliff
One roaring cataract! a sharp May-storm
Will come with loads of January snow,
And in one night send twenty score of sheep
To feed the ravens; or a shepherd dies
By some untoward death among the rocks:
The ice breaks up and sweeps away a bridge;
A wood is felled:-and then for our own homes!
A child is born or christened, a field ploughed,
A daughter sent to service, a web spun,
The old house-clock is decked with a new face;
And hence, so far from wanting facts or dates
To chronicle the time, we all have here
A pair of diaries, - one serving, Sir,
For the whole dale, and one for each fire-side -
Yours was a stranger's judgment: for historians,
Commend me to these valleys!

Leonard.

Yet your Churchyard
Seems, if such freedom may be used with you,
To say that you are heedless of the past:
An orphan could not find his mother's grave:
Here's neither head-nor foot stone, plate of brass,
Cross-bones nor skull, - type of our earthly state
Nor emblem of our hopes: the dead man's home
Is but a fellow to that pasture-field.

Priest.

Why, there, Sir, is a thought that's new to me!
The stone-cutters, 'tis true, might beg their bread
If every English churchyard were like ours;
Yet your conclusion wanders from the truth:
We have no need of names and epitaphs;
We talk about the dead by our firesides.
And then, for our immortal part! we want
No symbols, Sir, to tell us that plain tale:
The thought of death sits easy on the man
Who has been bom and dies among the mountains.

Leonard.

Your Dalesmen, then, do in each other's thoughts
Possess a kind of second life: no doubt
You, Sir, could help me to the history
Of half these graves?

Priest.

For eight-score winters past,
With what I've witnessed, and with what I've heard,
Perhaps I might; and, on a winter-evening,
If you were seated at my chimney's nook,
By turning o'er these hillocks one by one,
We two could travel, Sir, through a strange round;
Yet all in the broad highway of the world.
Now there's a grave - your foot is half upon it, -
It looks just like the rest; and yet that man
Died broken-hearted.

Leonard.

'Tis a common case.
We'll take another: who is he that lies
Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves?
It touches on that piece of native rock
Left in the churchyard wall.

Priest.

That's Walter Ewbank.
He had as white a head and fresh a cheek
As ever were produced by youth and age
Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore.
Through five long generations had the heart
Of Walter's forefathers o'erflowed the bounds
Of their inheritance, that single cottage-
You see it yonder! and those few green fields.
They toiled and wrought, and still, from sire to son,
Each struggled, and each yielded as before
A little - yet a little, - and old Walter,
They left to him the family heart, and land
With other burthens than the crop it bore.
Year after year the old man still kept up
A cheerful mind, - and buffeted with bond,
Interest, and mortgages; at last he sank,
And went into his grave before his time.
Poor Walter! whether it was care that spurred him
God only knows, but to the very last
He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale:
His pace was never that of an old man:
I almost see him tripping down the path
With his two grandsons after him: - but you,
Unless our Landlord be your host tonight,
Have far to travel, - and on these rough paths
Even in the longest day of midsummer -

Leonard.

But those two Orphans!

Priest.

Orphans! - Such they were -
Yet not while Walter lived: for, though their parents
Lay buried side by side as now they lie,
The old man was a father to the boys,
Two fathers in one father: and if tears,
Shed when he talked of them where they were not,
And hauntings from the infirmity of love,
Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart,
This old Man, in the day of his old age,
Was half a mother to them. - If you weep, Sir,
To hear a stranger talking about strangers,
Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred!
Ay - you may turn that way - it is a grave
Which will bear looking at.

Leonard.

These boys - I hope
They loved this good old Man? -

Priest.

They did - and truly:
But that was what we almost overlooked,
They were such darlings of each other. Yes,
Though from the cradle they had lived with Walter,
The only kinsman near them, and though he
Inclined to both by reason of his age,
With a more fond, familiar, tenderness;
They, notwithstanding, had much love to spare,
And it all went into each other's hearts.
Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months,
Was two years taller: 'twas a joy to see,
To hear, to meet them! - From their house the school
Is distant three short miles, and in the time
Of storm and thaw, when every watercourse
And unbridged stream, such as you may have noticed
Crossing our roads at every hundred steps,
Was swoln into a noisy rivulet,
Would Leonard then, when elder boys remained
At home, go staggering through the slippery fords,
Bearing his brother on his back. I have seen him,
On windy days, in one of those stray brooks,
Ay, more than once I have seen him, mid-leg deep,
Their two books lying both on a dry stone,
Upon the hither side: and once I said,
As I remember, looking round these rocks
And hills on which we all of us were born,
That God who made the great book of the world
Would bless such piety -

Leonard.

It may be then -

Priest.

Never did worthier lads break English bread:
The very brightest Sunday Autumn saw
With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts,
Could never keep those boys away from church,
Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach.
Leonard and James! I warrant, every corner
Among these rocks, and every hollow place
That venturous foot could reach, to one or both
Was known as well as to the flowers that grow there.
Like roe-bucks they went bounding o'er the hills;
They played like two young ravens on the crags:
Then they could write, ay and speak too, as well
As many of their betters-and for Leonard!
The very night before he went away,
In my own house I put into his hand
A Bible, and I'd wager house and field
That, if he be alive, he has it yet.

Leonard.

It seems, these Brothers have not lived to be
A comfort to each other -

Priest.

That they might
Live to such end is what both old and young
In this our valley all of us have wished,
And what, for my part, I have often prayed:
But Leonard -

Leonard.

Then James still is left among you!

Priest.

'Tis of the elder brother I am speaking:
They had an uncle; - he was at that time
A thriving man, and trafficked on the seas:
And, but for that same uncle, to this hour
Leonard had never handled rope or shroud:
For the boy loved the life which we lead here;
And though of unripe years, a stripling only,
His soul was knit to this his native soil.
But, as I said, old Walter was too weak
To strive with such a torrent; when he died,
The estate and house were sold; and all their sheep,
A pretty flock, and which, for aught I know,
Had clothed the Ewbanks for a thousand years: -
Well - all was gone, and they were destitute,
And Leonard, chiefly for his Brother's sake,
Resolved to try his fortune on the seas.
Twelve years are past since we had tidings from him.
If there were one among us who had heard
That Leonard Ewbank was come home again,
From the Great Gavel, down by Leeza's banks,
And down the Enna, far as Egremont,
The day would be a joyous festival;
And those two bells of ours, which there, you see -
Hanging in the open air - but, O good Sir!
This is sad talk - they'll never sound for him -
Living or dead. - When last we heard of him
He was in slavery among the Moors
Upon the Barbary coast. - Twas not a little
That would bring down his spirit; and no doubt,
Before it ended in his death, the Youth
Was sadly crossed. - Poor Leonard! when we parted,
He took me by the hand, and said to me,
If e'er he should grow rich, he would return,
To live in peace upon his father's land,
And lay his bones among us.

Leonarnd.

If that day
Should come, 'twould needs be a glad day for him;
He would himself, no doubt, be happy then
As any that should meet him -

Priest.

Happy! Sir -

Leonard.

You said his kindred all were in their graves,
And that he had one Brother -

Priest.

That is but
A fellow-tale of sorrow. From his youth
James, though not sickly, yet was delicate;
And Leonard being always by his side
Had done so many offices about him,
That, though he was not of a timid nature,
Yet still the spirit of a mountain-boy
In him was somewhat checked, and, when his Brother
Was gone to sea, and he was left alone,
The little colour that he had was soon
Stolen from his cheek; he drooped, and pined, and pined -

Leonard.

But these are all the graves of full-grown men!

Priest.

Ay, Sir, that passed away: we took him to us;
He was the child of all the dale - he lived
Three months with one, and six months with another,
And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love:
And many, many happy days were his.
But, whether blithe or sad, 'tis my belief
His absent Brother still was at his heart.
And, when he dwelt beneath our roof, we found
(A practice till this time unknown to him)
That often, rising from his bed at night,
He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping
He sought his brother Leonard. - You are moved!
Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you,
I judged you most unkindly.

Leonard.

But this Youth,
How did he die at last?

Priest.

One sweet May-morning,
(It will be twelve years since when Springs returns)
He had gone forth among the new-dropped lambs,
With two or three companions, whom their course
Of occupation led from height to height
Under a cloudless sun-till he, at length,
Through weariness, or, haply, to indulge
The humour of the moment, lagged behind.
You see yon precipice; - it wears the shape
Of a vast building made of many crags;
And in the midst is one particular rock
That rises like a column from the vale,
Whence by our shepherds it is called, THE PILLAR.
Upon its aery summit crowned with heath,
The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades,
Lay stretched at ease; but, passing by the place
On their return, they found that he was gone.
No ill was feared; till one of them by chance
Entering, when evening was far spent, the house
Which at that time was James's home, there learned
That nobody had seen him all that day:
The morning came, and still he was unheard of:
The neighbours were alarmed, and to the brook
Some hastened; some ran to the lake: ere noon
They found him at the foot of that same rock
Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day after
I buried him, poor Youth, and there he lies!

Leonard.

And that then is his grave! - Before his death
You say that he saw many happy years?

Priest.

Ay, that he did -

Leonard.

And all went well with him? -

Priest.

If he had one, the Youth had twenty homes.

Leonard.

And you believe, then, that his mind was easy? -

Priest.

Yes, long before he died, he found that time
Is a true friend to sorrow; and unless
His thoughts were turned on Leonard's luckless fortune,
He talked about him with a cheerful love.

Leonard.

He could not come to an unhallowed end!

Priest.

Nay, God forbid! - You recollect I mentioned
A habit which disquietude and grief
Had brought upon him; and we all conjectured
That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
On the soft heath, - and, waiting for his comrades,
He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep
He to the margin of the precipice
Had walked, and from the summit had fallen headlong:
And so no doubt he perished. When the Youth ,
Fell, in his hand he must have grasped, we think,
His shepherd's staff; for on that Pillar of rock
It had been caught mid-way; and there for years
It hung; - and mouldered there.
The Priest here ended -
The Stranger would have thanked him, but he felt
A gushing from his heart, that took away
The power of speech. Both left the spot in silence;
And Leonard, when they reached the churchyard gate,
As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned round, -
And, looking at the grave, he said, "My Brother!"
The Vicar did not hear the words: and now,
He pointed towards his dwelling-place, entreating
That Leonard would partake his homely fare:
The other thanked him with an earnest voice;
But added, that, the evening being calm,
He would pursue his journey. So they parted.
It was not long ere Leonard reached a grove
That overhung the road: he there stopped short
And, sitting down beneath the trees, reviewed
All that the Priest had said: his early years
Were with him: - his long absence, cherished hopes,
And thoughts which had been his an hour before,
All pressed on him with such a weight, that now,
This vale, where he had been so happy, seemed
A place in which he could not bear to live:
So he relinquished all his purposes.
He travelled back to Egremont: and thence,
That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest,
Reminding him of what had passed between them;
And adding, with a hope to be forgiven,
That it was from the weakness of his heart
He had not dared to tell him who he was.
This done, he went on shipboard, and is now
A Seaman, a grey-headed Mariner.

BRATXYA

"Turistam etim, Gospodi prosti,
Dolzhno byt', horosho zhivetsya: brodyat
Bez dela den'-den'skoj - i gorya malo,
Kak budto i zemli pod nimi net,
A tol'ko vozduh, i oni porhayut,
Kak motyl'ki, vse leto. Na skale
S karandashom i knizhkoj na kolenyah
Usyadutsya i chto-to strochat, strochat.
Za eto vremya mozhno bylo b smelo
Projti mil' desyat' ili u soseda
Na pole vyzhat' celyj dobryj akr.
A etot vot lenivec, chto on ishchet?
CHego emu eshche tam nuzhno? Pravo,
U nas na kladbishche net monumentov,
Net nadpisej nadgrobnyh, - tol'ko dern
Da bednye mogily".
Tak zametil
Svoej zhene svyashchennik v |nnerdele.
Byl letnij vecher, u kryl'ca spokojno
Na kamennoj pristupke on sidel
I zanyat byl rabotoj mirnoj. Tut zhe
Sidela i ego zhena na kamne
I sherst' chesala, on zhe podaval
Skvoz' zub'ya dvuh grebnej blestyashchih pryazhu
Na pryalku mladshej docheri svoej,
Kotoraya rabotala s nim ryadom,
I koleso pod lovkimi rukami,
Poslushnoe ee stupne provornoj,
Vertelos' merno. Mnogo raz podryad
S nedoumen'em vzglyad brosal svyashchennik
Tuda, gde za stenoyu, mhom porosshej,
Vidnelas' cerkov'. Nakonec on vstal,
Zabotlivo slozhil vse instrumenty
Na kuchu belosnezhnoj myagkoj shersti,
Im zagotovlennoj, i po tropinke,
Vedushchej k cerkvi ot kryl'ca, poshel,
CHtob rassprosit', chto nuzhno neznakomcu,
Kotoryj vse ne uhodil ottuda.

Tomu davno on znal ego otlichno,
To byl pastuh. V shestnadcat' let pokinul
On kraj rodnoj, chtob vverit' vole vetra
Svoyu sud'bu. Nazvali moryaki
Ego tovarishchem, i s nimi dvadcat' let
Skitalsya on, no vse zh nedarom vyros
On zdes', v gorah. Po-prezhnemu ostalsya
Na more burnom pastuhom v dushe.
Da! Leonardu chuyalis' nevol'no
Skvoz' skrip snastej rodnye otgoloski
Derev'ev, vodopadov. V te chasy,
Kogda vse tot zhe neprestannyj veter
Pod tropikami celye nedeli
S odnim i tem zhe vechnym postoyanstvom
Im razduval nadezhnyj krepkij parus
I dolgij put' v bezbrezhnom okeane
Eshche dlinnej kazalsya, - chasto on
V bezdelii tomitel'nom i skuchnom
Glyadel podolgu za bort korablya;
Bezhali mimo volny golubye,
I s bryzgami i penoj grebnej belyh
Znakomye kartiny proplyvali,
V dushe rozhdalos' strastnoe zhelan'e,
I v glubine morskoj on yasno videl
Gor ochertan'ya, videl on stada
Ovec pasushchihsya, holmy, derev'ya
I pastuhov v odezhde domotkanoj,
Kotoruyu nosil i on.
Teper',
Pokinuv zhizn' opasnuyu na more
I koe-kak skopiv nemnogo deneg
V dalekoj Indii, k rodnym mestam
Vernulsya on, chtob snova, kak v te gody,
Zazhit' v tishi. Ved' zdes' ostalsya brat,
S kotorym on i v znoj, i v nepogodu
Kogda-to pas stada sredi holmov
Vsegda vdvoem i o kotorom chasto
On vspominal v skitaniyah svoih.
Drugoj rodni oni ne znali vovse.
U Leonarda serdce szhalos' bol'no,
Kogda on k domu tiho podhodil.
I vot, o brate rassprosit' ne smeya,
Na kladbishche proshel on pryamo k cerkvi.
On pomnil, gde lezhat ego rodnye,
I po chislu mogil uznat' on dumal,
ZHiv ili net lyubimyj brat. Uvy,
Odnoj mogiloj stalo bol'she. Dolgo
Stoyal on zdes', no v pamyati ego
Smeshalos' vse, on nachal somnevat'sya,
Nadeyat'sya, byt' mozhet, on oshibsya.
Byt' mozhet, etot holmik byl i ran'she
I on zabyl ego. Ved' nynche v polden'
On posredi polej davno znakomyh
S dorogi chut' ne sbilsya... I v dushe
Vospominan'ya ozhili. Kazalos',
CHto vse krugom teper' glyadit inache,
CHto izmenilis' kak-to les i pole,
CHto dazhe prezhnih skal kak budto net.
Mezh tem svyashchennik podoshel k ograde
I nezametno otvoril kalitku,
Smeyas' v dushe, okinul Leonarda
Lukavym vzglyadom s golovy do nog.
"Nu tak i est', - podumal on s ulybkoj, -
Odin iz teh skital'cev nelyubimyh,
Komu do nashej zhizni dela net,
CH'i ruki vechno prazdnuyut. Konechno,
Zashel syuda, dorogoj razmechtavshis',
I budet slezy lit' v uedinen'i
I do zakata durakom stoyat'".
Pochtennyj pastyr' mog by ochen' dolgo
Tak rassuzhdat' odin s samim soboyu,
Ostanovivshis' u vorot, kogda by
Ne podoshel k nemu sam neznakomec.
Vikariya uznal totchas zhe on,
No poklonilsya, budto by vpervye
Ego on videl, i zagovoril.

Leonard

Vam, verno, zdes' zhivetsya bezzabotno,
Prohodyat gody mirnoj cheredoyu,
Vstrechaete vy ih prihod radushno,
Ih provozhaete bez sozhalen'ya
I zabyvaete. Edva l' za celyj god
Pohoronit' kogo-nibud' pridetsya.
I vse-taki ne vechno vse krugom,
I my, kotorym zdes' dostalos' zhizni
SHest' ili sem' desyatkov let, ne bole,
My ne edinstvennye zdes' podvlastny
I vremeni i smerti. Prohodil ya
Kogda-to ran'she etimi mestami,
I pomnitsya, chto zdes' byla tropinka
Vdol' po ruch'yu - ee uzhe ne vidno,
I eta vot rasselina, po-moemu,
Teper' glyadit inache...

Svyashchennik

CHto vy, net,
Ona vse ta zhe, chto byla.

Leonard

Byt' mozhet,
Vot ta?

Svyashchennik

Vy pravy. Vidno, vasha pamyat',
Tovarishch dobryj, vam ne izmenyaet.
Na teh holmah (gluhie tam mesta)
Tam dva ruch'ya tekli pochti chto ryadom,
Kak budto by velela im priroda
Byt' sputnikami vechno. V tu skalu
Udarila raz molniya. Rasselas'
Ona gluboko, i odin ruchej
Issyak s teh por, - drugoj zhurchit ponyne.
Sobyt'ya vse u nas naperechet.
Vdrug burya s livnem polgory podmoet,
Uzh to-to radosti takim, kak vy,
Glyadet', kak celyj akr zemli nesetsya
S kamnyami vniz. Il' majskaya groza
Vse zaneset yanvarskim belym snegom,
I v odnu noch' dostanetsya voronam
Na rasterzan'e sotni dve ovec.
Umret pastuh v gorah sluchajnoj smert'yu,
Vesnoyu ledohodom most sneset,
Les vyrubyat dlya nashih zhe postroek,
Rodiny il' krestiny, pole vspashut,
Otpravyat doch' kuda-nibud' sluzhit',
Tkat' konchat, starye chasy pochinyat,
Vse eto pomnitsya otlichno vsemi,
I po sobyt'yam schet godam vedetsya
Vsegda dvojnoj - odin dlya vsej doliny,
Drugoj svoj sobstvennyj v hozyajstve kazhdom.
A obo mne sudili vy neverno,
YA letopiscem zdes' schitayus'.

Leonard

Vse zhe,
Prostite, ya na kladbishche ne vizhu
Osobennoj zaboty ob ushedshih,
Mogily materi ditya ne syshchet.
Ni pamyatnikov net, ni plit nadgrobnyh,
Net cherepov s kostyami, govoryashchih
O tom, chto vse zdes' v nashej zhizni brenno,
Net simvolov bessmert'ya, budto zdes'
I ne priyut poslednij dlya umershih,
A tak, prostoe pole ili lug.

Svyashchennik

Ot pervogo ot vas ya eto slyshu.
Ne sporyu, esli b v Anglii povsyudu
Pohozhi byli by kladbishchi na nashe,
Kamenotesy po miru poshli by.
No vy neverno sudite o nas.
Nam nadpisej nadgrobnyh i ne nado,
U ochaga my mertvyh vspominaem,
I nas bessmert'em uteshat' izlishne,
Ved' tot, kto zdes', v gorah, kak my, rodilsya,
Tot tak spokojno dumaet o smerti,
CHto dlya nego vse yasno i bez slov.

Leonard

Kak vidno, zdes' zhivut vtoroyu zhizn'yu
V vospominan'yah lyudi. Verno,
Vy rasskazat' mogli by ochen' mnogo
Ob etih vot mogilah.

Svyashchennik

Nu eshche by!
Za vosem'desyat let nemalo slyshal
I videl ya krugom. Kogda by mogli my
U moego kamina zimnij vecher
V besede provesti, my verno b s vami,
Perebiraya eti vot mogily
I stranstvuya tak ot odnoj k drugoj,
Nemalo s chem stolknulis' by v doroge.
Vot eta vot u samyh vashih nog,
Ona po vidu kak i vse drugie,
A chelovek, shoronennyj pod neyu,
Pogib s razbitym serdcem.

Leonard

|to sluchaj
Dovol'no chastyj. Luchshe rasskazhite
Pro tu mogilu vot na vozvyshen'e,
Poslednyuyu iz treh pochti chto ryadom
S kuskom skaly v stene.

Svyashchennik

Ah, eto Val'ter.
Da, Val'ter Ibank. V vosem'desyat let
Sedoj kak lun', no molozhavyj vidom,
On byl dushoj na yunoshu pohozh.
Pyat' pokolenij predkov potrudilos'
Nad hizhinoj i tem klochkom zemli,
Kotoryj Val'teru potom dostalsya.
Rabotali ne pokladaya ruk,
Stremyas' hot' chto-nibud' k nemu pribavit',
Vnuk prodolzhal ostavlennoe dedom,
No im bor'ba dostalas' nelegko,
I Val'ter unasledoval nemnogo:
Vse tu zhe strast' k rabote, eto pole,
A s nim dolgi i vechnyj nedorod.
Nemalo let derzhalsya staryj Val'ter,
Vsegda byl bodr i vesel, ne vziraya
Na vse povinnosti i zakladnye,
No vse-taki ne vyderzhal vkonec
I ran'she vremeni soshel v mogilu.
Da, bednyj Val'ter. Vedaet Gospod',
Kak zhizn' emu davalas' trudno; vse zhe
Takoj pohodki legkoj v |nnerdele
Ne pomnyu ya, i kak sejchas ya vizhu,
Kak bystro on idet vniz po tropinke
I dvoe vnukov sledom...
Vam, odnako,
Po krajnej mere, esli nash vladelec
Vam ne okazhet zdes' gostepriimstva,
Dalekij put' segodnya predstoit.
A zdes' mesta gluhie dazhe letom.

Leonard

A dvoe sirot?

Svyashchennik

Sirot? Zdes' lezhat
Bok o bok ih roditeli, no Val'ter,
Poka byl zhiv, im zamenyal oboih,
Vdvojne im byl otcom; a esli slezy
I nezhnost' serdca starogo, s kotoroj
On govoril o nih, nazvat' k tomu zhe
Lyubov'yu materinskoj - pravo, Val'ter
Byl mater'yu napolovinu im.
Vot vy chuzhoj, a kak rodnogo, vidno,
Vas moj rasskaz zastavil proslezit'sya.
I eta vot mogila tozhe stoit
Vniman'ya vashego.

Leonard

Nadeyus',
CHto mal'chiki lyubili starika.

Svyashchennik

I kak eshche! No mezh soboyu tozhe
Oni vsegda dusha s dushoyu zhili.
Ih iz pelenok staryj Val'ter vzyal,
Edinstvennoj rodnej dlya nih ostalsya,
Lyubil ih vseyu starcheskoj lyubov'yu,
No vse zh u mal'chikov ostalos' v serdce
Dovol'no chuvstva, chtoby udelit'
Drug drugu. Byl, dolzhno byt', Leonard
Na poltora lish' goda starshe brata,
No vyshe byl, i raznica kazalas'
Zametnej. Verite l', pri vide ih
I na dushe otradnej stanovilos'.
Im ot domu, dolzhno byt', mili tri
Idti do nashej shkoly nuzhno bylo,
A v dozhd' u nas doroga - ne projti.
Vidali sami - kazhdaya rechonka
Potokom burnym razol'etsya srazu.
V takie dni nikto ne vyhodil,
A Leonard sazhal na plechi brata
I otpravlyalsya vbrod shagat'. YA videl
Dovol'no chasto, kak pereplavlyalis'
CHerez ruchej oni. Voda inoj raz
Byla im po koleno, a ih knigi
Na kamne byli slozheny suhom.
I, pomnitsya, odnazhdy ya podumal,
Vzglyanuv na nashi skaly i holmy,
CHto Bog, kotoryj sozdal etu knigu,
Voznagradit zabotlivost' takuyu.

Leonard

Byt' mozhet...

Svyashchennik

Pravo, Angliya vskormila
Sebe vpolne dostojnyh synovej.
Poverite l', no ih i v voskresen'e
Pod osen' grozd'ya speyushchih orehov
I solnechnye dni ne otvlekali
Ot cerkvi i ot dolga hrist'yanina.
Da! Leonard i Dzhems! B'yus' ob zaklad,
CHto im v gorah znakom byl kazhdyj kamen',
CHto kazhduyu lozhbinu, kazhdyj vystup,
Kuda proniknut' tol'ko mozhno, znali
Oni nichut' ne huzhe rezvyh lanej,
Srodnilis' s nimi, kak cvety s zemleyu,
Kak voronyata, po skalam rezvilis',
I vse-taki i v chten'e i v pis'me
Ot sverstnikov oni ne otstavali.
Pered ot�ezdom samym Leonard
Zashel ko mne. YA Bibliyu v dorogu
Togda emu na pamyat' podaril,
I golovu dayu na otsechen'e,
CHto esli zhiv on - eta kniga s nim.

Leonard

No ne prishlos', kak vidno, brat'yam vmeste
ZHit' do konca!

Svyashchennik

Nam vsem hotelos' strashno,
I starikam, i molodym, chtob oba
U nas ostalis' zhit', i ya molilsya
V dushe o tom zhe samom. Leonard...

Leonard

Tak Dzhems eshche ostalsya zdes'?

Svyashchennik

O starshem
YA govoryu sejchas. U nih byl dyadya
Bogach, kak raz v tu poru zanimalsya
Morskoj torgovlej. Esli by ne on,
To Leonard ne vzyalsya b za kanaty.
No staryj Val'ter byl uzh slishkom slab,
CHtoby rabotat'. Posle ego smerti
Vse bylo prodano - i dom, i pole,
I stado, odevavshee semejstvo
Iz roda v rod, byt' mozhet, sotni let,
Vse s molotka poshlo, vsego lishilis'.
I vzdumal radi brata Leonard
V moryah dalekih ispytat' udachi.
Dvenadcat' let ne shlet on nam vestej.
Kogda b o nem zaslyshali my tol'ko,
CHto on vernulsya i idet syuda, -
My v tot zhe den' ustroili by prazdnik,
I eti vot kolokola togda by
Oni - uvy! mne strashno i podumat',
CHto ne pridetsya im zvonit' o nem,
Ni o zhivom, ni dazhe ob umershem.
Poslednij raz peredavali nam,
CHto v Afrike on negram v plen popalsya.
Nemalo tam on ispytal, dolzhno byt',
Neschastnyj mal'chik! Rasstavayas', on
Vzyal za ruku menya i obeshchal mne,
CHto, esli tol'ko on razbogateet,
On vnov' syuda vernetsya konchit' zhizn'
I lech' v mogilu s nami.

Leonard

Esli tol'ko
Nastanet etot den' kogda-nibud',
Schastlivej vseh on sam, konechno, budet.

Svyashchennik

Eshche by!

Leonard

Vy skazali mne sejchas,
CHto vsya rodnya ego lezhit v mogile,
No u nego byl brat eshche.

Svyashchennik

O da,
No eto tozhe povest' iz pechal'nyh.
Dzhems smolodu zdorov'em nezhen byl,
I gorca duh skazalsya v nem slabee,
Hotya i robkim tozhe ne byl on.
Brat okruzhal ego svoej zabotoj.
Kogda zh s ego ot�ezdom Dzhems ostalsya
Sovsem odin, on na glazah stal chahnut',
Soshel rumyanec bystro s yunyh shchek.

Leonard

No detskih zdes' mogil ya ne zametil.

Svyashchennik

Da, verno. On opravilsya potom,
Ego k sebe my vzyali. Nash poselok
Usynovil ego, i tak on zhil
Gde mesyac, dva, gde dazhe i polgoda.
On byl odet, nakormlen i lyubim,
Byt' mozhet, dazhe schastliv byl otchasti,
No mne vsegda kazalos', chto v dushe
O brate on toskuet neprestanno.
Dzhems dolgo zhil pod krovom u menya,
I ya zametil, kak on chasto noch'yu
(CHego do sej pory s nim ne byvalo)
Vstaval s posteli i vo sne hodil
Po komnate i brata zval k sebe.
Vas tronul moj rasskaz? Prostite, sudar',
Nespravedlivo ya sudil o vas.

Leonard

A kak zhe umer yunosha?

Svyashchennik

Odnazhdy
(S teh por proshlo dvenadcat' let, ne men'she)
On majskim utrom pas v gorah yagnyat
S tovarishchami vmeste. Solnce yarko
V bezoblachnyh svetilo nebesah.
S holma na holm oni perebiralis'.
Ustal li on il' prosto otdal dan'
Sluchajnoj leni, tol'ko on otstal
Ot nih dorogoj. Vidite obryv?
Nad nim podnyalis' skaly, tochno zamok,
I vysitsya utes poseredine,
Ego Stolpom prozvali pastuhi.
Tovarishchi zametit' ne uspeli,
Kak Dzhems ostalsya na ego vershine
I tam v kustah ulegsya otdohnut'.
Kogda oni obratno prohodili,
Ego tam ne bylo. Bedy ne chaya,
Oni v selo vernulis'. No odin
Zashel sluchajno v dom, gde v eto vremya
ZHil bednyj mal'chik. On ne vozvrashchalsya.
Ves' den' ego nikto nigde ne videl.
Nastalo utro. Dzhemsa net kak net.
Vse brosilis' na poiski totchas zhe,
Kto k ozeru, kto k rechke. Tol'ko v polden'
Ego nashli pod etim zhe utesom.
On ne dyshal, on ves' byl iskalechen,
Tri dnya spustya ya horonil ego.
Bednyazhka, pravo, vot ego mogila.

Leonard

Tak vot ego mogila! Vy skazali,
CHto on byl schastliv?

Svyashchennik

Schastliv? Da, ruchayus'.

Leonard

I vse ego lyubili?

Svyashchennik

On povsyudu
Vsegda byl vstrechen tochno syn rodnoj.

Leonard

V dushe ego nichto ne tyagotilo?

Svyashchennik

O net. Imel on sluchaj ubedit'sya,
CHto vremya luchshij vrach dlya serdca. Pravda,
On do konca o brate Leonarde
Vsegda s lyubov'yu prezhnej govoril.

Leonard

I strashnyj greh ne mog on vzyat' na sovest'?

Svyashchennik

Izbavi Bozhe! YA vam govoril,
CHto u nego privychka poyavilas',
Ot gorya ili prosto tak sluchajno,
Brodit' vo sne. I my reshili vse,
CHto on, prigretyj solncem na trave,
Usnul, druzej prihoda dozhidayas'.
I sonnyj vstal i podoshel k obryvu
I vniz sorvalsya. Zdes' somnenij net.
Dolzhno byt', on za posoh uhvatilsya
I padal s nim. Visel potom on dolgo
Nad propast'yu - tak i istlel v kustah.
Svyashchennik konchil svoj rasskaz, i putnik
Blagodarit' hotel ego, no serdce
Tak bol'no szhalos', chto ne stalo sily
Skazat' hot' slovo. Molcha k vorotam
Napravilis' oni. Poka svyashchennik
Otodvigal zasov, v poslednij raz
Okinul vzglyadom Leonard mogily
I vymolvil chut' slyshno: "Milyj brat!"
Svyashchennik etih slov ego ne slyshal
I, ukazav na dom svoj neznakomcu,
Gostepriimno predlozhil nochleg.
No Leonard skazal emu uchtivo,
CHto vecher tih i on predpochitaet
Pustit'sya v put', - i bystro proch' poshel.

Do blizhnej roshchi bylo nedaleko,
I tam v teni razvesistyh derev'ev
Prisel neschastnyj putnik. Pered nim
Rasskaz nedavnij ozhil vdrug nevol'no,
On detstvo vspomnil, dolgie skitan'ya.
On vspomnil vse. Tesnilis' pered nim
Nadezhd i myslej prezhnih verenicy,
Kotorye on tak leleyal nezhno
V dushe vsego lish' chas tomu nazad.
I v etot mig emu tak yasno stalo,
CHto dlya nego teper' uzh nevozmozhno
Vernut'sya snova v mirnuyu dolinu,
Gde protekli vse luchshie goda.
V dushe sozrelo novoe reshen'e,
I on, dojdya opyat' do |nnerdela,
Svyashchenniku otpravil v tu zhe noch'
Pis'mo, gde on prosil ego proshchen'ya,
CHto vecherom vo vremya ih besedy
Po slabosti dushevnoj ne nazvalsya
I imya skryl svoe. Potom on snova
Na svoj korabl' vernulsya i teper',
Sedoj moryak, navek srodnilsya s morem.

MICHAEL
A Pastoral Poem

If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
But, courage! for around that boisterous brook
The mountains have all opened out themselves,
And made a hidden valley of their own.
No habitation can be seen; but they
Who journey thither find themselves alone
With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
That overhead are sailing in the sky.
It is in truth an utter solitude;
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell
But for one object which you might pass by
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook
Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones!
And to that simple object appertains
A story-unenriched with strange events,
Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside,
Or for the summer shade. It was the first
Of those domestic tales that spake to me
Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men
Whom I already loved; not verily
For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills
Where was their occupation and abode.
And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy
Careless of books, yet having felt the power
Of Nature, by the gentle agency
Of natural objects, led me on to feel
For passions that were not my own, and think
(At random and imperfectly indeed)
On man, the heart of man, and human life.
Therefore, although it be a history
Homely and rude, I will relate the same
For the delight of a few natural hearts;
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
Of youthful Poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone.
Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale
There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name;
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs,
And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt
And watchful more than ordinary men.
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds,
Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes,
When others heeded not, He heard the South
Make subterraneous music, like the noise
Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills.
The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock
Bethought him, and he to himself would say,
"The winds are now devising work for me!"
And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives
The traveller to a shelter, summoned him
Up to ths mountains: he had been alone
Amid the heart of many thousand mists,
That came to him, and left him, on the heights.
So lived he till his eightieth year was past.
And grossly that man errs, who should suppose
That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks,
Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's thoughts.
Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed
The common air; hills, which with vigorous step
He had so often climbed: which had impressed
So many incidents upon his mind
Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear;
Which, like a book, preserved the memory
Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved,
Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts
The certainty of honourable gain;
Those fields, those hills-what could they less? had laid
Strong hold on his affections, were to him
A pleasurable feeling of blind love,
The pleasure which there is in life itself.
His days had not been passed in singleness.
His Helpmate was a comely matron, old -
Though younger than himself full twenty years.
She was a woman of a stirring life,
Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had
Of antique form; this large, for spinning wool;
That small, for flax; and if one wheel had rest
It was because the other was at work.
The Pair had but one inmate in their house,
An only Child, who had been born to them
When Michael, telling o'er his years, began
To deem that he was old, - in shepherd's phrase,
With one foot in the grave. This only Son,
With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm,
The one of an inestimable worth,
Made all their household. I may truly say,
That they were as a proverb in the vale
For endless industry. When day was gone,
And from their occupations out of doors
The Son and Father were come home, even then,
Their labour did not cease; unless when all
Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and there,
Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk,
Sat round the basket piled with oaten cakes,
And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when the meal
Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named)
And his old Father both betook themselves
To such convenient work as might employ
Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to card
Wool for the Housewife's spindle, or repair
Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe,
Or other implement of house or field.
Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge,
That in our ancient uncouth country style
With huge and black projection overbrowed
Large space beneath, as duly as the light
Of day grew dim the Housewife hung a lamp;
An aged utensil, which had performed
Service beyond all others of its kind.
Early at evening did it bum-and late,
Surviving comrade of uncounted hours,
Which, going by from year to year, had found,
And left, the couple neither gay perhaps
Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes,
Living a life of eager industry.
And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth year,
There by the light of this old lamp they sate,
Father and Son, while far into the night
The Housewife plied her own peculiar work,
Making the cottage through the silent hours
Murmur as with the sound of summer flies.
This light was famous in its neighbourhood,
And was a public symbol of the life
That thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced,
Their cottage on a plot of rising ground
Stood single, with large prospect, north and south,
High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise,
And westward to the village near the lake;
And from this constant light, so regular
And so far seen, the House itself, by all
Who dwelt within the limits of the vale,
Both old and young, was named The Evening Star.
Thus living on through such a length of years,
The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs
Have loved his Helpmate; but to Michael's heart
This son of his old age was yet more dear -
Less from instinctive tenderness, the same
Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all -
Than that a child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts,
And stirrings of inquietude, when they
By tendency of nature needs must fail.
Exceeding was the love he bare to him,
His heart and his heart's joy! For oftentimes
Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms,
Had done him female service, not alone
For pastime and delight, as is the use
Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced
To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked
His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand.
And, in a later time, ere yet the Boy
Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love,
Albeit of a stern unbending mind,
To have the Young-one in his sight, when he
Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd's stool
Sate with a fettered sheep before him stretched
Under the large old oak, that near his door
Stood single, and, from matchless depth of shade,
Chosen for the Shearer's covert from the sun,
Thence in our rustic dialect was called
The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears.
There, while they two were sitting in the shade
With others round them, earnest all and blithe,
Would Michael exercise his heart with looks
Of fond correction and reproof bestowed
Upon the Child, if he disturbed the sheep
By catching at their legs, or with his shouts
Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears.
And when by Heaven's good grace the boy grew up
A healthy Lad, and carried in his cheek
Two steady roses that were five years old;
Then Michael from a winter coppice cut
With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped
With iron, making it throughout in all
Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff,
And gave it to the Boy; wherewith equipt
He as a watchman oftentimes was placed
At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock;
And, to his office prematurely called,
There stood the urchin, as you will divine,
Something between a hindrance and a help;
And for this cause not always, I believe,
Receiving from his Father hire of praise;
Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice,
Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform.
But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand
Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights,
Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways,
He with his Father daily went, and they
Were as companions, why should I relate
That objects which the Shepherd loved before
Were dearer now? that from the Boy there came
Feelings and emanations - things which were
Light to the sun and music to the wind;
And that the old Man's heart seemed born again?
Thus in his Father's sight the Boy grew up:
And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year
He was his comfort and his daily hope.
While in this sort the simple household lived
From day to day, to Michael's ear there came
Distressful tidings. Long before the time
Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound
In surety for his brother's son, a man
Of an industrious life, and ample means;
But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly
Had prest upon him; and old Michael now
Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture,
A grievous penalty, but little less
Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim,
At the first hearing, for a moment took
More hope out of his life than he supposed
That any old man ever could have lost.
As soon as he had armed himself with strength
To look his trouble in the face, it seemed
The Shepherd's sole resource to sell at once
A portion of his patrimonial fields.
Such was his first resolve; he thought again,
And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said he,
Two evenings after he had heard the news,
"I have been toiling more than seventy years,
And in the open sunshine of God's love
Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours
Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think
That I could not be quiet in my grave.
Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself
Has scarcely been more diligent than I;
And I have lived to be a fool at last
To my own family. An evil man
That was, and made an evil choice, if he
Were false to us; and if he were not false,
There are ten thousand to whom loss like this
Had been no sorrow. I forgive him; - but
Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus.
When I began, my purpose was to speak
Of remedies and of a cheerful hope.
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land
Shall not go from us, and it shall be free;
He shall possess it, free as is the wind
That passes over it. We have, thou know'st,
Another kinsman - he will be our friend
In this distress. He is a prosperous man,
Thriving in trade - and Luke to him shall go,
And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift
He quickly will repair this loss, and then
He may return to us. If here he stay,
What can be done? Where every one is poor,
What can be gained?"
At this the old Man paused,
And Isabel sat silent, for her mind
Was busy, looking back into past times.
There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself,
He was a parish-boy - at the church-door
They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence
And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbours bought
A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares;
And, with this basket on his arm, the lad
Went up to London, found a master there,
Who, out of many, chose the trusty boy
To go and overlook his merchandise
Beyond the seas: where he grew wondrous rich,
And left estates and monies to the poor,
And, at his birth-place, built a chapel, floored
With marble which he sent from foreign lands.
These thoughts, and many others of like sort,
Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel,
And her face brightened. The old Man was glad,
And thus resumed: - "Well, Isabel! this scheme
These two days, has been meat and drink to me.
Far more than we have lost is left us yet.
- We have enough - I wish indeed that I
Were younger; - but this hope is a good hope.
- Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best
Buy for him more, and let us send him forth
To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night:
- If he _could_ go, the Boy should go to-night."
Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth
With a light heart. The Housewife for five days
Was restless morn and night, and all day long
Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare
Things needful for the journey of her son.
But Isabel was glad when Sunday came
To stop her in her work: for, when she lay
By Michael's side, she through the last two nights
Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep:
And when they rose at morning she could see
That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon
She said to Luke, while they two by themselves
Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go:
We have no other Child but thee to lose
None to remember - do not go away,
For if thou leave thy Father he will die."
The Youth made answer with a jocund voice;
And Isabel, when she had told her fears,
Recovered heart. That evening her best fare
Did she bring forth, and all together sat
Like happy people round a Christmas fire.
With daylight Isabel, resumed her work;
And all the ensuing week the house appeared
As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length
The expected letter from their kinsman came,
With kind assurances that he would do
His utmost for the welfare of the Boy;
To which, requests were added, that forthwith
He might be sent to him. Ten times or more
The letter was read over; Isabel
Went forth to show it to the neighbours round;
Nor was there at that time on English land
A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel
Had to her house returned, the old Man said,
"He shall depart to-morrow." To this word
The Housewife answered, talking much of things
Which, if at such short notice he should go,
Would surely be forgotten. But at length
She gave consent, and Michael was at ease.
Near the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,
In that deep valley, Michael had designed
To build a Sheepfold; and, before he heard
The tidings of his melancholy loss,
For this same purpose he had gathered up
A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge
Lay thrown together, ready for the work.
With Luke that evening thitherward he walked:
And soon as they had reached the place he stopped,
And thus the old Man spake to him: - "My Son,
To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart
I look upon thee, for thou art the same
That wert a promise to me ere thy birth,
And all thy life hast been my daily joy.
I will relate to thee some little part
Of our two histories; 'twill do thee good
When thou art from me, even if I should touch
On things thou canst not know of. - After thou
First cam'st into the world-as oft befalls
To new-born infants - thou didst sleep away
Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue
Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on,
And still I loved thee with increasing love.
Never to living ear came sweeter sounds
Than when I heard thee by our own fireside
First uttering, without words, a natural tune;
While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy
Sing at thy Mother's breast. Month followed month,
And in the open fields my life was passed
And on the mountains; else I think that thou
Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's knees.
But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills,
As well thou knowest, in us the old and young
Have played together, nor with me didst thou
Lack any pleasure which a boy can know."
Luke had a manly heart; but at these words
He sobbed aloud. The old Man grasped his hand,
And said, "Nay, do not take it so - I see
That these are things of which I need not speak.
- Even to the utmost I have been to thee
A kind and a good Father: and herein
I but repay a gift which I myself
Received at others' hands; for, though now old
Beyond the common life of man, I still
Remember them who loved me in my youth.
Both of them sleep together: here they lived,
As all their Forefathers had done; and when
At length their time was come, they were not loth
To give their bodies to the family mould.
I wished that thou should'st live the life they lived:
But, 'tis a long time to look back, my Son,
And see so little gain from threescore years.
These fields were burthened when they came to me;
Till I was forty years of age, not more
Than half of my inheritance was mine.
I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my work,
And till these three weeks past the land was free.
- It looks as if it never could endure
Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke,
If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good
That thou should'st go."
At this the old Man paused;
Then, pointing to the stones near which they stood,
Thus, after a short silence, he resumed:
"This was a work for us; and now, my Son,
It is a work for me. But, lay one stone-
Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands.
Nay, Boy, be of good hope; - we both may live
To see a better day. At eighty-four
I still am strong and hale; - do thou thy part;
I will do mine. - I will begin again
With many tasks that were resigned to thee:
Up to the heights, and in among the storms,
Will I without thee go again, and do
All works which I was wont to do alone,
Before I knew thy face. - Heaven bless thee, Boy!
Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast
With many hopes it should be so-yes-yes-
I knew that thou could'st never have a wish
To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to me
Only by links of love: when thou art gone,
What will be left to us! - But, I forget
My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone,
As I requested; and hereafter, Luke,
When thou art gone away, should evil men
Be thy companions, think of me, my Son,
And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts,
And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear
And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou
May'st bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived,
Who, being innocent, did for that cause
Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well -
When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see
A work which is not here: a covenant
Twill be between us; but, whatever fate
Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last,
And bear thy memory with me to the grave."
The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down,
And, as his Father had requested, laid
The first stone of the Sheepfold. At the sight
The old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart
He pressed his Son, he kissed him and wept;
And to the house together they returned.
- Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming
peace,
Ere the night fell: - with morrow's dawn, the Boy
Began his journey, and when he had reached
The public way, he put on a bold face;
And all the neighbours, as he passed their doors,
Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers,
That followed him till he was out of sight.
A good report did from their Kinsman come,
Of Luke and his well-doing: and the Boy
Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news,
Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were
throughout
"The prettiest letters that were ever seen."
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.
So, many months passed on: and once again
The Shepherd went about his daily work
With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now
Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour
He to that valley took his way, and there
Wrought at the Sheepfold. Meantime Luke began
To slacken in his duty; and, at length,
He in the dissolute city gave himself
To evil courses: ignominy and shame
Fell on him, so that he was driven at last
To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.
There is a comfort in the strength of love;
'Twill make a thing endurable, which else
Would overset the brain, or break the heart:
I have conversed with more than one who well
Remember the old Man, and what he was
Years after he had heard this heavy news.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks
He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud,
And listened to the wind; and, as before,
Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep,
And for the land, his small inheritance.
And to that hollow dell from time to time
Did he repair, to build the Fold of which
His flock had need. Tis not forgotten yet
The pity which was then in every heart
For the old Man - and 'tis believed by all
That many and many a day he thither went,
And never lifted up a single stone.
There, by the Sheepfold, sometimes was he seen
Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog,
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.
The length of full seven years, from time to time,
He at the building of this Sheepfold wrought,
And left the work unfinished when he died.
Three years, or little more, did Isabel
Survive her Husband: at her death the estate
Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand.
The Cottage which was named the Evening Star
Is gone - the ploughshare has been through the
ground
On which it stood; great changes have been
wrought
In all the neighbourhood: - yet the oak is left
That grew beside their door; and the remains
Of the unfinished Sheepfold may be seen
Beside the boisterous brook of Greenhead Ghyll.

MAJKL
Pastusheskaya poema

Kogda, svernuv s naezzhennogo trakta
V ushchel'e Grinhed, vy stupit' reshites'
CHut' dal'she v glub' ego, gde svoenravnyj
Burlit potok, dorogi krutizna
Vas otpugnet sperva: gromady skal
Vozdvignutsya takoj stenoj nadmennoj!
No - v put' smelej! Nad burnym tem ruch'em
Oni potom rasstupyatsya i vzoru
Otkroyut potaennyj tihij dol.
ZHilishch lyudskih tam ne vidat'; lish' ovcy
Pasutsya redkie na gornyh sklonah
Da v podnebes'e korshuny plyvut -
Voistinu glubokoe bezlyud'e.
I ya b ne stal vam dokuchat' rasskazom
O toj doline - no odno v nej mesto
Legko b mogli togda vy minovat'
I ne zametit': grubyh kamnej grudu,
CHto vysitsya na beregu ruch'ya.
Svoya u nih istoriya; chudes
I tajn v nej net - odnako zh mozhno, pravo,
S nej ne bez pol'zy vremya skorotat'
U ochaga ili v teni platana.
Ona odna iz pervyh teh legend,
Kakih slyhal ya otrokom nemalo,
O pastuhah. Uzhe togda lyubil ya
Sih strannikov nagorij - no, uvy,
Lyubil ne radi nih samih, a radi
Dolin i kruch, sluzhivshih im priyutom.
I vot yunca, chto ubegal ot knizhek,
No k krotkomu i vlastnomu vnushen'yu
Prirody ne byl gluh, prostaya povest'
Vpervye nauchila sostradat'
Neschastiyu ne svoemu - chuzhomu
I razmyshlyat', puskaj eshche nevnyatno,
O teh strastyah, chto pravyat chelovekom,
O serdce i o zhrebii ego.
YA etu povest' vam pereskazhu -
Ona, nadeyus', po serdcu pridetsya
Nemnogim tem, kto serdcem chist i pryam, -
I tem eshche, drugim, - s kakim volnen'em
YA dumayu o nih! - poetam yunym,
CHto, v svoj chered podnyavshis' k etim dolam,
Menya zamenyat v nih, kogda ujdu.

V doline Grasmir zhil vo vremya ono
Pastuh; on zvalsya Majklom. Tverd dushoj,
Nesueten, v kosti shirok i prochen,
On do sedyh volos sumel sberech'
Nedyuzhinnuyu silu, yasnyj um,
Snorovku; byl na trud lyuboj gorazd,
A uzh v svoem-to remesle pastush'em
Znal tolk, kak ni odin ovchar vokrug:
Znal, chto neset s soboyu kazhdyj veter,
Lyuboj ego poryv; drugim, byvalo,
Eshche i nevdomek, a on uzh slyshal
Pod�yatyj yuzhnym vetrom gul podzemnyj,
Kak plach volynki dal'nej za holmom.
I vspominal on pro svoi otary,
I prigovarival, sbirayas' v put':
"Vot veter mne i zadaet rabotu!"
Dosuzhih strannikov toropit burya
Iskat' ukryt'ya - a ego ona
Zvala na sklony gor, i skol'ko raz on
Odin byval tam v samom serdce mgly,
I cheredoj neslis' nad nim tumany.
Tak zhil on dobryh vosem'desyat let.
I zhal' togo mne, kto reshit pospeshno,
CHto on na eti skaly i ruch'i
Vziral lish' s bezuchastiem privychki:
Zelenyj dol, gde tak legko i vol'no
Dyshalos' pastuhu; krutye sklony,
Ishozhennye vdol' i poperek
Nogoyu tverdoj, - skol'ko v etih knigah
Hranilos' pamyati o dnyah nuzhdy
I dnyah zabot, o radostyah i bedah,
O tvaryah besslovesnyh, koih on
Spasal, kormil, sgonyal pod krov nadezhnyj, -
I trudnyj, chestnyj svoj schital barysh.
Tak divo li, chto gory, doly eti
Svoj vechnyj znak na nem napechatleli,
CHto on ih bezotchetnoyu lyubov'yu
Lyubil, kak zhizn' svoyu, - kak zhizn' samu?

Ne odinoko dni ego tekli.
Ih s nim delila vernaya podruga,
ZHena dostojnaya, v godah pochtennyh,
Hot' Majkla i na dvadcat' mladshe let.
Bodra, zhiva, vsegda v trudah po domu -
Voistinu dusha ego; dve pryalki
Rez'by starinnoj byli u nee:
Dlya shersti - pogrubej, dlya l'na - poton'she;
Koli odna smolkala, to zatem lish',
CHto nastaval chered zhuzhzhat' drugoj.
I byl eshche v sem'e, na radost' im,
Synok edinstvennyj; sud'ba ego
Poslala im, kogda vse chashche Majkl
Stal namekat', chto stareetsya on, -
Uzh, mol, stoit odnoj nogoj v mogile.
Vot etot syn da dve ovcharki vernyh
(Odnoj tak vovse ne bylo ceny)
I sostavlyali ves' ih krug domashnij.
A chto do trudolyubiya, semejstvo
Davno v poslovicu voshlo okrest.
Kogda s zakatom dnya otec i syn
Pod krov rodnoj s nagorij vozvrashchalis',
Oni i tut ne skladyvali ruk.
Tak vplot' do uzhina; togda oni
Za chistyj stol sadilis', gde ih zhdali
I sytnyj sup, i svezhij syr domashnij,
I s molokom ovsyanye lepeshki.
Konchalsya uzhin - Lyuk (tak zvalsya syn)
So starikom otcom sebe iskali
Zanyat'e, chtoby ne sidet' bez dela
U ochaga: raschesyvali sherst'
Dlya matushkinyh pryalok, popravlyali
Kosu, il' serp, il' cep, il' chto pridetsya.

Lish' za oknom smerkat'sya nachinalo -
Pod potolkom, u kromki dymohoda,
CHto slozhen byl na grubyj mestnyj lad
I zatenyal ogromnym chernym klinom
Polkomnaty, mat' zazhigala lampu.
Nelegkuyu svetil'nik drevnij sej
Nes sluzhbu, ne v primer inym sobrat'yam.
Ot sumerek do nochi on gorel,
Bessmennyj sputnik vseh chasov neschetnyh,
CHto zdes' tekli i skladyvalis' v gody,
Na licah etih truzhenikov chestnyh
Vstrechaya i s uhodom ostavlyaya
Kol' i ne radosti bespechnoj blesk,
To rovnyj svet nadezhdy terpelivoj.
Tak Lyuku minulo os'mnadcat' let,
I tak oni sideli kazhdyj vecher,
Otec i syn, pod staroj vernoj lampoj,
A mat' vse znaj svoyu krutila pryalku,
I polnilsya ves' dom v tishi vechernej
Kak by zhuzhzhan'em letnej moshkary.
Svet etoj lampy slaven byl okrest
Kak simvol zhizni chestnogo semejstva.
K tomu zhe dom ih, nadobno skazat',
Stoyal otdel'no na holme otlogom,
Otkuda vzglyad svobodno prostiralsya
Vo vse predely: v glub' ushchel'ya Isdejl,
K nagor'yam Danmejl-Rejza, k derevushke,
YUtivshejsya bliz ozera. I vse,
Kto zhil v doline toj, i star i mlad,
Po etomu nemerknushchemu svetu
Prozvali dom Vecherneyu Zvezdoj.

Vot tak prozhivshi mnogie goda,
Pastuh, konechno zhe, lyubil suprugu,
Kak samogo sebya; no serdcu Majkla
Eshche dorozhe byl ih syn zhelannyj,
Ih pozdnyshok. Tut ne instinkt odin
Byl vlasten, ne slepaya nezhnost' krovi:
Bescennee vseh prochih blag zemnyh
Ditya, chto nam na sklone nashih dnej
Darovano; ono s soboj neset
Nadezhdu serdca i volnen'e mysli,
Nezhdannyj sil priliv, - vse to, na chto
Skupej stanovitsya priroda nasha.
Ne opisat', kak on lyubil ego,
Dushi svoej otradu! Kak umelo
Malyutku nyanchil on, spravlyaya s nim
Zaboty chisto zhenskie, - ne tol'ko
Potehi radi, kak muzh'ya inye,
A terpelivo, s laskovoj ohotoj;
I kolybel' ego kachal tak nezhno,
Kak lish' sposobna zhenskaya ruka.

A v poru chut' pozdnej, kogda malysh
Lish' tol'ko-tol'ko vylez iz pelenok,
Lyubil surovyj, nelyudimyj Majkl,
CHtob byl postrel vsegda pered glazami, -
Trudilsya l' sam on v pole il' sklonyalsya
Nad svyazannoj ovcoj, pred nim prostertoj,
Pod drevnim dubom, rosshim odinoko
U hizhiny, - gustaya ten' ego
Ot solnca ukryvala strigalya,
Za chto on i zovetsya po syu poru
Vo vsej doline Sgrigalevym Dubom.
I tam, v teni prohladnoj, v okruzhen'e
Ser'eznyh i zhivyh rebyach'ih lic,
Majkl tol'ko chto i mog shutlivo-strogo,
S ukorom nezhnym vzglyadyvat' na syna,
Kol' za nogu ovcu hvatal shalun
Ili ee, lezhavshuyu pokorno
Pod nozhnicami, vozglasom pugal.
Kogda zhe s Bozh'ej pomoshch'yu malec
Stal pyatiletnim krepyshom i shcheki,
Kak yablochko, rumyancem nalilis',
Majkl srezal krepkij prut v podleske zimnem,
ZHelezom rukoyatku okoval -
Po vsem stat'yam pastushij posoh vyshel.
S orud'em etim u vorot ovcharni
Il' na puti k rasshcheline nash strazh
Teper' vstaval, chtob priderzhat' ovec
Il' zavernut' ih. Vam, konechno, yasno,
CHto delu sej podpasok, sam s vershok,
To li podmogoj byl, to li pomehoj.
I ottogo emu ne tak uzh chasto
Otcova dostavalas' pohvala -
Hot' i staralsya on, chto bylo sil,
Puskaya v delo, kak ovchar zapravskij,
I posoh svoj, i vlastnyj vzglyad, i golos.

No vot sravnyalos' Lyuku desyat' let,
I on teper' uzh grud'yu mog vstrechat'
Napory gornyh vetrov; ezhednevno
S otcom na ravnyh otpravlyalsya on
Na pastbishcha, ne zhaluyas', chto put'
Tyazhel i krut. I nado l' govorit',
CHto Majklu upovan'ya let bylyh
Eshche dorozhe stali? CHto ot syna
SHli toki chuvstv i budto pribavlyali
Siyan'ya solncu i muzyki vetru?
CHto ozhil serdcem vnov' sedoj ovchar?

Tak pod otcovskim okom mal'chik ros -
I k vosemnadcatomu godu stal
Roditelyu nadezhdoj i oporoj.
No vot odnazhdy v tihij mir semejstva
Prishla beda. Zadolgo do teh dnej,
O koih rech' teper' vedu ya, Majkl
Dal poruchitel'stvo svoe za fermu
Plemyannika; hozyain rabotyashchij
Plemyannik byl, v dostatke zhil nadezhnom.
No gryanula nezhdannaya groza:
On razorilsya; predpisan'e vyshlo,
CHtob poruchitelyu pokryt' ubytki.
To tyazhkij byl udar dlya pastuha:
Dohod ego i tak-to nevelik,
A tut otdaj edva l' ne polovinu.
I pokazalos' v pervyj mig emu,
CHto gorshe ne byvaet ispytan'ya,
Hot' dumal prezhde: uzh v ego-to gody
Privychen k ispytan'yam chelovek.
Po razmyshlen'i zhe, sobrav vse sily
Dushi, chtob zaglyanut' bede v glaza,
Reshil on bylo, chto prodat' pridetsya
Nadelov otchih chast', no serdce v nem
Vnov' drognulo, i on na tret'e utro
Skazal zhene: "Poslushaj, Isabel.
Ves' vek na etih zemlyah gnul ya spinu,
I ne skazat', chtob milost'yu Gospod'
Nas obdelil na nih; a popadi
Oni v chuzhie ruki, - vidit Bog,
YA ne najdu pokoya i v mogile.
Tyazhel nash krest. Uzh ya l' ne byl v trude
CHut' li ne solnca na nebe prilezhnej?
A vot, vyhodit, prozhil lish' v razor
Sem'e svoej, sedoj glupec. Plohoj
Byl rodstvennichek tot - i vybor sdelal
Plohoj, kol' nas obmanyval; da hot' by
I ne obmanyval: uzheli malo
Drugih, komu namnogo byl by legche
Takoj uron! Prostim emu. No luchshe b
YAzyk otsoh moj, chem takoe molvit'.

No ne k tomu ya nachal rech' vesti.
Nadezhda est' eshche. Pridetsya Lyuku
Pokinut' nas s toboyu, Isabel.
Ne byt' zemle v chuzhih rukah. Svobodnoj
Ostanetsya ona i vpred'; svobodno
Vladet' on budet etoyu zemlej -
Kak vol'nyj veter, chto shumit nad neyu.
U nas, ty znaesh', est' svoyak-kupec.
On posobit nam - pri ego dostatkah.
Vot Lyuka my i snaryadim k nemu;
S ego podmogoj i svoej snorovkoj
On zarabotkom skorym vozmestit
Ubytok nash i snova k nam vernetsya.
A zdes' emu chto tolku ostavat'sya,
Kogda krugom, kuda ni obernis',
Lish' bednota odna?"
Starik umolk,
I molcha ryadom Isabel sidela,
A mysl'yu uneslas' v goda bylye.
Vot Richard Bejtman, dumalosya ej:
Byl prihodskim sirotkoj; dlya nego
Na paperti sosedi sobirali
Monetki, a potom kupili korob
I meloch' vsyakuyu k nemu - vraznos.
Tot s korobom do Londona dobrel,
A tam kupec syskalsya serdobol'nyj,
Smyshlenogo primetil paren'ka,
Na sluzhbu vzyal i za more poslal
Prikazchikom v delah svoih torgovyh.
Tot nazhil tam nesmetnye bogatstva
I bednym shchedro zhertvoval iz nih,
V prihode zhe svoem rodnom chasovnyu
Postroil, pol v nej mramorom ustlal,
CHto tozhe prislan byl iz stran zamorskih.
Prikinula vse eto Isabel,
I prosvetlelo dobroe lico.
A Majkl, dovol'nyj, tak zakonchil rech':
"CHto zh, Isabel! Tri dnya mne eti dumy
Zamesto hleba byli i vody.
Ne vse propalo; ved' ostalos' nam
Namnogo bol'she. |h, vot stat' by tol'ko
CHut' pomolozhe! No nadezhdoj Bog
Ne oboshel nas. Sobiraj-ka Lyuku
Odezhu luchshuyu; kupi, chto nado,
I ne segodnya-zavtra v dobryj put'!
Uzh kol' idti, tak chem skorej, tem luchshe".
Tak Majkl zakonchil rech' i s legkim serdcem
Poshel na pole. Prinyalas' hozyajka
Sbirat' synochka v dal'nyuyu dorogu -
Ni dnem ni noch'yu ne smykala glaz.
No vse zh byla voskresnoj peredyshke
I rada: ved' podryad dve nochi Majkl
Uzh bol'no bespokojno, tyazhko spal.
A utrom vstali - serdce ej shepnulo:
Gryzet ego toska. I vvecheru,
Ostavshis' s synom, mat' k nemu prisela
I molvila: "Ne uhodi, synok.
Ved' ty odin i est' u nas. Sluchis'
S toboyu chto - kogo nam budet zhdat',
Kogo zhalet'? Ne uhodi, rodimyj.
Kol' ty otca pokinesh', on umret".
Ee uteshil yunosha. Ona zhe,
Kak podelilas' strahami svoimi,
Tak rovno polegchalo na dushe.
I slavnyj uzhin sobrala pod vecher,
I vse vtroem oni za stol uselis',
Kak druzhnaya sem'ya pod Rozhdestvo.

S utra zhe snova zakipeli sbory,
I vsyu nedelyu radost'yu svetilsya
Ih dom, kak roshcha v majskij den', - a tut
I vest' ot svoyaka k nim podospela.
Sej dobryj chelovek im obeshchal,
Kak o rodnom, zabotit'sya o Lyuke, -
Puskaj-de bez opaski posylayut.
Raz desyat' bylo chitano pis'mo,
Mat' ponesla ego prochest' sosedyam,
I ne bylo vo vsej zemle anglijskoj
Schastlivej yunoshi, chem gordyj Lyuk.
Vernulas' Isabel, i Majkl skazal:
"CHto zh, zavtra i v dorogu". Tut hozyajka
Zaprichitala, chto v takoj-to speshke
Oni, uzh verno, chto-nibud' zabudut,
No, povorchav, smirilas' pod konec,
Da i u Majkla otleglo ot serdca.

Na beregu shumlivogo ruch'ya
V ushchel'e Grinhed Majkl uzhe davno
Zadumal dlya ovec zagon postavit'.
Eshche do vesti o svoej potere
On nataskal tuda kamnej; oni
Sejchas lezhali tam nestrojnoj grudoj.
I Lyuka on v tot vecher k nim privel
I tak skazal: "Synok, menya ty zavtra
Pokinesh'. S perepolnennoj dushoyu
YA na tebya glyazhu; ty dlya menya
Nadezhdoj byl s rozhden'ya tvoego,
I kazhdyj novyj den' tvoj byl mne v radost'.
Hochu sejchas ya koe-chto skazat'
Tebe o nas dvoih, o nashih zhiznyah;
A ty ob etom vspomni na chuzhbine -
Hot', mozhet, rech' pojdet i o veshchah,
Tebe nevedomyh. Lish' ty rodilsya,
Tak dvoe sutok kryadu i prospal, -
S mladencami chasten'ko tak byvaet, -
I tvoego otca blagosloven'ya
Vitali neotstupno nad toboj.
Den' prohodil za dnem, a vse sil'nee
Tebya lyubil ya. Vseh garmonij slashche
Mne byl tvoj pervyj besslovesnyj lepet,
Napev dremotnyj tvoj u materinskoj
Grudi. SHli mesyacy; mne prihodilos'
Ih provodit' na pastbishchah, v dolinah -
Ne doma; a inache b ya, naverno,
Tebya s kolenej ne spuskal svoih.
No my ved' i igrali vmeste, Lyuk.
Na sklonah etih razve ne igrali
I molodost' i starost' v nas s toboj?
I otkazal li ya tebe kogda
Hot' v malom udovol'stvii rebyach'em?"
Byl Lyuk dushoyu muzhestven i tverd,
No tut on razrydalsya. A starik
Vzyal za ruku ego i myagko molvil:
"Ne plach', synok. Ne nado. YA uzh vizhu:
Ne stoit mne ob etom tolkovat'...
Koli i vpryam' vo vsem ya byl horoshim
Tebe otcom, to tak velel mne dolg -
Moj neoplatnyj dolg pered drugimi.
YA star i sed - no vse zh o teh ya pomnyu,
Kto v yunosti moej menya lyubil.
Ih net uzh, teh dvoih. Pochiyut ryadom
Oni v zemle vot etoj, gde do nih
Pochili predki ih - otcy i dedy.
Hotel by ya, chtob zhizn' tvoya takoj zhe
Byla, kakuyu prozhili oni.
No chto glyadet' nazad nam, syn moj? Dolog
Byl put', an vot nevelika udacha...
Kak eti pereshli ko mne polya,
Byl chut' ne kazhdyj sazhen' v nih zalozhen.
YA sorok dolgih let kropil ih potom,
I Bog vozdal mne: do bedy poslednej
Ty na zemle svobodnoj zhil, moj Lyuk.
Sdaetsya mne - ej ne sterpet' drugogo
Hozyaina. Prosti menya, Gospod',
Kol' ya nespravedliv k tebe, no, vidno,
Sud'ba tebe idti". Umolk starik;
Potom, na grudu kamnej ukazavshi,
Prodolzhil: "Vot dlya nas byla rabota;
Teper' lish' dlya menya ona, synok.
No pervyj kamen' polozhi ty sam,
Vot etot - za menya - svoej rukoyu...
Nu, mal'chik moj, - hrani tebya Gospod'!
Da nisposhlet on nam svetlee dni,
CHem eti! Hot' devyatyj uzh desyatok
Poshel mne, ya poka eshche zdorov
I krepok. Ty svoyu ispolni dolyu,
A ya - svoyu. YA zavtra vnov' primus'
Za te zanyat'ya, chto tvoimi byli;
Vshodit' na samye krutye sklony,
V grozu ili v tuman, teper' ya budu
Odin. No mne i ne vpervoj takie
Trudy: ya byl zadolgo do togo,
Kak Bog tebya poslal mne, k nim privychen.
Hrani tebya Gospod', synok! Sejchas
Nadezha ty polon. Tak i byt' dolzhno.
Da, da... YA znayu, sam-to po sebe
Ty b nikogda ne pozhelal ujti
Ot starogo otca: ego ty lyubish'...
I to skazat': kol' ty pokinesh' nas,
CHto nam ostanetsya? No ya opyat'
Rech' ne o tom povel. Vot etot kamen' -
Ty polozhi ego; a kak ujdesh', -
Kol' vstretyatsya tebe durnye lyudi,
Ty vspomni obo mne, k rodnomu domu
Dushoyu obratis', i ukrepit
Tebya Gospod'; sred' tyagot i soblaznov
Vsegda ty pomni, kak otcy i dedy
V neveden'e, po prostote odnoj
Vershili dobrye dela. Nu chto zh -
Proshchaj, moj syn. Kogda nazad vernesh'sya -
Ty novoe stroen'e zdes' uvidish'.
To ugovor nash. No kakoj by zhrebij
Tebe ni vypal - znaj, chto tvoj otec
Do grobovoj doski tebya lyubil
I s mysl'yu o tebe soshel v mogilu".

Pastuh umolk; i naklonilsya Lyuk,
I zalozhil zagona pervyj kamen', -
I tut ne vyderzhal starik: on syna
K grudi prizhal, i celoval, i plakal.
I vmeste tak domoj prishli oni.
- S nochnoyu tishinoj na etot dom
Soshel pokoj - il' vidimyj pokoj.

A utrom Lyuk otpravilsya v dorogu,
I, vyjdya na proselok, gordelivo
Zakinul golovu, i vse sosedi
Emu schastlivogo puti zhelali,
I tak, poka ne skrylsya on iz vidu,
Molitvy ih emu leteli vsled.

Ot rodstvennika stali prihodit'
Izvest'ya dobrye; i paren' slal
Pochtitel'nye, laskovye pis'ma.
Vse bylo v nih dlya starikov v novinku,
Vse radost'yu ih dushi napolnyalo,
I mat' sosedyam chasto govorila:
"Uzh tak dushevno pishet nash synok!"
Tak mesyac shel za mesyacem; pastuh
Dni provodil v svoih trudah privychnyh,
I bylo na dushe ego legko.
A vydastsya svobodnaya minutka -
On shel k ruch'yu i stroil pomalen'ku
Zagon. No vot vse rezhe stali pis'ma;
Lyuk zalenilsya; v gorode besputnom
I sam on sbilsya s chestnogo puti,
Navlek pozor na golovu svoyu;
I pod konec prishlos' emu iskat'
Sebe ukryt'ya za sem'yu moryami.
Est' uteshen'e v stojkosti lyubvi.
Vynosim s neyu legche my neschast'ya,
CHto nam inache by zatmili razum
Ili razbili serdce na kuski.
Mne mnogih dovelos' vstrechat' iz teh,
Kto pomnil starika i znal, kak zhil on
Eshche i gody posle toj bedy.
On do poslednih dnej sbereg svoyu
Nedyuzhinnuyu silu - i, kak prezhde,
SHagal po krucham, zorko primechal,
CHto solnce, vetr i oblaka sulili, -
Vse te zhe povsednevnye zaboty
Ob ovcah, o svoem klochke zemli.
A to, byvalo, pobredet v ushchel'e,
K ruch'yu - zagon svoj stroit'. I togda
Ot zhalosti u vseh shchemilo serdce -
I do sih por molva tverdit, chto chasto
On prihodil k ruch'yu, sadilsya tam
I kamnej dazhe pal'cem ne kasalsya.

Sidel on tam na beregu potoka
Odin kak perst ili s sobakoj vernoj,
CHto smirno u ego lezhala nog.
Sem' dolgih let zagon on stroil svoj
I umer, tak ego i ne dostroiv.
Lish' na tri goda s nebol'shim zhena
Ego perezhila; potom nadel
Byl prodan - pereshel v chuzhie ruki.
Dom, chto Vecherneyu Zvezdoyu zvali,
Ischez s lica zemli, i plug proshelsya
Po mestu, na kotorom on stoyal.
I mnogoe krugom peremenilos'.
No dub, chto ros pred domom ih, i nyne
SHumit, i gromozditsya kamnej gruda -
Razvaliny ovech'ego zagona -
V ushchel'e Grinhed, gde burlit potok.

TO JOANNA

Amid the smoke of cities did you pass
The time of early youth; and there you learned,
From years of quiet industry, to love
The living Beings by your own fireside,
With such a strong devotion, that your heart
Is slow to meet the sympathies of them
Who look upon the hills with tenderness,
And make dear friendships with the streams and groves.
Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind,
Dwelling retired in our simplicity
Among the woods and fields, we love you well,
Joanna! and I guess, since you have been
So distant from us now for two long years,
That you will gladly listen to discourse,
However trivial, if you thence be taught
That they, with whom you once were happy, talk
Familiarly of you and of old times.
While I was seated, now some ten days past,
Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop
Their ancient neighbour, the old steeple-tower,
The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by
Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked,
"How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid!
And when will she return to us?" he paused;
And, after short exchange of village news,
He with grave looks demanded, for what cause,
Reviving obsolete idolatry,
I, like a Runic Priest, in characters
Of formidable size had chiselled out
Some uncouth name upon the native rock,
Above the Rotha, by the forest-side.
- Now, by those dear immunities of heart
Engendered between malice and true love,
I was not loth to be so catechised,
And this was my reply: - "As it befell,
One summer morning we had walked abroad
At break of day, Joanna and myself.
- Twas that delightful season when the broom,
Full-flowered, and visible on every steep,
Along the copses runs in veins of gold.
Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks;
And when we came in front of that tall rock
That eastward looks, I there stopped short - and stood
Tracing the lofty barrier with my eye
From base to summit; such delight I found
To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower
That intermixture of delicious hues,
Along so vast a surface, all at once,
In one impression, by connecting force
Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart.
- When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space,
Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld
That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud.
The Rock, like something starting from a sleep,
Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again;
That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag
Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-scar,
And the tall Steep of Silver-how, sent forth
A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard,
And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone;
Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky
Carried the Lady's voice, - old Skiddaw blew
His speaking-trumpet; - back out of the clouds
Of Glaramara southward came the voice;
And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head.
- Now whether (said I to our cordial Friend,
Who in the hey-day of astonishment
Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth
A work accomplished by the brotherhood
Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched
With dreams and visionary impulses
To me alone imparted, sure I am
That there was a loud uproar in the hills.
And, while we both were listening, to my side
The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished
To shelter from some object of her fear.
- And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons
Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone
Beneath this rock, at sunrise, on a calm
And silent morning, I sat down, and there,
In memory of affections old and true,
I chiselled out in those rude characters
Joanna's name deep in the living stone: -
And I, and all who dwell by my fireside.
Have called the lovely rock, Joanna's Rock."

SKALA DZHOANNY

Dva goda rannej yunosti svoej
Ty podarila dymnym gorodam
I s tihim prilezhan'em nauchilas'
Cenit' lish' te zhivye Sushchestva,
Kakie zhizn' provodyat u kamina;
I potomu-to serdcem ne speshish'
Otvetit' na raspolozhen'e teh,
Kto s umileniem glyadit na gory
I druzhit s roshchami i ruchejkami.
Ty nas pokinula, i vse zhe my,
ZHivushchie v ukromnoj prostote
Sredi lesov i niv, ne razlyubili
Tebya, Dzhoanna! YA by poruchilsya,
CHto posle dolgih mesyacev razluki
Ty s radost'yu by uslyhala nekij
Obychnyj nash pustyachnyj razgovor
I podivilas' vernym chuvstvam teh,
S kem ty byvala schastliva kogda-to.

Tomu dnej desyat' - ya sidel v tishi
Pod sosnami, somknuvshimisya gordo
Nad staroj kolokol'nej, i Vikarij
Ostavil mrachnoe svoe zhilishche
I, pozdorovavshis' so mnoj, sprosil:
"CHto slyshno pro stroptivuyu Dzhoannu?
Ne sobiraetsya l' ona vernut'sya?"
Porassudiv o sel'skih novostyah,
On prinyalsya vypytyvat', zachem
YA vozrozhdayu idolopoklonstvo,
I, kak Druid, runicheskim pis'mom
YA vysek ch'e-to imya na otvesnoj
Skale nad Rotoj, u opushki lesa.

YA oshchushchal v dushe nevozmutimost',
Kakaya voznikaet na granice
Mezh staroyu lyubov'yu i dosadoj,
I ne staralsya izbezhat' doznan'ya;
I vot chto ya skazal emu: - Odnazhdy
S Dzhoannoj my gulyali na zare
V to voshititel'noe vremya goda,
Kogda povsyudu verba rascvetaet
I zolotymi zhilami struitsya
V zelenyh pereleskah po holmam.
Tropinka privela na bereg Roty
K krutoj skale, glyadyashchej na vostok;
I tam pred velichavoyu pregradoj
YA zamer - ya stoyal i sozercal
Skalu ot osnovan'ya do vershiny:
Na neob�yatnoj ploskosti spletalis'
Kusty, derev'ya, kamni i cvety;
Prelestnaya igra nezhnejshih krasok,
Ob�edinennyh vlastnoj krasotoj,
Odnim usil'em voshishchala serdce.

Tak ya stoyal minuty dve - i vdrug
Lukavaya Dzhoanna moj vostorg
Zametila i gromko rassmeyalas'.
Skala kak by vospryanula ot sna
I, vtorya Deve, tozhe rassmeyalas';
Im otvechala drevnyaya Staruha,
Sidyashchaya na gulkom Hemmarskare;
I Helmkreg, i vysokij Silver-Hau
Poslali vdal' raskaty smeha; k yugu
Ego uslyshal Ferfild, a za nim
Otkliknulsya gromami dal'nij Lohrigg;
Helvellin k yasnym nebesam voznes
Vesel'e gordoj Devy; staryj Skiddo
Zadul v svoyu trubu; skvoz' oblachka
Donessya snezhnyj golos Glaramary;
I Kerkston vozvratil ego k zemle.

Nash dobryj drug Vikarij mne vnimal
S rasteryannoj ulybkoj izumlen'ya,
I mne prishlos' skazat', chto ya ne znayu,
Na samom dele bratstvo drevnih gor
Otkliknulos' na smeh il', mozhet byt',
YA grezil nayavu i byl moj sluh
Obmanut potaennymi mechtami.
No tol'ko ya uveren, chto vdali
My slyshali raskatistoe eho,
I milaya Dzhoanna vdrug pril'nula
Ko mne, kak budto trebuya zashchity.

A vosemnadcat' mesyacev spustya,
Uzhe odin, prohladnym yasnym utrom
YA okazalsya okolo skaly
I v pamyat' o davnishnem vernom chuvstve
YA vysek na zhivom ee granite
Runicheskimi bukvami: DZHOANNA
I ya, i te, kto blizok mne, zovem
Prekrasnuyu skalu Skaloj Dzhoanny.

SONG FOR THE WANDERING JEW

Though the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.

Clouds that love through air to hasten,
Ere the storm its fury stills,
Helmet-like themselves will fasten
On the heads of towering hills.

What, if through the frozen centre
Of the Alps the Chamois bound,
Yet he has a home to enter
In some nook of chosen ground:

And the Sea-horse, though the ocean
Yield him no domestic cave,
Slumbers without sense of motion,
Couched upon the rocking wave.

If on windy days the Raven
Gambol like a dancing skiff,
Not the less she loves her haven
In the bosom of the cliff.

The fleet Ostrich, till day closes.
Vagrant over desert sands,
Brooding on her eggs reposes
When chill night that care demands.

Day and night my toils redouble,
Never nearer to the goal;
Night and day, I feel the trouble
Of the Wanderer in my soul.

AGASFER

Mnogopennye potoki,
Probezhav skalistyj put',
Nispadayut v dol glubokij,
CHtob umolknut' i zasnut'.

Staya tuch, kogda smiritsya
Gnev grozy i gul gromov,
SHlemom sumrachnym lozhitsya
Na zubchatyj ryad holmov.

Den' i noch' kosulya skachet
Po skalam sredi vysot,
No ee v nenast'e pryachet
Ot dozhdya ukromnyj grot.

Zver' morskoj, chto v okeane
Krova mirnogo lishen,
Spit mezh voln, no ih kachan'ya
On ne chuvstvuet skvoz' son.

Pust', kak cheln, grozoj gonimyj,
Plyashet voron v burnoj mgle, -
Rad on pristani rodimoj
Na nezyblemoj skale.

Robkij straus do zakata
Po peskam stremit svoj beg,
No i on speshit kuda-to
V sen' rodnuyu - na nochleg...

Bez konca moya doroga,
Cel' vse tak zhe vperedi,
I kochevnika trevoga
Den' i noch' v moej grudi.

From "Poems" (1807)
Iz sbornika "Stihotvoreniya" (1807)

POEMS DEDICATED TO NATIONAL INDEPENDENCE AND LIBERTY

x x x

I grieved for Buonapart_e_, with a vain
And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood
Of that Man's mind-what can it be? what food
Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could _he_ gain?
T is not in battles that from youth we train
The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
Wisdom doth live with children round her knees:
Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk
Of the mind's business: these are the degrees
By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk
True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.

STIHI, POSVYASHCHENNYE NACIONALXNOJ NEZAVISIMOSTI I SVOBODE

x x x
S pechal'yu smutnoj dumal ya ne raz
O Bonaparte. Znal li mig schastlivyj
Sej chelovek? CHto on iz detstva spas:
Kakie sny, nadezhdy i poryvy?
Ne v bitvah, gde nachal'stvuet prikaz,
Rozhdaetsya pravitel' spravedlivyj -
Umom i volej tverdyj, kak almaz,
Dushoj svoej, kak mat', chadolyubivyj.
Net, mudrost' povsednevnost'yu zhiva:
CHem budnichnej, tem neobyknovennej;
Progulki, knigi, prazdnost' - vot stupeni
Neosporimoj Moshchi. Takova
Vlast' podlinnaya, chuzhdaya borenij
Mirskih; i takovy ee prava.

CALAIS, AUGUST 15, 1802

Festivals have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparte's natal day,
And his is henceforth an established sway -
Consul for life. With worship France proclaims
Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!
Calais is not: and I have bent my way
To the sea-coast, noting that each man frames
His business as he likes. Far other show
My youth here witnessed, in a prouder time;
The senselessness of joy was then sublime!
Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
The destiny of Man, and live in hope.

x x x

Kakih torzhestv svidetelem ya stal:
Otnyne Bonapart priemlet zvan'e
Pozhiznennogo konsula. Priznan'e -
Kumiru, i pochet, i p'edestal!
Bog vest', ob etom li francuz mechtal? -
V Kale osobennogo likovan'ya
YA ne primetil - ili upovan'ya:
Vsyak o svoem hlopochet. YA vidal
Inye prazdnestva v inoe vremya:
Kakoj vostorg togda v serdcah caril,
Kakoj nelepyj, yunosheskij pyl!
Blazhen, kto, ne nadeyas' na vladyk,
Sam osoznal svoe zemnoe bremya
I zhrebij chelovecheskij postig.

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC

Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee:
And was the safeguard of the west: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty,
She was a maiden City, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And, when she took unto herself a Mate,
She must espouse the everlasting Sea.
And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay:
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
Of that which once was great is passed away.

NA LIKVIDACIYU VENECIANSKOJ RESPUBLIKI, 1802 g.

I chasovym dlya Zapada byla,
I musul'man nadmennyh podchinila.
Veneciya! Ni lozh' vraga, ni sila
Ee dela unizit' ne mogla.

Ona Svobody pervencem byla,
Rozhden'yu svoemu ne izmenila,
Ves' mir devich'ej krasotoj plenila
I s morem vechnym pod venec poshla.

No chas nastal roskoshnogo zakata -
Ni prezhnej slavy, ni bylyh vozhdej!
I chto zh ostalos'? Gorech' i rasplata.

My - lyudi! Pozhaleem vmeste s nej,
CHto vse ushlo, blistavshee kogda-to,
CHto ster nash vek i ten' velikih dnej.

TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE

Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den; -
O miserable Chieftain! where and when
Wilt thou find patience! Yet die not; do thou
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;
There's not a breathing of the common wind
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

TUSSENU LUVERTYURU

Neschastnejshij iz vseh lyudej, Tussen!
Vnimaesh' li napevam plugarya,
Unosish'sya li mysl'yu za morya, -
Vo mgle, sredi gluhih tyuremnyh sten, -
Bud' tverd, o Vozhd', i prevozmozhesh' plen!
Poverzhennyj - srazhalsya ty ne zrya.
CHelo tvoe - kak yasnaya zarya,
I znayu: gordyj duh tvoj ne sogben.
Vse - dazhe vetra shelestyashchij let -
Nasheptyvaet o tebe. ZHivi!
Sama zemlya i sam nebesnyj svod -
Velikie soyuzniki tvoi.
Otchayaniya gorech', zhar lyubvi
I um - vot nepobornyj tvoj oplot.

SONNET WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802

O, friend! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only drest
For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,
Or groom! - We must run glittering like a brook
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
No grandeur now in nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry; and these we adore;
Plain living and high thinking are no more:
The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws.

ANGLIYA, 1802

Skazhi, moj drug, kak put' najti pryamej,
Kogda pritvorstvo - obshchaya zaraza
I delayut nam zhizn' - lish' dlya pokaza -
Portnoj, sapozhnik, povar i lakej?

Skol'zi, sverkaj, kak v yasnyj den' ruchej,
Ne to propal! V cene - bogach, prolaza.
Velich'e - ne syuzhet i dlya rasskaza,
Ono ne tronet nyneshnih lyudej.

Styazhatel'stvo, grabezh i motovstvo -
Kumiry nashi, to, chto nynche v sile.
Vysokij obraz myslej my zabyli.

Ni chistoty, ni pravdy - vse mertvo!
Gde staryj nash svyatoj ochag semejnyj,
Gde prezhnej very duh blagogovejnyj?

LONDON, 1802

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour;
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: alar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower;
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart;
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

LONDON, 1802

Nam nuzhen, Mil'ton, - ty! Otchizna zhdet.
Tryasina dnej, stoyachee boloto
Svyashchennika, soldata, rifmopleta,
Pustoporozhnih mnenij i hlopot -
Takov, porvavshij s proshlym, etot god,
Popravshij nashu pravednost'. Zabota
Lish' o sebe k nam lomitsya v vorota.
Vernis'! verni svobodu i pochet,
Byluyu doblest' i blaguyu silu.
Ty byl zvezdoj, siyavshej s vysoty.
Rechen'ya, velichavy i prosty,
Na bereg Al'biona nabegali,
Kak volny, - no poslushnye kormilu.
Ty ponimal i nizkie pechali.

x x x

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells;
In truth the prison, unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is; and hence for me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground:
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

x x x

Monashke mil svoj nishchij ugolok,
V peshchernoj t'me asket ne znaet skuki,
Mila studentu citadel' nauki,
Devica lyubit pryalku, tkach - stanok.

Pchela, trudyas', letit iskat' cvetok
Na dikij Ferns, - zhuzhzhit, i v etom zvuke
Lish' radost', ni ustalosti, ni muki.
I kto v tyur'me svoj dom uvidet' smog,

Tot ne v tyur'me. Vot pochemu ne oda,
No tesnogo soneta kratkij vzlet
I v radostyah mne lyub, i sred' nevzgod.

I kto, kak ya (ne shutit li priroda!),
Goryuet, chto stesnitel'na svoboda,
V sonete uteshenie najdet.

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

SONET, NAPISANNYJ NA VESTMINSTERSKOM MOSTU 3 SENTYABRYA 1802 GODA

Net zrelishcha plenitel'nej! I v kom
Ne drognet duh beschuvstvenno-upryamyj
Pri vide velichavoj panoramy,
Gde utro - budto v rizy - vse krugom

Odelo v Krasotu. I kazhdyj dom,
Suda v portu, teatry, bashni, hramy,
Reka v sverkan'e etoj mirnoj ramy,
Vse utopaet v bleske golubom.

Net, nikogda tak yarko ne vstavalo,
Tak pervozdanno solnce nad rekoj,
Tak chutko tishina ne koldovala,

Voda ne znala yasnosti takoj.
I gorod spit. Eshche prohozhih malo,
I v Serdce moshchnom carstvuet pokoj.

COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE NEAR CALAIS, AUGUST 1802

Fair Star of evening, Splendour of the west,
Star of my Country! - on the horizon's brink
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest,
Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest
Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,
Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink,
Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest
In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot
Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies.
Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,
One life, one glory! - I, with many a fear
For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,
Among men who do not love her, linger here.

NAPISANNOE NA MORSKOM POBEREZHXE BLIZ KALE, AVGUST 1802

Vechernyaya zvezda zemli moej!
Ty kak by v lone Anglii rodnom
Pokoish'sya v blistanii ognej,
V zakatnom upoenii svoem.

Ty stat' mogla by svetochem, gerbom
Dlya vseh narodov do skonchan'ya dnej.
Veselym bleskom, svezhest'yu luchej
Igrala by na znameni svyatom.

Ob Anglii, prostertoj pod toboj,
YA dumayu so strahom i mol'boj,
Ispolnennyj muchitel'nyh trevog.

V edinstve zhizni, slavy i sud'by
Vy nerazryvny - da hranit vas Bog
Sredi pustoj, nelyubyashchej tolpy.

x x x

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. - Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

x x x

Nas manit suety izbityj put',
Prohodit zhizn' za vygodoj v pogone;
Nash rod Prirode - kak by postoronnij,
My ot nee svobodny, vot v chem zhut'!

Pust' lunnyj svet volny laskaet grud',
Puskaj vetra zajdutsya v dikom stone -
Ili zasnut, kak spit cvetok v butone:
Vse eto nas ne mozhet vskolyhnut'.

O Bozhe! Dlya chego v dali blazhennoj
YAzychnikom rodit'sya ya ne mog!
Svoej naivnoj veroj vdohnovennyj,

YA v mire tak by ne byl odinok:
Protej vstaval by predo mnoj iz peny
I dul Triton v svoj perevityj rog!

x x x

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder - everlastingly,
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here.
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

x x x

Prelestnyj vecher tih, chas tajny nastupil;
Molitvu solnce l'et, gorya svyatoj krasoyu.
Takoj okruzhena sidela tishinoyu
Mariya, kak pred nej yavilsya Gavriil.

Blestyashchij svod nebes uzh volny ozaril!
Vsevyshnij vosstaet, - vnimajte! beskonechnyj,
Podobnyj gromu, zvuk gremit hvaloyu vechnoj
Tomu, kto svetlyj mir tak divno sotvoril.

O miloe ditya! o po serdcu rodnaya!
Ty dumoj nabozhnoj hotya ne smushchena,
So mnoj gulyaya zdes', - no svyatosti polna;

Nevinnost'yu svoej zhivesh' v blazhenstve raya,
Ty v gornij hram vsegda letish' dushoj, -
I Bog, nezrim dlya nas, beseduet s toboj.

PERSONAL TALK

x x x

I am not One who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk. -
Of friends, who live within an easy walk,
Or neighbors, daily, weekly, in my sight:
And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright,
Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk,
These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk
Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.
Better than such discourse doth silence long,
Long, barren silence, square with my desire;
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,
In the loved presence of my cottage-fire,
And listen to the flapping of the flame,
Or kettle whispering its faint undersong.

ZHITEJSKIE TEMY

x x x

Priznat'sya, ya ne ochen'-to ohoch
Do tihih radostej molvy skandal'noj:
Sudit' sosedej s vysoty moral'noj
Da vodu v stupe bez tolku toloch',

Vnimat' recham pro ch'yu-to mat' - il' doch'
Nevzrachnuyu - ves' etot vzdor banal'nyj
Stiraetsya s menya, kak v zale bal'noj
Razmetka melom v prazdnichnuyu noch'.

Ne luchshe l', vmesto slovogovoren'ya,
S bezmolvnym drugom il' naedine
Sidet', zabyv stremlen'ya i volnen'ya? -

Sidet' i slushat' v dolgoj tishine,
Kak chajnik zapevaet na ogne
I vspyhivayut v ochage polen'ya?

x x x

"Beloved Vale!" I said, "when I shall con
Those many records of my childish years,
Remembrance of myself and of my peers
Will press me down; to think of what is gone
Will be an awful thought, if life have one."
But, when into the Vale I came, no fears
Distressed me; from mine eyes escaped no tears:
Deep thought, or dread remembrance, had I none.
By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost
I stood, of simple shame the blushing Thrall;
So narrow seemed the brooks, the fields so small!
A Juggler's balls old Time about him tossed:
I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed: and all
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

x x x

YA dumal: "Milyj kraj! CHrez mnogo let,
Kogda tebya, dast Bog, uvizhu snova,
Vospominan'ya detstva dorogogo,
Minuvshej druzhby, radostej i bed

Mne budut tyazhkim bremenem". No net!
YA vozvratilsya, - i toska bylogo
Menya ne muchit, ne gnetet surovo,
I slezy mne ne zastyat belyj svet.

Rasteryanno, smushchenno i sutulo
Stoyal ya, ozirayuchis' vokrug:
Kak s�ezhilis' ruchej, i holm, i lug!

Kak budto Vremya palochkoj vzmahnulo...
Stoyal, smotrel - i rassmeyalsya vdrug,
I vsyu moyu pechal', kak vetrom, sdulo.

TO SLEEP

O gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee,
These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love
To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove,
A captive never wishing to be free.
This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me
A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove
Upon a fretful rivulet, now above,
Now on the water vexed with mockery.
1 have no pain that calls for patience, no;
Hence am I cross and peevish as a child;
Am pleased by fits to have thee for my foe,
Yet ever willing to be reconciled:
O gentle Creature! do not use me so,
But once and deeply let me be beguiled.

SON

O son! Kogda v dushe - toski pritok,
Zabveniya daruesh' ty krupicy.
Obychno ty smirennej plennoj pticy,
Strashashchejsya pokinut' svoj shestok.

No etoj noch'yu ty - kak motylek,
Porhayushchij bespechno u granicy
Vody i neba: syadesh' na resnicy,
No mig odin - i ty uzhe dalek.

YA ves' pylayu v neterpen'e zhguchem
I, slovno svoenravnoe ditya,
To na tebya ropshchu, dosadoj muchim,

To zhazhdu primiren'ya ne shutya.
Ty byl vragom, o son! Stan' drugom luchshim
I serdce ubayukaj, nizletya.

TO SLEEP

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,
One after one: the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky:
I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie
Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies
Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees;
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
So do not let me wear to-night away:
Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?
Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

x x x

Zemlya v cvetu i chistyj nebosvod,
ZHuzhzhan'e pchel, medlitel'noe stado,
I shum dozhdya, i shum ot vodopada,
I zrelost' niv, i pozdnih ptic otlet.

YA vspominayu vse - a son nejdet,
Ne dolgo zhdat' uzhe rassveta nado.
Vorvetsya shchebet utrennego sada,
Nachnet kukushka svoj pechal'nyj schet.

Dve nochi ya v bor'be s begushchim snom
Glaz ne somknul, i vot segodnya - eta!
Nastanet utro - chto za radost' v nem,

Kogda ne spal i mayalsya do sveta.
Pridi, postav' rubezh mezh dnem i dnem,
Hranitel' sil i yasnyh dum poeta!

x x x

With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
Seme lying fast at anchor in the road,
Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly Vessel did I then espy
Come like a giant from a haven broad;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.
This Ship was nought to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look;
This Ship to all the rest did I prefer:
When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where She comes the winds must stir
On went She, and due north her journey took.

x x x

Vse more splosh' useyali suda, -
Ih, kak po nebu zvezdy, razmetalo:
Odnih na rejde volnami kachalo,
Drugih neslo nevedomo kuda.

I SHhunu zaprimetil ya togda:
CHut' vzdragivaya pod tolchkami shkvala,
Ona iz buhty veselo bezhala,
Svoej osnastkoj pyshnoyu gorda.

CHto mne ona! No, glaz ne otryvaya,
YA, kak vlyublennyj, vsled glyadel s toskoj;
Ej ne strashna pogoda shtilevaya:

Ee prihod vstryahnet lyuboj pokoj...
Ona proshla vdol' mysa, pokidaya
Zaliv, - i vyshla na prostor morskoj.

TO A BUTTERFLY

Stay near me - do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet .depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey:-with leaps and springs
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her, feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.

K MOTYLXKU

Pobud' so mnoj - ne otnimaj svoj let!
Puskaj podol'she vzor moj schast'e p'et!
I sladok mne tvoj vid, i gorek,
O mladosti moej istorik!
Ty budesh' tut, ne uporhnesh' -
V tebe vsya yav' bylogo.
Veselyj el'f, rozhdaya drozh',
Ty obraz milyj mne nesesh' -
YA v otchem dome snova.

O, sladki, sladki byli eti dni,
Kogda my, shalye ot begotni,
Vdvoem s sestroyu |mmelinoj
Za motyl'kom gnalis' dolinoj.
I ya ohotnicu tolknul
Na zhertvu - vskach', chto bylo sil,
My mchalis', slovno veter dul,
No tak letun i ne stryahnul
Pyl'cu s drozhashchih kryl.

x x x

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

x x x

Zajmetsya serdce, chut' zamechu
YA radugu na nebe, -
Tak shlo, kogda ya otrok byl nevinnyj,
Tak est', kogda ya stal muzhchinoj,
Da budet tak, kogda ya starost' vstrechu! -
Il' proklyanu svoj zhrebij!
Kto est' Ditya? Otec Muzhchiny;
ZHelal by ya, chtoby mezh dnyami svyaz'
Prirodnoj pravednosti ne rvalas'.

x x x

Among all lovely things my Love had been;
Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew
About her home; but she had never seen
A glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.

While riding near her home one stormy night
A single glow-worm did I chance to espy;
I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,
And from my horse I leapt; great joy had I.

Upon a leaf the glow-worm did I lay,
To bear it with me through the stormy night:
And, as before, it shone without dismay;
Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

When to the dwelling of my Love I came,
I went into the orchard quietly;
And left the glow-worm, blessing it by name,
Laid safely by itself, beneath a tree.

The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear,
At night the glow-worm shone beneath the tree;
I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here,"
Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me!

x x x

Moya lyubov' lyubila ptic, zverej,
Cvety lyubila, zvezdy, oblaka.
YA znal, chto tvari vse znakomy ej,
No ne sluchalos' videt' svetlyachka.

Nenastnoj noch'yu, educhi domoj,
YA vizhu vdrug zelenyj luch u pnya.
Glyazhu, svetlyak! Vot radost', Bozhe moj!
Obradovannyj, sprygnul ya s konya.

YA polozhil zhuchka na mokryj list
I vzyal s soboj v nenast'e, v noch' ego.
On byl vse tak zhe zelen i luchist,
Svetil - i ne boyalsya nichego.

Pod�ehav k domu Lyusi, ya tajkom
Proshel k nej v sad, hotya byl ele zhiv,
ZHuchka ostavil pod ee oknom
Na vetke i ushel, blagosloviv.

Ves' den' ya zhdal, nadezhdu zataya,
I noch'yu v sad pustilsya poskorej.
ZHuchok svetilsya. "Lyusi!" - kriknul ya
I tak byl rad, dostaviv radost' ej!

WRITTEN IN MARCH

The Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The ploughboy is whooping - anon - anon:
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!

NAPISANNOE V MARTE

Petuh likuet,
Ruchej vorkuet,
SHCHebechut pticy,
Voda iskritsya,
Zemlya ozhidaet zerna.
I staryj, i malyj
Bredet ustalyj.
Na travke novoj
Pasutsya korovy,
Vse tridcat' zhuyut kak odna.

Snegov ostatki
Begut v besporyadke,
I gibnet zima
Na vershine holma,
I paharya pesnya slyshna, slyshna.
V gorah vysokih
Zvenyat potoki.
A dozhd' kak ne byl,
Sineet nebo,
I tuchi unosit vesna.

TO A BUTTERFLY

I've watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! - not- frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

x x x

Nad zheltym naklonyas' cvetkom,
Toboj, malyutkoj-motyl'kom,
YA lyubovalsya i ne znal,
Nektar vkushal ty ili spal.
I byl ty nepodvizhnej vod
ob�yatyh l'dom morej.
Schastlivym budet li polet,
Kogda vnezapnyj vetr najdet
tebya sredi vetvej?

Ostan'sya s nami! My s sestroj
Tebe podarim sadik svoj.
Zdes' otdohnut tvoi kryla.
Tebe ne prichinim my zla!
Bud' gostem nashim dorogim,
prisyad' na kust bliz nas.
O detskih dnyah pogovorim,
Ih letnij svet nepovtorim,
I kazhdyj dolgim byl - takim,
kak dvadcat' dnej sejchas.

THE GREEN LINNET

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of spring's unclouded weather,
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat!
And birds and flowers once more to greet,
My last year's friends together.

One have I marked, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest: .
Hail to Thee, for above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding Spirit here to-day,
Dost lead the revels of the May;
And this is thy dominion.

While birds, aid butterflies, and flowers,
Make all one band of paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment:
A Life, a Presence like the Air,
Scattering thy gladness without care,
Too blest with any one to pair;
Thyself thy own enjoyment.

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perched in ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover;
There! where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over.

My dazzled sight he oft deceives,
A Brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes;
As if by that exulting strain
He mocked and treated with disdain
The voiceless Form he chose to feign,
While fluttering in the bushes.

ZELENYJ REPOLOV

V tot chas, kak lepestki vesnoj
Lozhatsya nazem' pelenoj
I bleshchet nebo nado mnoj
Veselymi luchami,
Mne lyubo otdyhat' v sadah,
V blazhennyh zabyvat'sya snah
I lyubo mne cvety i ptah
Zvat' yunosti druz'yami.

No ty, kto skrashival mne dni,
Kak izumrud, sverkal v teni,
CH'i vesely, kak ni odni,
I pesn' i operen'e, -
Privet tebe, o repolov,
Ty - golos Duha mezh pevcov,
Ty - radost' prazdnichnyh chasov
V moem uedinen'e.

Vse v hore gimn lyubvi poet:
Zver', ptica, motylek i plod.
No v odinochestve plyvet
S vetvej tvoya rulada.
Ty - vozduh, zhizn' i blagodat',
Ty v mir prishel, chtob radost' dat',
I druga net tebe pod stat' -
Ty sam sebe uslada.

Kogda pri vetre les shumit,
Mne tak ego lyubezen vid!
Vse kazhetsya, chto on parit,
Hot' otdohnut' prisel on.
YA vizhu spinku mezh vetvej
I kryl'ya bystrye za nej -
Kovrom iz sveta i tenej
Vsego sebya odel on.

Sejchas on razlichim edva,
Takoj zhe temnyj, kak listva,
No solncem vspyhnet sineva -
I v nebesa provorno
So strehi on togda sporhnet
I v zvonkoj pesne osmeet
Nemoj, nevzrachnyj oblik tot,
CHto prinimal pritvorno.

THE SOLITARY REAPER

Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings? -
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending; -
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

ODINOKAYA ZHNICA

Ty slyshish' golos tam, vo rzhi,
SHotlandskoj devushki prostoj,
No, chtoby pesnyu ne spugnut',
Ty na vidu ne stoj.
I zhnet, i vyazhet - vse odna,
I pesnya dolgaya grustna,
I v tishine zvuchit napev,
Gluhoj dolinoj zavladev.
Tak aravijskij solovej
V teni oazisa poet,
I ob ustalosti svoej
Ne pomnit peshehod.
Tak vozveshchaet o vesne
Kukushki oklik, nezhnyj zov
V pustynnoj dal'nej storone
Gebridskih ostrovov.

O chem zhe devushka poet,
Vse zaunyvnej i grustnej?
O chernyh dnyah bylyh nevzgod,
O bitvah prezhnih dnej,
Starinnoj pesnej horonya
Nevzgody nyneshnego dnya.
A mozhet, bol' bylyh utrat
Prishla neproshenoj nazad?
No pesne ne bylo konca,
I zhnica molodaya
Vse pela, pela, nad serpom
Spiny ne razgibaya.
YA molcha slushal, a potom
Nashel tropinku za holmom.
Vse dal'she v gory ya speshu
I v serdce pesnyu unoshu.

TO THE CUCKOO

O blithe New-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice.
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear,
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.

Though babbling only to the Vale,
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for Thee!

KUKUSHKA

S vostorgom slyshu golos tvoj,
Kukushka, gost' vesny!
O, kto ty? - ptica, il' pustoj
Lish' golos s vyshiny?

YA slyshu tvoj dvuhzvuchnyj ston,
Zdes' lezha na trave;
Vblizi, vdali - povsyudu on
V vozdushnoj sineve.

Dolinam vest' prinosit on
O solnce, o cvetah,
A mne - volshebnyj sladkij son
O proshlyh chudnyh dnyah.

Plenyaj, kak nekogda, mne sluh!
Donyne, gost' dolin,
Ty mne ne ptica; net, ty duh,
Zagadka, zvuk odin, -

Tot zvuk, kotoryj v prezhni dni,
Kak shkol'nik, ya iskal,
Vezde, i v nebe, i v teni
Derev, i v nedrah skal.

Byvalo, celyj den' vezde
V lesah, lugah brozhu;
Ishchu povsyudu, no nigde
Tebya ne nahozhu.

Tak i teper' ya slushat' rad
Tvoj krik v lesnoj teni.
YA zhdu: ne pridut li nazad
Davno minuvshi dni.

I snova kazhetsya mne mir
Kakim-to carstvom snov,
Kuda prinessya, kak na pir,
Ty, veshnij gost' lesov!

x x x

She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

x x x

Sozdan'em zybkoj krasoty
Kazalis' mne ee cherty,
Kogda, nisposlana sud'boj,
Ona voznikla predo mnoj:
Ot zvezd polnochnyh - blesk ochej,
Ot nochi letnej - smol' kudrej,
A maj bespechnyj i rassvet
Dopolnili ee portret
Vesel'em chuvstvennyh prokaz,
Takih gubitel'nyh dlya nas.

Siya duhovnost' - ya uznal -
Ne lishena zemnyh nachal:
Uverennost' hozyajskih ruk
I devich'i dvizhen'ya vdrug;
Lico, v kotorom chistota
So strast'yu pylkoyu slita;
A kak vyderzhivat' podchas
Potoki nemudrenyh fraz,
Pechal', i smeh, i liven' slez,
Priznanij, klyatvennyh ugroz?!

Teper' moj vzor nevozmutim,
I yasno predstaet pred nim
Ee razmerennost' vo vsem,
Edinstvo opyta s umom,
Umen'e vse perenesti
Na trudnom zhiznennom puti;
Venec zemnyh nachal, ona
Dlya doma Bogom sozdana,
I vse zh duhovnoe net-net
Svoj angel'skij v nej yavit svet.

x x x

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed-and gazed-but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

NARCISSY

Kak tuchi odinokoj ten',
Brodil ya, sumrachen i tih,
I vstretil v tot schastlivyj den'
Tolpu narcissov zolotyh.
V teni vetvej u sinih vod
Oni vodili horovod.

Podobno zvezdnomu shatru,
Cvety struili zybkij svet
I, kolyhayas' na vetru,
Mne posylali svoj privet.
Ih byli tysyachi vokrug,
I kazhdyj mne kival, kak drug.

Byla ih plyaska vesela,
I videl ya, vostorga poln,
CHto s nej sravnit'sya ne mogla
Medlitel'naya plyaska voln.
Togda ne znal ya vsej ceny
ZHivomu zolotu vesny.

No s toj pory, kogda vpot'mah
YA tshchetno zhdu prihoda sna,
YA vspominayu o cvetah,
I, radost'yu osenena,
Na tom lesistom beregu
Dusha tancuet v ih krugu.

THE SEVEN SISTERS, OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE

Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald,
All children of one mother:
You could not say in one short day
What love they bore each other.
A garland, of seven lilies, wrought!
Seven Sisters that together dwell;
But he, bold Knight as ever fought,
Their Father, took of them no thought,
He loved the wars so well.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!

Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,
And from the shores of Erin,
Across the wave, a Rover brave
To Binnorie is steering:
Right onward to the Scottish strand
The gallant ship is borne;
The warriors leap upon the land,
And hark! the Leader of the band
Hath blown his bugle horn.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie.

III

Beside a grotto of their own,
With boughs above them closing,
The Seven are laid, and in the shade
They lie like fawns reposing.
But now, upstarting with affright
At noise of man and steed,
Away they fly to left, to right -
Of your fair household, Father-knight,
Methinks you take small heed!
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie.

Away the seven fair Campbells fly,
And, over hill and hollow,
With menace proud, and insult loud,
The youthful Rovers follow.
Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam:
Enough for him to find
The empty house when he comes home;
For us your yellow ringlets comb,
For us be fair and kind!"
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie.

Some close behind, some side to side,
Like clouds in stormy weather;
They run, and cry, "Nay, let us die,
And let us die together."
A lake was near; the shore was steep;
There never foot had been;
They ran, and with a desperate leap
Together plunged into the deep,
Nor ever more were seen.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie.

The stream that flows out of the lake,
As through the glen it rambles,
Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone,
For those seven lovely Campbells.
Seven little Islands, green and bare,
Have risen from out the deep:
The fishers say, those sisters fair,
By faeries all are buried there,
And there together sleep.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie.

ZAMOK BINNORI

Lord Kambel' otcom byl semi docherej, -
Prekrasnye, umnye detki!
Pohozhi na sem' belosnezhnyh lilej,
Vesnoj na odnoj raspustivshihsya vetke,
I rycarem gordym byl Kambel'-otec,
Dushoyu i hrabrost'yu voin;
On chasto kidal svoj ugryumyj dvorec
I, dochek ostavya, byl serdcem spokoen.
A v zamke ugryumom, starinnom one
I dni i nedeli vse zhili odne,
Vsegda za rabotoj do beloj zari...
O, kak vse spokojno v stenah Binnori!

Volna za volnoyu po moryu bezhit,
Volnoyu korabl' podgonyaet...
Proshchal'noj zareyu ves' zapad oblit...
Razbojnik morskoj k Binnori priplyvaet...
I na bereg vystupil hishchnyj pirat.
On ves' pod vliyan'em idei,
CHto v zamke zabyty za pryazhej sidyat,
Otca dozhidayutsya dochki-lilei...
"Uzh budut naverno krasotki - moi!
Nazad polechu ya v ob�yat'yah lyubvi
Pri gasnushchem bleske purpurnoj zari..."
O, kak vse spokojno v stenah Binnori!

V lesu, na luzhajke s cvetushchim kovrom,
Kak budto by chutkie lani,
Spyat devy spokojnym i sladostnym snom
I oblik roditelya vidyat v tumane...
No vdrug zvon oruzhiya, kriki i shum...
Les vtorit piratov napevam...
Devicy v ispuge, meshaetsya um...
CHto delat' im, robkim, boyashchimsya devam?
Lord Kambel', zabyl ty sem' cennyh kamnej,
Blestyashchih almazov korony tvoej,
Prekrasnyh, kak zvezdy vechernej zari!..
O, kak vse prekrasno v stenah Binnori!

I devy vskochili... kak serny begut,
A sledom za nimi piraty...
Oni nagonyayut, oni ih zovut,
I devushki bednye strahom ob�yaty.
Begut oni, slovno kak lan' ot lovca...
Kak budto u pojmannoj ptashki,
Trepeshchut u devushek robkih serdca,
I molyatsya Deve Marii bednyazhki:
"Spasi nas, Madonna, ot gibeli zloj,
Ty, angel-hranitel', krylami zakroj,
Krylami prozrachnee utra zari"...
O, kak vse spokojno v stenah Binnori!

Begut oni, slovno kak serny begut...
Skala vdrug... Na chto im reshit'sya?
U nog ee volny serdito revut,
I v nih ona mrachno i grozno glyaditsya.
Minuta... Oni ochutilis' na nej,
Toski i otchayan'ya polny...
Spaseniya net - i girlyanda lilej
Nizrinulas', kanula v shumnye volny...
Bezhit li istochnik po myagkim lugam, -
On vechnuyu pamyat' zhurchit docheryam,
O tom zhe poet solovej do zari...
O, kak vse spokojno v stenah Binnori!

No devy zhivut: iz burlivyh valov
Podnyalis' nad sinej vodoyu
Kak raz sem' zelenyh, bol'shih ostrovov,
Pokrytyh cvetami i myagkoj travoyu.
Tverdyat rybolovy, chto v teh ostrovah
Mogily devic utonuvshih,
Pod penie fei v roskoshnyh mechtah
I v sladostnyh grezah spokojno usnuvshih...
Te devy v predan'yah vovek ne umrut,
Krasoyu vse bol'she i bol'she cvetut,
Krasoyu prekrasnee utra zari...
O, kak vse spokojno v stenah Binnori!

TO THE SPADE OF A FRIEND
Composed while We Were Labouring Together
in His Pleasure-Ground

Spade! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands,
And shaped these pleasant walks by Emont's side,
Thou art a tool of honour in my hands;
I press thee, through the yielding soil, with pride.

Rare master has it been thy lot to know;
Long hast Thou served a man to reason true;
Whose life combines the best of high and low,
The labouring many and the resting few;

Health, meekness, ardour, quietness secure,
And industry of body and of mind;
And elegant enjoyments, that are pure
As nature is; too pure to be refined.

Here often hast Thou heard the Poet sing
In concord with his river murmuring by;
Or in some silent field, while timid spring
Is yet uncheered by other minstrelsy.

Who shall inherit Thee when death has laid
Low in the darksome cell thine own dear lord?
That man will have a trophy, humble Spade!
A trophy nobler than a conqueror's sword.

If he be one that feels, with skill to part
False praise from true, or, greater from the less,
Thee will he welcome to his hand and heart,
Thou monument of peaceful happiness!

He will not dread with Thee a toilsome day -
Thee his loved servant, his inspiring mate!
And, when thou art past service, worn away,
No dull oblivious nook shall hide thy fate.

His thrift thy uselessness will never scorn;
An _heir-loom_ in his cottage wilt thou be: -
High will he hang thee up, well pleased to adorn
His rustic chimney with the last of Thee!

LOPATE DRUGA
Stihi, sochinennye, kogda my
vmeste trudilis' v ego sadu

Lopata! Ty, kotoroj Vilkinson
Vskopal klochok zemli, za pyad'yu pyad'!
Gorzhus' toboyu, kak gorditsya on.
Kak on, speshu nalech' na rukoyat'.

Zavidnaya sud'ba tebe dana,
Hozyain tvoj - umu i chesti drug.
Ego udel v lyubye vremena -
Upornyj trud, nechayannyj dosug,

Zdorov'e, skromnost', chuvstv serdechnyj zhar,
A s nimi bodrost' tela i dushi
I radostnyh zabav schastlivyj dar,
Nevinnyh, slovno etot sad v glushi.

Kak chasto tvoj hozyain, tvoj Poet
Zdes' mirno pel pod tihij plesk volny,
Kogda eshche drugimi ne vospet
Neslyshnyj shag robeyushchej vesny.

Kto stanet pomykat' tvoej sud'boj,
Kogda hozyain budet vzyat zemlej?
Ved' eto ty - nasledstvennyj trofej,
I mech vojny - nichto pered toboj.

Kol' novomu vladel'cu tvoemu
Svet istiny zabrezhit vdaleke,
To eto vernyj znak, chto ty emu
Pridesh'sya po serdcu i po ruke.

S toboyu on ne budet odinok,
Podrugoj vernoj vseh ego rabot,
I v skorbnyj den', kogda pridet tvoj srok,
Tebya on v dal'nij ugol ne soshlet.

Za to, chto nyne ty prishla v ushcherb,
Tebya ne upreknet tvoj gospodin,
I rzhavyj ostov tvoj, kak slavnyj gerb,
Ukrasit nezatejlivyj kamin.

ELEGIAC STANZAS, SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEEL
CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT

I was thy neighbour once, thou ragged Pile!
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee:
I saw thee every day; and all the while
Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.

So pure the sky, so quiet was the air!
So like, so very like, was day to day!
Whene'er I looked, thy Image still was there;
It trembled, but it never passed away.

How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep;
No mood, which season takes away, or brings:
I could have fancied that the mighty Deep
Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things.

Ah! then, if mine had been the Painter's hand,
To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,
The light that never was, on sea or land,
The consecration, and the Poet's dream;

I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile
Amid a world how different from this!
Beside a sea that could not cease to smile;
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.

Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine
Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven; -
Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine
The very sweetest had to thee been given.

A Picture had it been of lasting ease,
Elysian quiet, without toil or strife;
No motion but the moving tide, a breeze,
Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart,
Such Picture would I at that time have made:
And seen the soul of truth in every part,
A stedfast peace that might not be betrayed.

So once it would have been, - 'tis so no more;
I have submitted to a new control:
A power is gone, which nothing can restore;
A deep distress hath humanised my Soul.

Not for a moment could I now behold
A smiling sea, and be what I have been:
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old;
This, which I know, I speak with mind serene.

Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend,
If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore,
This work of thine I blame not, but commend;
This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.

O 'tis a passionate Work! - yet wise and well,
Well chosen is the spirit that is here;
That, Hulk which labours in the deadly swell,
This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime,
I love to see the look with which it braves,
Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time,
The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone,
Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind!
Such happiness, wherever it be known,
Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind.

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer,
And frequent sights of what is to be borne!
Such sights, or worse, as are before me here. -
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

|LEGICHESKIE STROFY, VNUSHENNYE KARTINOJ S|RA DZHORDZHA
BOMONTA, IZOBRAZHAYUSHCHEJ PILSKIJ ZAMOK VO VREMYA SHTORMA

Gromada groznaya na grebne skal!
S toboyu byl kogda-to ya znakom
I letom celyj mesyac nablyudal,
Kak ty dremala v zerkale morskom.

Byl vozduh tih, i yasen nebosvod,
I dnej odnoobrazna chereda;
Ty, otrazhayas' v sonnoj gladi vod,
Drozhala, no vidna byla vsegda.

I ne kazalsya shtil' podob'em sna,
Nezyblemogo v poru letnih dnej;
Podumat' mog by ya, chto Glubina
Vsego na svete krotche i nezhnej.

I esli by hudozhnikom ya byl,
YA b napisat' v to vremya byl gotov
Svet, chto po sushe i vode skol'zil,
Poeta grezu, tainstvo mirov;

Tebya ya napisal by ne takoj,
Kakaya ty sejchas na polotne,
No u vody, chej nerushim pokoj,
Pod nebom v bezmyatezhnoj tishine;

Ty b letopis'yu rajskoyu byla,
Sokrovishchnicej bestrevozhnyh let,
Tebya b lyubovno laska oblekla
Luchej, nezhnej kotoryh v nebe net,

Pod kist'yu by moej predstal togda
Pokoya elizejskogo chertog,
Gde net bor'by tyazheloj i truda,
A lish' Prirody zhizn' da veterok, -

Takuyu by kartinu sozdal ya,
Kogda dusha mechte popala v plen,
V nee vmestil by sushchnost' bytiya
I tish', kotoroj ne uznat' izmen.

Tak ran'she bylo by - no ne teper':
Ved' ya vo vlasti u inyh nachal,
Nichto ne vozmestit moih poter',
I ya ot gorya chelovechnej stal.

Ulybku morya uvidav opyat',
Bylogo ne vernu, ne povtoryu:
Utratu mne iz serdca ne izgnat',
No ya o nej spokojno govoryu.

O drug moj Bomont! Drugom stat' ty mog
Tomu, po kom ne minet skorb' vovek!
Tvoj trud prekrasnyj pylok i glubok:
Vo gneve more i v unyn'e breg.

Emu nesu ya pohvalu moyu,
Ego i um i masterstvo zhivyat:
Sedaya glyba s bureyu v boyu,
Nebes pechal', smyateniya parad!

I mil mne zamka sumrachnyj oplot:
V dospehi starinoyu oblachen,
Bestrepetno srazhenie vedet
S grozoj, so shtormom i s volnami on.

Proshchaj, uedinennaya dusha,
CHto bez lyudej, v mechtah provodit dni!
Tvoya otrada vryad li horosha -
Ona, konechno, slepote srodni.

No slava, slava stojkosti lyudskoj
I grozam, chto prisushchi dnyam zemnym,
Kak eta, na holste peredo mnoj...
Ne bez nadezhd my strazhdem i skorbim.

A COMPLAINT

There is a change - and I am poor;
Your love hath been, not long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did: not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.

What happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.

A well of love - it may be deep -
I trust it is, - and never dry:
What matter? if the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.
- Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.

SOZHALENIE

Uvy, lishilsya ya vsego,
Bogatyj - obednel ya vmig.
Bliz dveri serdca moego
Eshche nedavno bil rodnik
Tvoej lyubvi. Svezha, chista,
Voda sama lilas' v usta.

Kak schastliv byl v tu poru ya!
Igraya, v plameni lucha
Kipela, iskrilas' struya
ZHivotvoryashchego klyucha.
No vot beda - ruchej issoh,
Teper' na dne ego lish' moh.

Rodnik lyubvi, on ne issyak, -
No chto mne v tom, kogda navek
Voda ushla v podzemnyj mrak
I tiho spit, prervav svoj beg?
Otnyne gorek moj udel:
YA byl bogat, no obednel.

GIPSIES

Yet are they here the same unbroken knot
Of human Beings, in the self-same spot!
Men, women, children, yea the frame
Of the whole spectacle the same!
Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light,
Now deep and red, the colouring of night;
That on their Gipsy-faces falls,
Their bed of straw and blanket-walls.
- Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours are gone, while I
Have been a traveller under open sky,
Much witnessing of change and cheer,
Yet as I left I find them here!
The weary Sun betook himself to rest; -
Then issued Vesper from the fulgent west,
Outshining like a visible God
The glorious path in which he trod.
And now, ascending, after one dark hour
And one night's diminution of her power,
Behold the mighty Moon! this way
She looks as if at them - but they
Regard not her: - oh better wrong and strife
(By nature transient) than this torpid life;
Life which the very stars reprove
As on their silent tasks they move!
Yet, witness all that stirs in heaven or earth!
In scorn I speak not; - they are what their birth
And breeding suffer them to be;
Wild outcasts of society!

CYGANY

Muzhchiny, zhenshchiny i deti - ves'
Splochennyj rod, na tom zhe meste, zdes';
Podmostki te zhe - tot zhe lug,
I teh zhe licedeev krug;
Lish' derzostnej koster nochnoj gorit,
Pridav glubokij, rdyanyj kolorit
Cyganam smuglym, i shatram,
I zhalkim travyanym odram...
Stol' mnogo peremen, v techen'e dnya,
Pod nebosvodom teshili menya
V skitaniyah, - no etot lyud
Na meste prezhnem, tut kak tut!
Vot solnce utomlennoe zashlo,
I Vesper, slovno nekij bog, svetlo
Voznessya, carstvenno skol'zya,
Gde prolegla ego stezya;
I posle kratkoj t'my, kogda Luna
Byla razvenchana, opyat' ona
Svershaet vlastnyj svoj polet,
No tabor k nej molitv ne shlet...
Net! Luchshe rasprya, luchshe bol' obid
Nepravyh, chem zastyvshij etot byt,
Pokoj, kotoromu v ukor
Kruzhitsya vechno zvezdnyj hor!
Hot' v mire vse i dvizhetsya, no ya
Ne oporochu kosnogo zhit'ya
Cygan, - Sud'ba vzrastila ih
Izgoyami obshchin lyudskih!

From "The Excursion"

Uedinenie (otryvok iz poemy "Progulka")

x x x

What motive drew, what impulse, I would ask,
Through a long course of later ages, drove,
The hermit to his cell in forest wide;
Or what detained him, till his closing eyes
Took their last farewell of the sun and stars,
Fast anchored in the desert? - Not alone
Dread of the persecuting sword, remorse,
Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged
And unavengeable, defeated pride,
Prosperity subverted, maddening want,
Friendship betrayed, affection unretumed,
Love with despair, or grief in agony; -
Not always from intolerable pangs
He fled; but, compassed round by pleasure, sighed
For independent happiness; craving peace,
The central feeling of all happiness,
Not as a refuge from distress or pain,
A breathing-time, vacation, or a truce,
But for its absolute self; a life of peace,
Stability without regret or fear;
That hath been, is, and shall be evermore! -
Such the reward he sought; and wore out life,
There, where on few external things his heart
Was set, and those his own; or, if not his,
Subsisting under nature's stedfast law.
What other yearning was the master tie
Of the monastic brotherhood, upon rock
Aerial, or in green secluded vale,
One after one, collected from afar,
An undissolving fellowship? - What but this,
The universal instinct of repose,
The longing for confirmed tranquillity,
Inward and outward; humble, yet sublime:
The life where hope and memory are as one;
Where earth is quiet and her face unchanged
Save by the simplest toil of human hands
Or seasons' difference; the immortal Soul
Consistent in self-rule; and heaven revealed
To meditation in that quietness! -

x x x

YA govoryu: Kakoe pobuzhden'e,
Kakoj tolchok v techen'e dolgah let
Otshel'nika manil v lesnuyu chashchu
K ego bezmolvnoj kel'e? CHto ego
V pustyne ukreplyat'sya zastavlyalo,
Kak by brosat' tam navsegda svoj yakor',
Poka on ne smezhit svoi glaza,
V poslednij raz poslav svoj vzglyad proshchal'nyj
Na solnce i na zvezdy? - O, ne tol'ko
Strah pred mechom grozyashchim, ugryzen'ya,
Obidy, ne popravlennye rokom,
I oskorblenij bol' neotomshchennyh,
Takih, chto otomstit' za nih nel'zya,
Rastoptannaya gordost', peremena
V blagopoluch'i, uzhas nishchety,
CHto um na kraj bezumiya privodit,
Obmanutaya druzhba, bol' vlechen'ya,
V drugom ne probudivshego vzaimnost',
S otchayaniem slitaya lyubov'
Il' muka, chto doshla do agonii; -
On ne vsegda bezhal ot nesterpimyh,
Nevynosimyh pytok; no neredko,
Vlekomyj bezmyatezhnym naslazhden'em,
On schastiya iskal, svobody, mira;
Zatem chto v nashem schast'i - oshchushchenie
Central'noe est' mir.
Emu hotelos' videt' postoyanstvo,
CHto bylo, est' i budet beskonechno,
Sebe takoj nagrady on iskal.
I chto drugoe bylo tverdoj skrepoj
Dlya bratstva, chto vozdviglo monastyr',
Vysoko na skale, - priyut vozdushnyj, -
Ili v uedineniya doliny, -
CHto privleklo ih vseh iz dal'nih mest,
Sodruzhestvom ih slivshi nerazryvnym? -
Instinkt uspokoeniya vsemirnyj,
ZHelan'e podtverzhdennogo pokoya,
Vnutri i vne; vozvyshennost', smirennost';
ZHizn', gde vospominan'e i nadezhda
Slilis' v odno i gde zemlya spokojna,
Gde lik ee menyaetsya edva
Rabotoj ruk dlya nuzhd neprihotlivyh
Il' siloyu krugovrashchen'ya goda,
Gde carstvuet bessmertnaya Dusha,
V soglasii s svoim zakonom yasnym,
I nebo dlya uslady sozercan'ya
Otkryto v nevozbrannoj tishine.

From "Poems" (1815)

Iz sbornika "Stihotvoreniya" (1815)

A NIGHT-PIECE

At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye
Bent earthwards; he looks up-the clouds are split
Asunder, - and above his head he sees
The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens.
There, in a black-blue vault she sails along,
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not! - the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent; - still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds,
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the Vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.

NOCHX

Nochnoe nebo
Pokryto tonkoj tkan'yu oblakov;
Neyavstvenno, skvoz' etu pelenu,
Prosvechivaet belyj krug luny.
Ni derevo, ni bashnya, ni skala
Zemli ne pritenyayut v etot chas.
No vot vnezapno hlynulo siyan'e,
Prityagivaya putnika, kotoryj
Zadumchivo bredet svoej dorogoj.
I vidit on, glaza pod�emlya k nebu,
V razryve oblakov - caricu nochi:
Vo vsem ee torzhestvennom velich'e
Ona plyvet v provale temno-sinem
V soprovozhden'e yarkih, kolkih zvezd:
Stremitel'no oni nesutsya proch',
Iz glaz ne ischezaya; veet veter,
No tiho vse, ni shoroha v listve...
Proval sred' ispolinskih oblakov
Vse glubzhe, vse bezdonnej. Nakonec
Videnie skryvaetsya, i um,
Eshche vostorga polnyj, postepenno
Ob�emlemyj pokoem, razmyshlyaet
Ob etom pyshnom prazdnestve prirody.

INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS IN CALLING FORTH AND STRENGTHENING
THE IMAGINATION IN BOYHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!
Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought!
And giv'st to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion! not in vain
By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me
The passions that build up our human soul;
Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man;
But with high objects, with enduring things
With life and nature; purifying thus
The elements of feeling and of thought,
And sanctifying by such discipline
Both pain and fear, - until we recognise
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.
Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me
With stinted kindness. In November days,
When vapours rolling down the valleys made
A lonely scene more lonesome; among woods
At noon; and 'mid the calm of summer nights,
When, by the margin of the trembling lake,
Beneath the gloomy hills, homeward I went
In solitude, such intercourse was mine:
Mine was it in the fields both day and night,
And by the waters, all the summer long.
And in the frosty season, when the sun
Was set, and, visible for many a mile,
The cottage-windows through the twilight blazed,
I heeded not the summons: happy time
It was indeed for all of us; for me
It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud
The village-clock tolled six - I wheeled about,
Proud and exulting like an untired horse
That cares not for his home. - All shod with steel
We hissed along the polished ice, in games
Confederate, imitative of the chase
And woodland pleasures, - the resounding horn,
The pack loud-chiming, and the hunted hare.
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle: with the din
Smitten, the precipices rang aloud;
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tinkled like iron; while far-distant hills
Into the tumult sent an alien sound
Of melancholy, not unnoticed while the stars,
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west
The orange sky of evening died away.
Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay, or sportively
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng,
To cut across the reflex of a star;
Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain: and oftentimes,
When we had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side
Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still
The rapid line of motion, then at once
Have I, reclining back upon my heels,
Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs
Wheeled by me - even as if the earth had rolled
With visible motion her diurnal round!
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,
Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched
Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.

VLIYANIE PRIRODY NA RAZVITIE VOOBRAZHENIYA V DETSTVE I RANNEJ YUNOSTI

O ty, velikij Duh predvechnoj mysli,
Edinaya dusha i mudrost' mira,
Ty obrazam daesh' dyhan'e zhizni
I vechnoe dvizhen'e. Net, nedarom,
Kogda vstrechal eshche ya utro zhizni,
I dnem i v svete zvezd v dushe moej
Vse chuvstva, v nej zhivushchie, spletalis'
Ne s suetnym stremleniem k tomu,
CHto sozdano rukoyu cheloveka,
A s vechnymi poryvami k Prirode
I k zhizni. Ochishchalas' mysl' moya
Svyashchennoj skorb'yu i svyashchennym strahom,
I ya uchilsya postigat' velich'e
Bien'ya chelovecheskogo serdca.

Mne etih otkrovenij blagodat'
Udelena byla rukoyu shchedroj,
YA oshchushchal prisutstvie ee
I v noyabre, kogda tuman tyazhelyj
Okutyval unyluyu dolinu
Pokrovom mrachnym; i v poldnevnyj chas
V glushi lesov, i tihoj letnej noch'yu,
Kogda odin domoj ya vozvrashchalsya
Vdol' ozera sredi holmov ugryumyh;
YA chuvstvoval ee i dnem v polyah,
I v chas nochnoj u ozera, i letom,
I v zimnij den', kogda sadilos' solnce
I daleko blesteli okna hizhin
Skvoz' sumerki moroznye, kogda
Menya domoj i ne dozvat'sya bylo.
Schastlivaya dlya vseh dlya nas pora!
Kak naslazhdalsya ya togda! Byvalo,
Na kolokol'ne sel'skoj yasno, zvonko
B'et shest' chasov, - a mne i dela net,
I ya, kak dikij kon', gordyas' svobodoj,
Begu ot domu proch'. Odev kon'ki,
My shumnoyu tolpoj nesemsya po l'du,
Izobrazhaya celuyu ohotu,
I zvuk rogov, i laj sobach'ej svory,
I zagnannogo zajca. Druzhnym horom
Zvuchat v moroznom mrake golosa,
Vdol' po obryvam otdayutsya gulko,
Zvenyashchie im vtoryat otgoloski
Oledenevshih skal, derev'ev golyh,
I lish' s holmov dalekih chuzhdym zvukom
Vryvaetsya v nash obshchij gam i shum
Pechal'nyj otklik eha. My ne slyshim
Ego do toj pory, poka nad nami
Ne vspyhnut zvezdy i zakat bagryanyj
Ne skroetsya na zapade sovsem.

No chasto ya iz etoj sumatohi
Vdrug uskol'zal v zaliv uedinennyj
I, oglyadevshis', dolgo s lyubopytstvom
Sledil, kak vdal' po ledyanoj ravnine
Mel'kaet yarkij otblesk zvezd dalekih
Sredi vatagi, mchashchejsya k nemu.
Ili kogda naperegonki s vetrom
Leteli my, i nam neslis' navstrechu
Okutannye mrakom berega, -
Otkinuvshis' na kabluki, vnezapno
YA kruto ostanavlival svoj beg
I oziralsya; skaly prodolzhali
Bezhat' navstrechu, budto dlya menya
Vdrug vidimym zemli vrashchen'e stalo,
I ya glyadel im vsled, kak postepenno
Oni svoe dvizhen'e zamedlyali
I snova vse nedvizhnym stanovilos',
Kak v letnij den' bezvetrennoe more.

LAODAMIA

"With sacrifice before the rising mom
Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;
And from the infernal Gods, 'mid shades forlorn
Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required:
Celestial pity I again implore; -
Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!"

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed
With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands;
While, like the sun emerging from a cloud,
Her countenance brightens-and her eye expands;
Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows;
And she expects the issue in repose.

O terror! what hath she perceived? - O joy!
What doth she look on? - whom doth she behold?
Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
It is - if sense deceive her not - 'tis He!
And a God leads him, winged Mercury!

Mild Hermes spake - and touched her with his wand
That calms all fear; "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,
Laodamia! that at Jove's command
Thy Husband walks the paths of upper air:
He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space;
Accept the gift, behold him face to face!"

Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord to clasp;
Again that consummation she essayed;
But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp
As often as that eager grasp was made.
The Phantom parts - but parts to re-unite,
And re-assume his place before her sight.

"Protesilaus, lo! thy guide is gone!
Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:
This is our palace, - yonder is thy throne;
Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.
Not to appal me have the gods bestowed
This precious boon; and blest a sad abode."

"Great Jove, Laodamia! doth not leave
His gifts imperfect: - Spectre though I be,
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
But in reward of thy fidelity.
And something also did my worth obtain;
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

"Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold
That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand
Should die; but me the threat could not withhold:
A generous cause a victim did demand;
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;
A self-devoted chief-by Hector slain."

"Supreme of Heroes-bravest, noblest, best!
Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,
Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore;
Thou found'st - and I forgive thee - here thou art -
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

"But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
Thou should'st elude the malice of the grave:
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.

"No Spectre greets me, - no vain Shadow this;
Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss
To me, this day, a second time thy bride!"
Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcae threw
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

"This visage tells thee that my doom is past:
Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys
Of sense were able to return as fast
And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys
Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains:
Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains.

"Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control
Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve
The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;
A fervent, not ungovernable, love.
Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn -"

"Ah, wherefore? - Did not Hercules by force
Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb
Alcestis, a reanimated corse,
Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
And Aeson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.

"The Gods to us are merciful - and they
Yet further may relent: for mightier far
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway
Of magic potent over sun and star,
Is love, though oft to agony distrest,
And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast.

"But if thou goest, I follow -" "Peace!" he said, -
She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;
The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;
In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared
Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,
Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel
In worlds whose course is equable and pure;
No fears to beat away - no strife to heal -
The past unsighed for, and the future sure;
Spake of heroic arts in graver mood
Revived, with finer harmony pursued;

Of all that is most beauteous - imaged there
In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,
An ampler ether, a diviner air,
And fields invested with purpureal gleams;
Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.

Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earned
That privilege by virtue. - "Ill," said he,
"The end of man's existence I discerned,
Who from ignoble games and revelry
Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight,
While tears were thy best pastime, day and night;

"And while my youthful peers before my eyes
(Each hero following his peculiar bent)
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise
By martial sports, - or, seated in the tent,
Chieftains andjcings in council were detained;
What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.

"The wished-for wind was given: - I then revolved
The oracle, upon the silent sea;
And, if no worthier led the way, resolved
That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be
The foremost prow in pressing to the strand, -
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.

"Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang
When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife!
On thee too fondly did my memory hang,
And on the joys we shared in mortal life, -
The paths which we had trod - these fountains, flowers
My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers.

"But should suspense permit the Foe to cry,
'Behold they tremble! - haughty their array,
Yet of their number no one dares to die?'
In soul I swept the indignity away:
Old frailties then recurred: - but lofty thought,
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

"And Thou, though strong in love, art all too weak
In reason, in self-government too slow;
I counsel thee by fortitude to seek
Our blest re-union in the shades below.
The invisible world with thee hath sympathised;
Be thy affections raised and solemnised.

"Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend -
Seeking a higher object. Love was given,
Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end;
For this the passion to excess was driven -
That self might be annulled: her bondage prove
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." -

Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears!
Round the dear Shade she would have clung - 'tis vain:
The hours are past - too brief had they been years;
And him no mortal effort can detain:
Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,
He through the portal takes his silent way,
And oh the palace-floor a lifeless corse She lay.
Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved,

She perished; and, as for a wilful crime,
By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,
Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,
Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.

- Yet tears to human suffering are due;
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
Are mourned by man, and not by man alone,
As fondly he believes. - Upon the side

Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
From out the tomb of him for whom she died;
And ever, when such stature they had gained
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,
The trees' tall summits withered at the sight;
A constant interchange of growth and blight!

LAODAMIYA

YA utrom s dymom zhertvennik darov,
Vse poteryav, obety voznosila,
U Tartara bezzhalostnyh bogov
Otnyat' carya ubitogo prosila
I vnov' vzyvayu k milosti nebes:
Verni ego, verni, velikij Zevs.

O, ne odin poryv lyubvi moguchij,
Mol'ba i strast' v zalomlennyh rukah,
I tochno luch, sverknuvshij iz-za tuchi,
Zazhegsya novyj blesk v ee glazah,
Grud' stala vyshe, stan podnyalsya strojnyj,
I zhdet sud'by svoej ona spokojno.

O uzhas! Kto zdes'? |to li ne son,
Ubitogo pod Troej videt' druga?
Ne mozhet byt'. Uzheli eto on?
Uzheli ten' lyubimogo supruga?
Da, eto on otkliknulsya na zov
I s nim krylatyj poslanec bogov.

Svoim zhezlom, smiryayushchim muchen'e,
Ee kosnulsya laskovo Germes.
"Laodamiya! Zevsovym velen'em
Tvoj car' opyat' uvidel blesk nebes.
No kratok srok, darovannyj sud'boyu,
Lish' tri chasa on provedet s toboyu".

I brosilas' k nemu ego obnyat',
Prizhat' k grudi staraetsya naprasno.
Rasplyvshis', ten' yavlyaetsya opyat',
Besshumno proch' skol'zit ot laski strastnoj,
Uhodit ot ob�yat'ya zhadnyh ruk
Ee lyubimyj carstvennyj suprug.

"Hochu ya zvuk tvoej uslyshat' rechi,
Protezilaj! Umchalsya sputnik tvoj.
Ty vo dvorce, ty dlya zhelannoj vstrechi
Perestupil porog tebe rodnoj.
Uzhel' sud'be moej pechali malo,
Na gore mne tebya ona poslala".

"Laodamiya! |to ya, pover',
Podzemnye menya vernuli nedra.
YA tol'ko ten', no vse zhe Zevs teper'
Tebya za vernost' nagrazhdaet shchedro.
On milostiv i polnoyu rukoj
Vozdal i mne za prezhnij podvig moj.

Ty pomnish' predskazan'e rokovoe:
V boyu pogibnet pervym voin tot,
Kto pervym vyjdet na bereg pod Troej. -
Korabl' pristal, i prygnul ya vpered.
Za delo obshchee pogibel' ne strashila,
I Gektora kop'e menya srazilo".

"Ty doblestnyj, lyubimyj moj geroj,
O hrabrosti tvoej ne plachu bole.
Smyatenie vladelo vsej tolpoj,
No ty, ty prinyal smert' po dobroj vole.
Kak zhenshchina, ya ne mogla ponyat',
CHto serdce muzha mozhet podskazat'.

Ty hrabr, no ty kogda-to byl i nezhnym.
Uzheli Tot, ch'ej vlast'yu v etot chas
Ty vyrvalsya ot smerti neizbezhnoj,
Mogiloyu opyat' razluchit nas?
Prekrasen ty, i veter Fessalii
Opyat' rassypal kudri zolotye.

Ne prizrak, net, ne ten' peredo mnoj,
O moj geroj, pridi ko mne, molyu ya,
Vozlyag na lozhe brachnoe so mnoj,
YA, kak nevesta, zhazhdu poceluya".
Zevs hmuritsya, i Stiksa ten' legla
Opyat' na oblik milogo chela.

"Ty vidish' li? mne suzhdeno inoe,
CHasov lyubvi nam bol'she ne vidat',
Oni proshli. Prohodit vse zemnoe,
V |rebe ih umeyut prezirat'.
Zemnoj lyubvi nam chuzhdo sodrogan'e,
Tam radosti spokojny, kak stradan'e.

Smireniem ugodny my bogam:
Uchis' i ty vladet' poryvom strasti,
Vnov' suzhdeno rasstat'sya skoro nam,
Ne dolog srok, nam dannyj vysshej vlast'yu.
Pod svod |reba ya vernus' opyat' -
Ty ne dolzhna ni plakat', ni roptat'".

"Rasstat'sya - net! S toboj my budem vmeste.
Ty pozabyt' uspel, kak Gerkules
Spustilsya mimo Cerbera k Al'ceste
I vyvel proch' pod yarkij svod nebes.
Medeyu pomnish'? Zaklinanij sila
K soratnikam YAzona vozvratila.

Uzheli milost' konchena bogov?
Uzheli im molilas' ya naprasno?
Ni sila myshc, ni vlast' volshebnyh slov,
Kotorym zvezdy dal'nie podvlastny, -
Ne odoleyut serdca slabyh zhen,
Kogda lyubov' vozdvigla tam svoj tron.

Kol' ty ujdesh', ya za toboyu". - "Tishe". -
Spokojstvie i skorb' v ego ochah.
On pered nej stoit strojnej i vyshe,
Net prizrachnoj neyasnosti v chertah,
I otrazhaet oblik prosvetlennyj
Velichie pechali zataennoj.

O toj lyubvi zvuchala rech' ego,
Kotoraya carit v strane blazhennoj,
V gryadushchem ne strashitsya nichego
I ostaetsya vechno neizmennoj,
I ozhival rasskaz v ego slovah
O podvigah velikih i delah.

On govoril o krasote nezdeshnej
I o blazhenstve zhizni nezemnoj;
Tam vozduh vechno dyshit laskoj veshnej,
Tam reki l'yutsya svetloyu struej;
Tam alyj den' ronyaet otblesk yarkij,
Pered kotorym merknet polden' zharkij.

"Dostojnejshim dostupna ta strana,
Konec pechal'nyj zhdet bezumcev greshnyh,
Kotorye v chasy, kogda bez sna
Ty plakala v razluke, bezuteshna,
I gor'kih slez ne ustavala lit' -
Mogli v razgule schast'e nahodit'.

A yunoshi mezh tem v potehah ratnyh
Gotovilis' k pohodu i boyam,
Starejshiny s caryami mnogokratno
Sbiralis' dlya soveta po shatram.
I flot stoyal, k otplyt'yu snaryazhennyj,
Bezvetriem tomit'sya obrechennyj.

ZHelannyj veter dali bogi nam...
Dorogoyu prorochestvo tomilo.
I ya reshil k Troyanskim beregam
Napravit' pervym vernoe kormilo
I s korablya spustit'sya na pesok,
Gde pervym past' sudil mne temnyj rok.

Lish' bylo bol'no dumat' o razluke
S lyubimoyu suprugoyu moej...
Kogda b ty znala, skol'ko bylo muki
V vospominan'i nashih svetlyh dnej,
Kogda za nedostroennoj stenoyu
Sredi cvetov brodili my s toboyu.

No chtob vragam pozvolil ya skazat':
Oni drozhat! YAvilis' gordelivo,
Posmotrim, kak umeyut umirat'. -
Net, etu mysl' prognal ya toroplivo.
I, s slabost'yu boryas', v poslednij mig
Resheniya otvazhnogo dostig.

V tvoej grudi lyubov' sil'na, kak prezhde,
No razumom smiryaj poryv strastej,
Stradanie perenosi v nadezhde,
CHto svidimsya my v carstvii tenej.
Pust' budet skorb' chuzhda vsego zemnogo,
I nash soyuz blagoslovitsya snova.

Velichiya ne zabyvaj, skorbya,
Ved' nam lyubov' dana dlya vysshej celi,
CHtob chelovek pozabyval sebya,
CHtob im poryvy chuvstva ne vladeli.
I lish' v lyubvi izvedat' mozhet on,
CHto vlast' strastej odin obman i son".

No gromkim stonom rech' ona prervala,
Germes vnezapno vyros pered nej.
Proshli chasy - godov tut bylo b malo,
On dolzhen vnov' vernut'sya v mir tenej,
Ob�yatiya sderzhat' ego ne vlastny,
On proch' skol'zit besshumno i besstrastno,
I na poroge trup ee upal bezglasnyj.

K nej prigovor bessmertnyh byl surov,
Za greh nevol'nyj bogi ej sudili
ZHizn' dolguyu vdali ot teh lugov,
Gde pravednye dushi opochili,
Gde raspustilis' rajskie cvety
Dlya nih v sadah bessmertnoj krasoty.

Stradan'ya cheloveka slez dostojny:
Obmanutyj v svoih zemnyh mechtah,
On vozbuzhdaet zhalost' i v bogah. -
Tenistoj roshchej vechno osenennyj,
Nad Gellespontom holm sooruzhen,
Zemlej syroyu skryt tam prah lyubimyj,
I kazhdyj raz, kak yunye vershiny
Dostignut rosta, tak chto Ilion
Zameten im stanovitsya, sozhzhennyj, -
Ih pyshnyj cvet, tak govorit predan'e,
Pechal'noe smenyaet uvyadan'e.

x x x

I dropped my pen; and listened to the Wind
That sang of trees up-torn and vessels tost -
A midnight harmony; and wholly lost
To the general sense of men by chains confined
Of business, care, or pleasure, or resigned
To timely sleep. Thought I, the impassioned strain,
Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain,
Like acceptation from the World will find.
Yet some with apprehensive car shall drink
A dirge devoutly breathed o'er sorrows past:
And to the attendant promise will give heed -
The prophecy, - like that of this wild blast,
Which, while it makes the heart with sadness shrink,
Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed.

x x x

YA otlozhil pero; mne shkval'nyj veter pel
O brigah gibnushchih, o burelomnyh chashchah, -
Polunochnyj psalom, utrachennyj dlya spyashchih
Nevol'nikov zabot i povsednevnyh del.
Pomyslil ya togda: vot moj zemnoj udel -
Vnimat' melodii, bez mery i sozvuchij,
CHtob ya otvetstvoval na veshchij zov pevuchij
I strastnym yazykom prirody ovladel.
Nemnogim yavstvenen nadgrobnyj ston takoj,
Zvuchashchij nabozhno nad gorem i toskoj
Davno minuvshih let; no on, kak burya eta,
Poryvom yarostnym pechalya serdce mne,
O nastupayushchej prorochit tishine,
O legkoj zybi voln v siyanii rassveta.

THE FRENCH AND THE SPANISH GUERILLAS

Hunger, and sultry heat, and nipping blast
From bleak hill-top, and length of march by night
Through heavy swamp, or over snow-clad height -
These hardships ill-sustained, these dangers past,
The roving Spanish Bands are reached at last,
Charged, and dispersed like foam: but as a flight
Of scattered quails by signs do reunite,
So these, - and, heard of once again, are chased
With combinations of long-practised art
And newly-kindled hope; but they are fled -
Gone are they, viewless as the buried dead:
Where now? - Their sword is at the Foeman's heart;
And thus from year to year his walk they thwart,
And hang like dreams around his guilty bed.

FRANCUZY I ISPANSKIE PARTIZANY

ZHara, i golod, i s dalekih gor
Suhie vetry, i nochnoj pohod
Po krucham i sredi gnilyh bolot,
I nakonec, vsemu naperekor,
Nastignuty ispancy, i v upor
Tesnyat ih, gonyat, b'yut, no, v svoj chered, -
Kak kuropatki, chut' beda projdet,
Pereklikayas', sostavlyayut hor, -
Oni splotyatsya! Ih ne obmanut',
Ne vzyat', ne okruzhit' so vseh storon, -
Otryad ischez, kak budto pogreben.
No gde ih mech? Vragu napravlen v grud'!
Oni emu peresekayut put'
I omrachayut bespokojnyj son.

x x x

"Weak is the will of Man, his judgement blind;
Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays;
Heavy is woe;-and joy, for human-kind,
A mournful thing so transient is the blaze!"
Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days
Who wants the glorious faculty assigned
To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind,
And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays.
Imagination is that sacred power,
Imagination lofty and refined:
'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower
Of Faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind
Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower,
And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

x x x

"Slab chelovek i razumen'em slep;
Tyazhel on dlya Udachi legkokryloj,
Bespomoshchen pred Pamyat'yu unyloj
I v tshchetnoj zhazhde Radosti nelep!" -

Tak dumal tot, kto sumerki sudeb
Vpervye ozaril volshebnoj Siloj,
CHto srazu voznesla Rassudok hilyj
Nad tuskloj yav'yu budnichnyh potreb.

Voobrazhen'e - vot sej dar zhelannyj,
Svet myslennyj i istinnyj oplot,
Lish' amarant ego blagouhannyj

CHelo stradal'ca tiho obov'et, -
Ego ne sduyut bedstvij uragany,
Ego i veter skorbi ne somnet.

x x x

Surprised by joy-impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport - Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind -
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss! - That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

x x x

Smutyas' ot radosti, ya obernulsya,
CHtob podelit'sya - s kem, kak ne s toboj? -
No nad tvoej mogil'noyu plitoj,
Uvy, davno bezmolvnyj mrak somknulsya.

Lyubov' moya! YA slovno by ochnulsya
Ot navazhdeniya... Uzhel' ya mog
Zabyt', hotya by na nichtozhnyj srok,
Svoyu poteryu? Kak ya obmanulsya?

I tak mne stalo bol'no v etot mig,
Kak nikogda eshche - s toj samoj daty,
Kogda, u groba stoya, ya postig,

Neotvratimym holodom ob�yatyj,
CHto navsegda pomerk nebesnyj lik
I gody mne ne vozmestyat utraty.

SEPTEMBER 1815

While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields,
With ripening harvest prodigally fair,
In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air,
Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields
His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields
Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware;
And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare
Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields."
For me, who under kindlier laws belong
To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry
Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky,
Announce a season potent to renew,
'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song,
And nobler cares than listless summer knew.

BLIZOSTX OSENI

While not a leaf seems faded.

Eshche i list v dubrave ne poblek,
I zhatvy s niv, pod yasnym nebosklonom,
Ne srezal serp, a v vozduhe studenom,
Pahnuvshem s gor, gde Duh Zimy izvlek

Ledyanyj mech, mne slyshitsya namek,
CHto skoro list spadet v lesu zelenom.
I shepchet list pevcam vesny so stonom:
Skorej na yug, vash nedrug nedalek!

A ya, zimoj poyushchij, kak i letom,
Bez trepeta, v tom sheleste gluhom
Gustyh lesov i v yasnom bleske tom

Osennih dnej, zhdu s radostnym privetom
Snegov i bur', kogda sil'nej sogret,
CHem v letnij znoj, vostorgom muz poet.

x x x

Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!
Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night;
But studious only to remove from sight
Day's mutable distinctions. - Ancient Power!
Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower,
To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest
Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest
On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower
Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen
The self-same Vision which we now behold,
At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought forth;
These mighty barriers, and the gulf between;
The flood, the stars, - a spectacle as old
As the beginning of the heavens and earth!

x x x

O Sumrak, predvecher'ya gosudar'!
Halif na chas, ty T'my nochnoj shchedree,
Kogda stiraesh', nad zemleyu reya,
Vse prehodyashchee. - O drevnij car'!

Ne tak li za gryadoj skalistoj vstar'
Mercal zaliv, kogda v lozhbine hmuroj
Kosmatyj britt, pokrytyj volch'ej shkuroj,
Ustraival sebe nochleg? Dikar',

CHto mog uzret' on v merknushchem prostore
Pred tem, kak snom ego glaza smezhilo? -
To, chto donyne vidim my vdali:

Podkovu temnyh gor, i eto more,
Priboj i zvezdy - vse, chto est' i bylo
Ot sotvoren'ya neba i zemli.

From the Prologue to "Peter Bell"

Otryvok iz prologa k poeme "Piter Bell"

x x x

There's something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,
Shaped like the crescent-moon.

And now I _have_ a little Boat,
In shape a very crescent-moon
Fast through the clouds my boat can sail;
But if perchance your faith should fail,
Look up - and you shall see me soon!

The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
Rocking and roaring like a sea;
The noise of danger's in your ears,
And ye have all a thousand fears
Both for my little Boat and me!

Meanwhile untroubled I admire
The pointed horns of my canoe;
And, did not pity touch my breast,
To see how ye are all distrest,
Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you!

Away we go, my Boat and I -
Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
Whether among the winds we strive,
Or deep into the clouds we dive,
Each is contented with the other.

Away we go - and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars.

Up goes my Boat among the stars
Through many a breathless field of light,
Through many a long blue field of ether,
Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her:
Up goes my little Boat so bright!

The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull -
We pry among them all; have shot
High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
Covered from top to toe with scars;
Such company I like it not!

The towns in Saturn are decayed,
And melancholy Spectres throng them; -
The Pleiads, that appear to kiss
Each other in the vast abyss,
With joy I sail among them.

Swift Mercury resounds with mirth,
Great Jove is full of stately bowers;
But these, and all that they contain,
What are they to that tiny grain,
That little Earth of ours?

Then back to Earth, the dear green Earth: -
Whole ages if I here should roam,
The world for my remarks and me
Would not a whit the better be;
I've left my heart at home.

See! there she is, the matchless Earth!
There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean!
Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear
Through the grey clouds; the Alps are here,
Like waters in commotion!

Yon tawny slip is Libya's sands;
That silver thread the river Dnieper!
And look, where clothed in brightest green
Is a sweet Isle, of isles the Queen;
Ye fairies, from all evil keep her!

x x x

Komu bol'shoj vozdushnyj shar,
Komu krylatogo konya,
A ya v chelne letet' hochu,
Poka chelna net u menya,
YA v oblaka ne polechu.

Na polumesyac cheln pohozh,
I ya sizhu v moem chelne,
YA v nem skvoz' tuchi proplyvu,
I esli ty ne verish' mne,
Uvidish' noch'yu nayavu.

Druz'ya! Vokrug shumyat lesa,
Volnuyas', kak voda v moryah,
I veter nositsya, zvenya,
I vas ohvatyvaet strah,
Vy vse boites' za menya.

I ya lyubuyus', nevredim,
Dvurogoj lodochkoj moej,
Mne vas sovsem ne zhal', druz'ya,
CHem vam strashnej, tem mne smeshnej,
Do slez mogu smeyat'sya ya.

Tak ya plyvu vpered, vpered.
Dlya hilyh truden etot put',
Skvoz' vetry nuzhno mne projti,
I v tuchah nuzhno mne tonut',
YA vse pereterplyu v puti.

Plyvu vpered. CHto mne teper'
Myatezh, predatel'stvo, vojna?
YA tak velichestven i tih,
Kak voshodyashchaya luna
Sred' zvezd rassypannyh svoih.

Moj cheln vsplyvaet vyshe zvezd,
Zalityj svetom zolotym.
Plyvet sredi vozdushnyh voln,
Sto tysyach zvezd plyvut za nim,
Vsplyvaet vyshe zvezd moj cheln.

Vot Rak. Vot Byk. Vot Skorpion,
My mezhdu nimi proskol'znem.
Nad Marsom plyt' nam suzhdeno,
On ryzhij ves', rubcy na nem -
On mne ne nravitsya davno.

Saturn razrushennyj, na nem
Pechal'nyh spektrov brodit ten',
YA vizhu v bezdne dvuh pleyad,
Celuyushchihsya noch' i den'.
Nad nimi plyt' ya ochen' rad.

Merkurij veselo zvenit.
YUpiter svetitsya vdali.
Planet Vselennaya polna,
CHto im za delo do Zemli -
Edva zametnogo zerna?

Nazad k Zemle! K rodnoj Zemle!
I esli b ya sto let letal,
Mir tem zhe byl by dlya menya,
On luchshe by nichut' ne stal.
Ostavil doma serdce ya.

Vot nesravnennaya Zemlya!
Rasplastan Tihij okean,
Kop'em vonzilis' v oblaka
Verhushki Al'p i drevnih And -
Ne sokrushayut ih veka.

Vot krasnyj Livii pesok,
Vot Dnepr, serebryanyj shnurok.
A tam sverkaet izumrud,
To luchshij v mire ostrovok,
Ego nayady steregut.

From "The River Duddon, A Series of Sonnets... and Other Poems"

Iz sbornika "Sonety k reke Daddon i drugie stihotvoreniya"

THE RIVER DUDDON

x x x

Not envying Latian shades - if yet they throw
A grateful coolness round that crystal Spring,
Blandusia, prattling as when long ago
The Sabine Bard was moved her praise to sing;
Careless of flowers that in perennial blow
Round the moist marge of Persian fountains cling;
Heedless of Alpine torrents thundering
Through ice-built arches radiant as heaven's bow;
I seek the birthplace of a native Stream. -
All hail, ye mountains! hail, thou morning light!
Better to breathe at large on this clear height
Than toil in needless sleep from dream to dream:
Pure flow the verse, pure, vigorous, free, and bright,
For Duddon, long-loved Duddon, is my theme!

SONETY K REKE DADDON

x x x

Mne ne znakoma Latuma prohlada,
Ne slyshal ya zhurchan'ya rodnikov
Banduzii, Goraciya otrady,
Poyushchego v sozvuch'i mernyh strof.
Cvetov persidskih pyshnyh mne ne nado,
YA ne lyublyu fontanov i sadov,
Al'pijskogo potoka chuzhd mne rev
I raduga v stremninah vodopada.
Vverh po reke znakomoyu tropoj
Idu, brosayu v gory klich priveta,
Legko dyshat' prohladoyu rassveta.
Rasstalsya ya s izbytochnoj mechtoj,
Lyubov'yu prezhnej pesn' moya sogreta -
YA slavlyu Deddon, Deddon moj rodnoj.

x x x

Child of the clouds! remote from every taint
Of sordid industry thy lot is cast;
Thine are the honours of the lofty waste
Not seldom, when with heat the valleys faint,
Thy handmaid Frost with spangled tissue quaint
Thy cradle decks;-to chant thy birth, thou hast
No meaner Poet than the whistling Blast,
And Desolation is thy Patron-saint!
She guards thee, ruthless Power! who would not spare
Those mighty forests, once the bison's screen,
Where stalked the huge deer to his shaggy lair
Through paths and alleys roofed with darkest green;
Thousands of years before the silent air
Was pierced by whizzing shaft of hunter keen!

x x x

Ditya dalekih tuch! V uedinen'i
Ne vedaesh' ty uchasti mirskoj,
Obstala glush' lesov tebya stenoj,
I vetra svist poet tebe hvalen'ya.
Morozy zhdut lish' tvoego velen'ya. -
Puskaj v doline pyshet letnij znoj,
Ty odevaesh' savan ledyanoj,
Tebya hranit velikij duh Zabven'ya.
No vremeni ruka uzhe legla
Na etot bereg dikij i lesistyj,
Gde nekogda carila glush' i mgla,
Ogromnyj los' toptal kover pushistyj
I zverolova metkaya strela
Bezmolviya ne narushala svistom.

x x x

How shall I paint thee? - Be this naked stone
My seat, while I give way to such intent;
Pleased could my verse, a speaking monument,
Make to the eyes of men thy features known.
But as of all those tripping lambs not one
Outruns his fellows, so hath Nature lent
To thy beginning nought that doth present
Peculiar ground for hope to build upon.
To dignity the spot that gives thee birth
No sign of hoar Antiquity's esteem
Appears, and none of modern Fortune's care;
Yet thou thyself hast round thee shed a gleam
Of brilliant moss, instinct with freshness rare;
Prompt offering to thy Foster-mother, Earth!

U ISTOKA

Kak mne narisovat' tebya? - Prisyadu
Na golom kamne, sred' hvoshchej i mhov:
Pust' govoryashchij pamyatnik stihov
Tvoi cherty yavit lyudskomu vzglyadu.
No kak barashku, chto pribilsya k stadu,
Iz bleyushchih ne vybrat'sya ryadov,
Tak nikakih osobennyh darov
Tebe Sud'ba ne pripasla v nagradu.
Nichem - ni dan'yu drevnosti sedoj,
Ni shchedrost'yu vozvyshennyh primet -
Zdes' ne otmecheno tvoe rozhden'e.
No svezhij moh, rastushchij nad vodoj,
I etot v struyah otrazhennyj svet -
Tvoe Zemle surovoj prinoshen'e.

THE PLAIN OF DONNERDALE

The old inventive Poets, had they seen,
Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains
Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flowery plains -
The still repose, the liquid lapse serene,
Transferred to bowers imperishably green,
Had beautified Elysium! But these chains
Will soon be broken;-a rough course remains,
Rough as the past; where Thou, of placid mien,
Innocuous as a firstling of the flock,
And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky,
Shalt change thy temper; and, with many a shock
Given and received in mutual jeopardy,
Dance, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock,
Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high!

DONNERDELXSKAYA DOLINA

Kogda b sedye bardy byli zhivy
I videli tebya, o Deddon moj,
Oni b |liziem nazvali bereg tvoj.
Ostavil ty svoj prezhnij vid burlivyj,
I mezh cvetov polzut tvoi izvivy
Vdol' po ravnine svetloyu struej -
No, vidno, chuzhd tenistyh roshch pokoj
Tvoej volne svobodnoj i shumlivoj.
I ty, yagnenka robkogo smirnej,
Ognem nebes otsvechivavshij chistym,
Vmig zabyvaesh' tishinu polej,
Pregrady rvesh' v svoem techen'e bystrom
I, kak vakhanka, plyashesh' sred' kamnej,
Neistovo razmahivaya tirsom.

AFTER-THOUGHT

I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide.
As being past away. - Vain sympathies!
For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise;
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish; - be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have power
To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent
dower.
We feel that we are greater than we know.

PROSHCHALXNYJ SONET REKE DADDON

V proshchal'nyj chas, moj drug i sputnik moj,
Idu k tebe. - Naprasnoe vlechen'e!
YA vizhu, Daddon, vse v tvoem techen'e,
CHto bylo, est' i budet vpred' so mnoj.
Ty katish' vody, vechnyj, ozornoj,
Daruesh' vechno zhizn' i obnovlen'e,
A my - my sila, mudrost', ustremlen'e,
My s yunyh let zovem stihii v boj,
I vse-taki my smertny. - Da svershitsya!
No ne obizhen, kto hot' malyj srok
Svoim trudom sluzhit' potomstvu mog,
Kto i togda, kogda blizka grobnica,
Lyubov', Nadezhdu, Veru - vse sbereg.
Ne vyshe l' on, chem smertnym eto mnitsya!

THE PILGRIM'S DREAM

A Pilgrim, when the summer day
Had closed upon his weary way,
A lodging begged beneath a castle's roof;
But him the haughty Warder spurned;
And from the gate the Pilgrim turned,
To seek such covert as the field
Or heath-besprinkled copse might yield,
Or lofty wood, shower-proof.

He paced along; and, pensively,
Halting beneath a shady tree,
Whose moss-grown root might serve for couch or seat,
Fixed on a Star his upward eye;
Then, from the tenant of the sky
He turned, and watched with kindred look,
A Glow-worm, in a dusky nook,
Apparent at his feet.

The murmur of a neighbouring stream
Induced a soft and slumbrous dream,
A pregnant dream, within whose shadowy bounds
He recognised the earth-born Star,
And _That_ which glittered from afar;
And (strange to witness!) from the frame
Of the ethereal Orb, there came
Intelligible sounds.

Much did it taunt the humble Light
That now, when day was fled, and night
Hushed the dark earth, fast closing weary eyes,
A very reptile could presume
To show her taper in the gloom,
As if in rivalship with One
Who sate a ruler on his throne
Erected in the skies.

"Exalted Star!" the Worm replied,
"Abate this unbecoming pride,
Or with a less uneasy lustre shine;
Thou shrink'st as momently thy rays
Are mastered by the breathing haze;
While neither mist, nor thickest cloud
That shapes in heaven its murky shroud,
Hath power to injure mine.

But not for this do I aspire
To match the spark of local fire,
That at my will burns on the dewy lawn,
With thy acknowledged glories;-No!
Yet, thus upbraided, I may show
What favours do attend me here,
Till, like thyself, I disappear
Before the purple dawn."

When this in modest guise was said,
Across the welkin seemed to spread
A boding sound-for aught but sleep unfit!
Hills quaked, the rivers backward ran;
That Star, so proud of late, looked wan;
And reeled with visionary stir
In the blue depth, like Lucifer
Cast headlong to the pit!

Fire raged: and, when the spangled floor
Of ancient ether was no more,
New heavens succeeded, by the dream brought forth:
And all the happy Souls that rode
Transfigured through that fresh abode,
Had heretofore, in humble trust,
Shone meekly 'mid their native dust,
The Glow-worms of the earth!

This knowledge, from an Angel's voice
Proceeding, made the heart rejoice
Of Him who slept upon the open lea:
Waking at morn he murmured not;
And, till life's journey closed, the spot
Was to the Pilgrim's soul endeared,
Where by that dream he had been cheered
Beneath the shady tree.

SON PILIGRIMA

Pod vecher v zamke piligrim,
Dorogoj dolgoyu tomim,
Prosya nochlega, stuknul u dverej.
Nadmenno storozh otkazal,
I strannik dal'she zashagal,
Nadeyas' v tishine lesov
Najti gostepriimnyj krov,
Pod zarosl'yu vetvej.

Zadumchivo tyazhelyj put'
On prodolzhal i otdohnut'
Pod derevom prisel na mhu gustom.
Zvezda zateplilas' nad nim...
Kogda zhe vzglyad svoj piligrim
Vniz opustil - u samyh nog
Uvidel skromnyj ogonek,
Zazhzhennyj svetlyakom.

Drema kosnulasya ochej...
Nedaleko zhurchal ruchej,
I strannyj son naveyal plesk vody.
Zvezdu zemnuyu - svetlyaka -
I tu, chto v nebe, daleka,
Uvidel on, i rechi zvuk
K nemu syuda donessya vdrug
S efirnoj vysoty.

Prezritel'no zvuchala rech':
I cherv' posmel svoj svet zazhech'
V tot chas, kogda smykaet son glaza.
Ne dlya nego li nochi ten'
Teper' smenila letnij den'?
Ne mnit li on ravnyat'sya s toj,
CH'ej carstvennoyu krasotoj
Gordyatsya nebesa?

I ej skazal svetlyak v otvet:
"Zvezda kichlivaya, tvoj svet
Syraya dymka mozhet zatemnit',
Legko ty gasnesh', i tvoj luch
Ne v silah vybrat'sya iz tuch.
Menya zhe i gustoj pokrov
Tumana ili oblakov
Ne v silah pogasit'.

Net, ya ne l'shchu sebya mechtoj,
Blestya teper' v trave syroj,
CHut' vidimyj pod krovom temnoty,
S tvoej ravnyat'sya slavoj, - net,
No moj edva zametnyj svet
Daet mne radost', a potom
YA gasnu v purpure dnevnom...
No gasnesh' ved' i ty".

Edva uspel promolvit' on -
Iz kraya v kraj ves' nebosklon
Otkliknulsya na golos gromovoj.
Dol drognul, vspyat' poshla voda,
Pomerkla yarkaya zvezda
I, pomercav, kak Lyucifer,
Nizrinutyj s nebesnyh sfer,
Skatilas' v mrak nochnoj.

Son dlilsya. Zvezdnyj svod nebes.
Ob�yatyj plamenem, ischez
I novogo otkrylsya blesk ocham.
V preobrazhennoj krasote
Tam zasiyali dushi te,
CHto zdes' vo mrake i pyli
Ogon' nadezhdy sberegli,
Podobno svetlyakam.

I spavshij na lugu postig,
CHto Angel Bozhij v etot mig
Besedoval v viden'e sonnom s nim.
Vospryanuv serdcem i dushoj,
Zabyl on utrom ropot svoj,
No do konca zemnyh trevog
Svoj chudnyj son zabyt' ne mog
Pod derevom gustym.

SEPTEMBER 1819

The sylvan slopes with corn-clad fields
Are hung, as if with golden shields,
Bright trophies of the sun!
Like a fair sister of the sky,
Unruffled doth the blue lake lie,
The mountains looking on.

And, sooth to say, yon vocal grove,
Albeit uninspired by love,
By love untaught to ring,
May well afford to mortal ear
An impulse more profoundly dear
Than music of the Spring.

For _that_ from turbulence and heat
Proceeds, from some uneasy seat
In nature's struggling frame,
Some region of impatient life:
And jealousy, and quivering strife,
Therein a portion claim.

This, this is holy; - while I hear
These vespers of another year,
This hymn of thanks and praise,
My spirit seems to mount above
The anxieties of human love,
And earth's precarious days.

But list! - though winter storms be nigh,
Unchecked is that soft harmony:
There lives Who can provide
For all his creatures; and in Him,
Even like the radiant Seraphim,
These choristers confide.

SENTYABRX

Kak pozlashchennye shchity,
Trofei plamennogo neba,
Legli na gornye hrebty
Polya s roskoshnoj zhatvoj hleba.
Kak stklo, lazorevyh ozer
Poverhnost' spit, ne kolyhayas',
I vysi dal'nyh sizyh gor
V nee glyadyatsya, otrazhayas'.

Povsyudu gulkie lesa
Oglasheny pernatyh pen'em,
Hotya uzh ptichek golosa
Lyubvi ne dyshat vdohnoven'em.
No pust' v svyashchennoj tishine
Ih pesnya strast'yu ne sogreta, -
Ona sto raz otradnej mne,
CHem muzyka vesny i leta.

V vesennih pesnyah pyl lyubvi,
Bor'ba, trevoga, razdrazhen'e,
Ogon' v klokochushchej krovi
I zhizni burnoe volnen'e.
V nih strasti rvutsya na prostor,
Trepeshchut sladostrast'em zvuki,
V nih slyshen beshenyj razdor
I golos revnosti i muki.

A zdes' svyataya pesn' slyshna,
Kak blagovest drugogo goda;
V nej, blagodarnosti polna,
Gimn Bozhestvu gremit priroda.
I ya, vnimaya pesne toj,
Vse dol'noe otbrosiv dolu
I chuzhdyj muk bor'by zemnoj,
Nesus' dushoj k Ego prestolu.

Gremi zhe, pesn'! Da ne smutit
Tebya bur' zimnih priblizhen'e!
ZHiv Tot, ch'ya blagost' sohranit
Vse, chto zhivet, ot razrushen'ya,
Vse, chto zhivet, zhivet lish' Im,
Otcom lyubvi, Vladykoj slavy,
I shestikrylyj heruvim,
I zvuchnyj hor pevcov dubravy.

ON SEEING A TUFT OF SNOWDROPS IN A STORM

When haughty expectations prostrate lie,
And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing,
Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring
Mature release, in fair society
Survive, and Fortune's utmost anger try;
Like these frail snowdrops that together cling,
And nod their helmets, smitten by the wing
Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by.
Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great
May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand
The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate;
And so the bright immoral Theban band,
Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command,
Might overwhelm, but could not separate!

x x x

Kogda nadezhda v prahe slezy l'et
I gnetsya gordyj duh, prosya proshchen'ya,
U malyh sih, ne zhdushchih razreshen'ya
Vseh bed prirodoj, sily dostaet
ZHit' pravedno, nesya vsem mirom gnet.
Tak trepetnyh podsnezhnikov skoplen'ya
Stoyat, kachayutsya, hot' v isstuplen'e
Ih besnovatyj vihr' krylami b'et.
V cvety vsmotris'! Zdes' ozhivaet v malom
Velikoe: derzhala hod vragov
Falanga makedoncev udalaya;
Fivancev, v ih gerojstve nebyvalom,
Stroj vojsk, chto v boj poslal otec bogov,
Raz�edinit' ne smog, odolevaya.

SONG FOR THE SPINNING WHEEL

Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel!
Night has brought the welcome hour,
When the weary fingers feel
Help, as if from faery power;
Dewy night o'ershades the ground;
Turn the swift wheel round and round!

Now, beneath the starry sky,
Couch the widely-scattered sheep; -
Ply the pleasant labour, ply!
For the spindle, while they sleep,
Runs with speed more smooth and fine,
Gathering up a trustier line.

Short-lived likings may be bred
By a glance from fickle eyes;
But true love is like the thread
Which the kindly wool supplies,
When the flocks are all at rest
Sleeping on the mountain's breast.

PESNYA ZA PRYALKOJ

Pozdnij chas glyadit v okno,
No ustalaya ruka
Krutit vnov' vereteno,
I provorna i legka, -
Noch' prishla, legla rosa,
CHashche shelest kolesa.

Razbrelis' v polyah stada,
Spyat pod krovom temnoty, -
Pryazha l'etsya bez truda,
V pal'cah bol'she bystroty.
Ovcy spyat - i krepche nit'
Nachinaet pryalka vit'.

Zastilaet vzglyad ochej
Bystroletnoj strast'yu krov',
Dolgovechnej i prochnej
Nastoyashchaya lyubov', -
|to nit' v rukah u pryah
V chas, kak ovcy spyat v gorah.

THE HAUNTED TREE

Those silver clouds collected round the sun
His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less
To overshade than multiply his beams
By soft reflection - grateful to the sky,
To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human sense
Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy
More ample than the time-dismantled Oak
Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired
In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords
Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use
Was fashioned; whether, by the hand of Art,
That eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought
On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs
In languor; or, by Nature, for repose
Of panting Wood-nymph, wearied with the chase.
O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight
Than fairest spiritual creature of the groves,
Approach; - and, thus invited, crown with rest
The noon-tide hour though truly some there are
Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid
This venerable Tree; for, when the wind
Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound
(Above the general roar of woods and crags)
Distinctly heard from far - a doleful note!
As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed)
The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed
Some bitter wrong. Nor is it unbelieved,
By ruder fancy, that a troubled ghost
Haunts the old trunk; lamenting deeds of which
The flowery ground is conscious. But no wind
Sweeps now along this elevated ridge;
Not even a zephyr stirs; - the obnoxious Tree
Is mute; and, in his silence, would look down,
O lovely Wanderer of the trackless hills,
On thy reclining form with more delight
Than his coevals in the sheltered vale
Seem to participate, the while they view
Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads
Vividly pictured in some glassy pool,
That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream!

OKOLDOVANNYJ DUB

Pokrovom serebristym oblaka
CHut' zatyanuli solnce, no ne v silah
Smyagchit' ego luchej, i znoj poldnevnyj
Potokom otrazhennym l'etsya s neba
Na skaly, roshchi i luga. Pozhaluj,
V takuyu poru ne najti priyuta
Otradnej, chem pod etim starym dubom,
Raskinuvshim shiroko ten' svoih
Vetvej stoletnih nad kovrom dushistym,
Razostlannym zdes' vereskom cvetushchim.
Navernoe, ne znal roskoshnej lozha
I sam sultan, lezhashchij na podushkah
Sredi cvetov, otdavshis' nege sonnoj.
Sama priroda vytkala ego
Dlya otdyha ustalyh nimf-ohotnic.
I ty, kotoraya dlya glaz moih
Prekrasnej vseh, zhivushchih v etih roshchah
I geniev i duhov, neuzheli
Ty ne pridesh', chtob otdohnut' zdes' tozhe
V poldnevnyj chas. YA znayu, govoryat,
CHto k dubu podhodit' nebezopasno,
CHto on, kogda v lesu poryvy vetra
Revut, shumyat, - on tozhe gromko stonet
I skorbnyj zvuk nesetsya s uraganom.
Kogda b pastuh arkadskij eto slyshal,
Skazal by on, chto bednaya driada
Obrechena oplakivat' svoj zhrebij,
Ee navek svyazavshij s etim dubom.
Pover'e est' inoe, budto duhi
Nedobrye sletayutsya syuda
I vspominayut zhaloboj i stonom
O teh delah, kotorym byl svidetel'
Odin cvetushchij veresk. No teper'
Spokojno vse, ne shelestyat vershiny,
I vozduh tih, ne kolyhnetsya. Nem
Vinovnik etih strahov, i v molchan'e
Pod sen' svoyu tebya on primet nezhno,
I nad toboj on sklonitsya vershinoj,
Kak klonyatsya rovesniki ego
Nad zavod'yu spokojnoj, i toboyu
On budet lyubovat'sya, kak oni
Lyubuyutsya nevernym otrazhen'em
Svoih vetvej v zamedlivshej reke.

From "Ecclesiastical Sonnets"

Iz sbornika "Cerkovnye sonety"

MUTABILITY

From low to high doth dissolution climb,
And sink from high to low, along a scale
Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;
A musical but melancholy chime.
Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,
Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.
Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
The longest dale do melt like frosty rime,
That in the morning whitened hill and plain
And is no more; drop like the tower sublime
Of yesterday, which royally did wear
His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain
Some casual shout that broke the silent air,
Or the unimaginable touch of Time.

IZMENCHIVOSTX

Voshodit vvys' melodiej moguchej
Raspad vselenskij i na spad idet
Nespeshnoj cheredoj uzhasnyh not,
Garmoniej skrezheshchushchih sozvuchij;
Kto slyshit ih, - tot preziraet sluchaj,
Bezhit nechistyh vygod i hlopot.
Bessmertna pravda; no ona zhivet
V oblich'yah dnya, v ih smene neminuchej.
Tak inej, vybelivshij utrom lug,
Rastaet; tak sedaya bashnya vdrug
Ot vozglasa sluchajnogo kachnetsya
I, slovno sleplennaya iz peska,
Obrushitsya, - kogda ee kosnetsya
Nevidimaya Vremeni ruka.

INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense,
With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned -
Albeit labouring for a scanty band
Of white-robed Scholars only - this immense
And glorious Work of fine intelligence!
Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely-calculated less or more;
So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense
These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells
Lingering - and wandering on as loth to die;
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality.

V KAPELLE KOROLEVSKOGO KOLLEDZHA V KEMBRIDZHE

Ne uprekaj svyatyh za motovstvo,
Ni zodchego, chto sozdal nebyvalyj
Velikolepnyj hram - dlya gorstki maloj
Uchenyh prihozhan, - vlozhiv v nego
Vse, bez ostatka - mysl' i masterstvo!
Bud' shchedrym; chuzhd vzyskatel'nym vysotam
Trud, otyagchennyj melochnym raschetom;
Tak dumal on, voznesshij volshebstvo
Reznyh kolonn i arok nevesomyh,
Gde radugi drozhat v cvetnyh proemah,
Gde v polumrake muzyka parit,
Bluzhdaya v sotah kamennogo svoda, -
Kak mysli, koih sladost' i svoboda
Nam o bessmert'e duha govorit.

From "The Poetical Works"

Iz knigi "Poeticheskie proizvedeniya"

LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR

Smile of the Moon! - for so I name
That silent greeting from above;
A gentle flash of light that came
From her whom drooping captives love;
Or art thou of still higher birth?
Thou that didst part the clouds of earth,
My torpor to reprove!

Bright boon of pitying Heaven! - alas,
I may not trust thy placid cheer!
Pondering that Time to-night will pass
The threshold of another year;
For years to me are sad and dull;
My very moments are too full
Of hopelessness and fear.

III

And yet, the soul-awakening gleam,
That struck perchance the farthest cone
Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem
To visit me, and me alone;
Me, unapproached by any friend,
Save those who to my sorrows lend
Tears due unto their own.

To-night the church-tower bells will ring
Through these wild realms a festive peal;
To the new year a welcoming;
A tuneful offering for the weal
Of happy millions lulled in sleep;
While I am forced to watch and weep,
By wounds that may not heal.

Born all too high, by wedlock raised
Still higher - to be cast thus low!
Would that mine eyes had never gazed
On aught of more ambitious show
Than the sweet flowerets of the fields
- It is my royal state that yields
This bitterness of woe.

Yet how? - for I, if there be truth
In the world's voice, was passing fair;
And beauty, for confiding youth,
Those shocks of passion can prepare
That kill the bloom before its time;
And blanch, without the owner's crime,
The most resplendent hair.

VII

Unblest distinction! showered on me
To bind a lingering life in chains:
All that could quit my grasp, or flee,
Is gone; - but not the subtle stains
Fixed in the spirit; for even here
Can I be proud that jealous fear,
Of what I was remains.

VIII

A Woman rules my prison's key;
A sister Queen, against the bent
Of law and holiest sympathy,
Detains me, doubtful of the event;
Great God, who feel'st for my distress,
My thoughts are all that I possess,
O keep them innocent!

Farewell desire of human aid,
Which abject mortals vainly court!
By friends deceived, by foes betrayed,
Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport;
Nought but the world-redeeming Cross
Is able to supply my loss,
My burthen to support.

Hark! the death-note of the year
Sounded by the castle-clock!
From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear
Stole forth, unsettled by the shock;
But oft the woods renewed their green,
Ere the tired head of Scotland's Queen
Reposed upon the block!

ZHALOBA M|RI, KOROLEVY SHOTLANDCEV, V KANUN NOVOGO GODA

Luny ulybka! Nazvala ya
Tak etu lasku s vysoty
Ot toj, chto teplitsya, pitaya
Unylyh uznikov mechty,
Pronzaya tuchi svetlym okom.
V moem bezdejstvii zhestokom
Mne shlesh' uprek bezmolvnyj ty!

O svetlyj dar lyubvi Gospodnej,
Mne uteshen'ya net, uvy,
Segodnya, noch'yu novogodnej,
Nadezhdy, otleteli vy.
CHto vperedi? Pechal' bez mery.
Gryadushchie mgnoven'ya sery,
Neumolimy i mertvy.

III

A vse zhe etot svet luchistyj,
Upav v tyur'mu, kak na sosnu,
V lesah SHotlandii skalistoj,
On naveshchal menya odnu,
Kotoruyu druz'ya zabyli,
Il', placha, zdes' so mnoj delili
Svoyu pechal', svoyu vinu.

Segodnya kolokol'nym zvonom
Vdrug oglasitsya vsya strana.
Bespechno dremlyushchim mil'onam
Lyudej ne budet i slyshna
Ta pesnya radostnogo chuda,
A ya bez sna tomit'sya budu,
Rydat' i toskovat' odna.

Uvy! Rozhdennoj tak vysoko
Upast' tak nizko s vysoty...
Kogda b moe ne znalo oko
Inoj na svete krasoty,
CHem cvetiki prostye v pole,
YA b ne ispytyvala boli, -
CHto, san moj, pridaesh' mne ty!

Menya, kol' pravda est' na svete,
Prekrasnoyu zvala molva,
A krasota stremitsya v seti
Lyubvi, poznav ee edva,
I strast' mertvit cvety do sroka,
I prezhdevremenno zhestoko
Sedeet nasha golova.

VII

Otlich'e zloe, ty izlito,
CHtob zhizn' svyazat' cepyami muk.
Vse, chem vladela ya, - zabyto,
Vse iz moih bezhalo ruk.
No, nesmotrya na vse stradan'ya,
Uzhasnej ih vospominan'ya
I proshlogo malejshij zvuk.

VIII

Vladeet zhenshchina klyuchami
Temnicy, gde vlachu ya dni,
I ravnodushnymi ochami
Glyadit na goresti moi.
Gospod', odno prosit' ya smeyu,
Ved' mysli - vse, chto ya imeyu,
Tak v chistote ih sohrani.

Proshchaj, zhelan'e byt' spasennoj,
Kotorym teshatsya raby.
Obmanutoj i obojdennoj
Igrushke straha i sud'by
Odin lish' krest ostalsya nyne
Usladoj v gorestnoj pustyne,
Gde tshchetny slezy i mol'by.

Vnimaj! Na bashne zamka chetko
Udar razdalsya rokovoj,
Ee glaza blesnuli krotko
Tem zvukom vyzvannoj slezoj.
No mnogo let promchalos' mimo,
Poka ona, toskoj tomima,
Na plahe obrela pokoj.

TO --

Let other bards of angels sing,
Bright suns without a spot;
But thou art no such perfect thing:
Rejoice that thou art not!

Heed not tho' none should call thee fair;
So, Mary, let it be
If nought in loveliness compare
With what thou art to me.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,
Whose veil is unremoved
Till heart with heart in concord beats,
And the lover is beloved.

x x x

Kto vyshel solncem, bez pyatna,
Tot angelov i poj.
Ty v "sovershenstva" ne godna,
I tut ya shozh s toboj.

Tvoej ne vidyat krasoty,
No ya, moya dusha,
YA, Meri, vsem tverzhu, chto ty
Bezmerno horosha:

Ne tem, chto videt' vsem dano,
A vidnym - lish' dvoim,
Kogda serdca slilis' v odno
I lyubyashchij lyubim.

TO A SKY-LARK

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

ZHAVORONKU

Nebesnyj piligrim i menestrel'!
Il' kazhetsya zemlya tebe nechistoj?
Il', vvys' vzletev i rassypaya trel',
Ty serdcem zdes' s gnezdom v trave rosistoj?
Ty padaesh' v gnezdo svoe sred' trav,
Slozhivshi kryl'ya, penie prervav!

K predelam zren'ya, vyshe unosis',
Pevun otvazhnyj! I lyubovnoj pesnej
Tebya s tvoimi ne razluchit vys',
Dolinu s vysoty charuj chudesnej!
Odin ty mozhesh' pet' sred' sinevy,
Ne svyazannyj spleteniem listvy.

Ostav' tenistyj les dlya solov'ya;
Sredi luchej - tvoe uedinen'e;
Bozhestvennej garmoniya tvoya,
Nad mirom l'yushchayasya v upoen'e.
Tak i mudrec parit, vdal' ne stremyas'
I v nebe s domom sohranyaya svyaz'!

x x x

Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakspeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camoens soothed an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains - alas, too few!

x x x

Ne hmur'sya, kritik, ne otrin' soneta!
On klyuch, kotorym serdce otkryval
Svoe SHekspir; Petrarka vracheval
Pechal', kogda zvenela lyutnya eta;

U Tasso chasto flejtoj on vzyval;
Im skorb' Kamoensa byla sogreta;
On v kiparisovyj venok poeta,
Kotorym Dant chelo koronoval,

Vpleten, kak mirt; on, kak svetlyak bessonnyj,
Vel Spensera na trudnyj pereval,
Iz carstva fej, dorogoj potaennoj;
Truboj v rukah u Mil'tona on stal,

CH'e mednoglas'e dushu vozvyshalo;
Uvy, truba zvuchala slishkom malo!

TO THE TORRENT AT THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE, NORTH WALES, 1824

How art thou named? In search of what strange land,
From what huge height, descending? Can such force
Of waters issue from a British source,
Or hath not Pindus fed thee, where the band
Of Patriots scoop their freedom out, with hand
Desperate as thine? Or come the incessant shocks
From that young Stream, that smites the throbbing rocks.
Of Viamala? There I seem to stand,
As in life's morn; permitted to behold,
From the dread chasm, woods climbing above woods,
In pomp that fades not; everlasting snows;
And skies that ne'er relinquish their repose;
Such power possess the family of floods
Over the minds of Poets, young or old!

VODOPAD

Poutru rano ili v chas, kogda
Zakat gorit poslednim bleskom sveta
I v sumrak vechera vsya dal' odeta,
Vzglyani, poet zadumchivyj, togda
Na vodopad, gde burnaya voda,
Kak v loge lev, bushuet. Net predmeta
Uzhasnee! Duh strashnyj vodometa
V vence iz kamnya, kudri, boroda
Struyat potoki - vossidit nad urnoj,
Skryvaya dnem svoj oblik. On struit
Po barhatu lugov potok lazurnyj
Ili, vstrechaya na puti granit
Obrushennyj, oblomki gor, gremit
I penitsya chrez nih volnoyu burnoj.

From "Yarrow Revisited, and Other Poems"

Iz sbornika "Snova v YArrou i drugie stihotvoreniya"

THE TROSACHS

There's not a nook within this solemn Pass,
But were an apt confessional for One
Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,
That Life is but a tale of morning grass
Withered at eve. From scenes of art which chase
That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes
Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities,
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass
Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest,
If from a golden perch of aspen spray
(October's workmanship to rival May)
The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast
That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay,
Lulling the year, wih all its cares, to rest!

TROSSEKS

Tut gory vstali v groznom torzhestve,
Tut hram dlya vseh, dostigshih perevala,
CH'e mesto - v proshlom, osen' minovala,
I zhizn' podobna vyanushchej trave,
Eshche nedavno svezhej. O, kak malo,
V iskusstvennosti nashih modnyh zal,
My cenim schast'e zhit' sred' gor i skal,
Sredi ozer, ch'yu glad' ne oskvernyalo
Nich'e dyhan'e. Trizhdy schastliv tot,
Pred kem osina drognet zolotaya
(V hudozhestvah oktyabr' - sopernik maya).
I gost'ya krasnogrudaya vsporhnet,
Zadumchivuyu pesnyu napevaya,
Bayukaya sostarivshijsya god.

x x x

Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose
Day's grateful warmth, tho' moist with falling dews,
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none;
Look up a second time, and, one by one,
You mark them twinkling out with silvery light,
And wonder how they could elude the sight!
The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers,
Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers,
But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers:
Nor does the village Church-clock's iron tone
The time's and season's influence disown;
Nine beats distinctly to each other bound
In drowsy sequence - how unlike the sound
That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear
On fireside listeners, doubting what they hear!
The shepherd, bent on rising with the sun,
Had closed his door before the day was done,
And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep,
And joins his little children in their sleep.
The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade,
Flits and reflits along the close arcade;
The busy dor-hawk chases the white moth
With burring note, which Industry and Sloth
Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both.
A stream is heard - I see it not, but know
By its soft music whence the waters flow:
Wheels and the tread of hoofs are heard no more;
One boat there was, but it will touch the shore
With the next dipping of its slackened oar;
Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay,
Might give to serious thought a moment's sway,
As a last token of man's toilsome day!

VECHERNIE IMPROVIZACII

Tak nehotya s dnevnym teplom i svetom
Vechernij vozduh rasstaetsya letom.
Vzglyani na nebo - zvezd i ne vidat',
Vzglyani eshche - chut' nachali mercat',
I ih ogni, nevidimye srazu,
Uzhe zametny pristal'nomu glazu.
Veselyj shchebet ptich'ih golosov
Slabej, slabej i smolk; sredi cvetov
Ih sumerek prozrachnyj skryl pokrov.
Na kolokol'ne sel'skoj ostorozhno
CHasy probili devyat'. Kak trevozhno
U ochaga vnimali my zimoj
Ih zhutkim zvukam v tishine nochnoj.
Teper' oni zvuchat tak mirno, yasno,
Boyas' smushchat' prirodu ponaprasnu.
Eshche svetlo, i zapad ne potuh -
K sebe ushel i zaper dver' pastuh,
S nim vmeste rano spat' legli i deti -
Emu vstavat' pridetsya na rassvete.
Vot netopyr' mel'knul v listve gustoj;
CHerez dorogu legkij kozodoj
Tuda, syuda metnulsya raz, drugoj -
I mezh vetvej nebrezhno, no umelo
Pognalsya vdrug za babochkoyu beloj.
Davno zamolk prohladnyj stuk kopyt,
Nevidimo vblizi reka zhurchit,
Poslednij raz vsplesnuli vesla chetko,
U berega pristala gde-to lodka.
I etot zvuk, chut' slyshnyj v tishine,
Tak vnyatno mysl' podskazyvaet mne
O trudovom okonchivshemsya dne.

A WREN'S NEST

Among the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the Jittle Wren's
In snugness may compare.

No door the tenement requires,
And seldom needs a laboured roof:
Yet is it to the fiercest sun
Impervious, and storm-proof.

So warm, so beautiful withal,
In perfect fitness for its aim,
That to the Kind by special grace;
Their instinct surely came.

And when for their abodes they seek
An opportune recess,
The hermit has no finer eye
For shadowy quietness.

These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls,
A canopy in some still nook;
Others are pent-housed by a brae
That overhangs a brook.

There to the brooding bird her mate
Warbles by fits his low clear song;
And by the busy streamlet both
Are sung to all day long.

Or in sequestered lanes they build,
Where, till the flitting bird's return,
Her eggs within the nest repose,
Like relics in an urn.

But still, where general choice is good,
There is a better and a best;
And, among fairest objects, some
Are fairer than the rest;

This, one of those small builders proved
In a green covert, where, from out
The forehead of a pollard oak,
The leafy antlers sprout;

For She who planned the mossy lodge,
Mistrusting her evasive skill,
Had to a Primrose looked for aid
Her wishes to fulfil.

High on the trunk's projecting brow,
And fixed an infant's span above
The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest
The prettiest of the grove!

The treasure proudly did I show
To some whose minds without disdain
Can turn to little things; but once
Looked up for it in vain:

'Tis gone - a ruthless spoiler's prey,
Who heeds not beauty, love, or song,
Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved
Indignant at the wrong.

Just three days after, passing by
In clearer light the moss-built cell
I saw, espied its shaded mouth;
And felt that all was well.

The Primrose for a veil had spread
The largest of her upright leaves;
And thus, for purposes benign,
A simple flower deceives.

Concealed from friends who might disturb
Thy quiet with no ill intent,
Secure from evil eyes and hands
On barbarous plunder bent,

Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young
Take flight, and thou art free to roam,
When withered is the guardian Flower,
And empty thy late home,

Think how ye prospered, thou and thine,
Amid the unviolated grove
Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft
In foresight, or in love.

GNEZDO PENOCHKI

Iz gnezd, svivaemyh vesnoj
Po roshcham ptichkami, nich'e
S takoj ne stroitsya krasoj,
Kak penochki zhil'e.

Na nem i svoda sverhu net,
Net i dverej; no nikogda
Ne pronikaet yarkij svet,
Ni dozhdik v glub' gnezda.

V nem tak uyutno, tak umno
Vse prisposobleno, chto, znat',
Uzh svyshe penochkam dano
Iskusstvo tak svivat'

I pryatat' gnezda ot nevzgod
V takuyu glush', v takuyu ten',
CHto i pustynnik ne najdet
Dlya kel'i gushche sen'.

Oni v'yut gnezda to v shchelyah
Ruin, vkrug ubrannyh plyushchom;
To ih svivayut v kamyshah,
Navisshih nad ruch'em,

Gde, chtoby samke ne skuchat',
Samec l'et zvonko trel' svoyu
Il' celyj den' otec i mat'
Poyut pod takt ruch'yu;

To v'yut ih v prosekah leska,
Gde v gnezdyshke, kak v urne klad,
YAichki pryachet mat', poka
Ne priletit nazad.

No esli penochki vpolne
Iskusny v strojke gnezd svoih, -
Vse zh v vybore im mest odne
Iskusnee drugih.

Takoj-to ptichkoj byl pod ten',
V tom meste spryatan dom iz mha,
Gde vkrug raskinul, kak olen',
Dubok vetvej roga.

No, vidno, bylo ej nevmoch'
Svoim umom skryt' domik svoj:
Ona prosila ej pomoch'
Kust bukvicy lesnoj,

Gde karlik-dub ponik chelom,
Tam v vyshine, kak detskij rost,
Vidnelos' nad gustym kustom
To chudo mezhdu gnezd.

Moj klad ya pokazal, gordyas',
Druz'yam, sposobnym bez styda
Cenit' i maloe. No raz,
Vzglyanul ya - net gnezda!

Pogiblo! Vidno, hishchnik zloj,
Vrag pesen, pravdy i lyubvi,
Svershil bezzhalostnoj rukoj
Zdes' podvigi svoi!

No cherez tri dnya, prohodya
Pri yarkom solnce mesto to,
Glyazhu - i vskriknul kak ditya -
Celehon'ko gnezdo!

Pred nim kust bukvicy lesnoj
Podnyal listy, kak parusa,
I etoj hitrost'yu prostoj
Mne obmanul glaza. -

Ukrytaya ot hishchnyh ruk,
Tayas' i ot svoih druzej,
CHtob ne meshal tebe i drug
Vysizhivat' detej, -

Sidi zdes', penochka! I vot,
Kak deti vyletyat i pust
Tvoj stanet domik, otcvetet
I pokrovitel' kust.

Ne zabyvaj, kak zdes' tebya
V tenistoj roshche, v dozhd' i znoj,
Bereg, leleya i lyubya,
Kust bukvicy lesnoj.

x x x

If this great world of joy and pain
Revolve in one sure track;
If freedom, set, will rise again,
And virtue, flown, come back;
Woe to the purblind' crew who fill
The heart with each day's care;
Nor gain, from past or future, skill
To bear, and to forbear!

x x x
Nash mir, razlichen i edin,
Vershit svoj vechnyj put'.
Vstaet svoboda iz ruin,
CHtob pravdu nam vernut'.

Tak bud' zhe proklyat, nizkij sbrod,
Otstupnik slavnyh del.
Dostoin schast'ya tol'ko tot,
Kto zhdat' ego umel.

x x x

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way,
Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,
The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.

VNUTRENNEE ZRENIE

Blazhen idushchij, otvrativshij vzor
Ot mestnosti, ch'i kraski i cherty
Zovut sebya razglyadyvat' v upor,
Minuyushchij prekrasnye cvety.

Emu inoj zhelannee prostor:
Prostranstvo grezy, nezhnyj zov mechty, -
Kak by mgnovenno sotkannyj uzor
Mezh bleskom i zatmen'em krasoty.

Lyubov' i Mysl', nezrimye dlya glaz,
Pokinut nas - i s Muzoj v svoj chered
My pospeshim prostit'sya v tot zhe chas.
Pokuda zh vdohnovenie zhivet -

Rosu na pesnopenie prol'et
Nebesnyj razum, zaklyuchennyj v nas.

x x x

Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant -
Bound to thy service with unceasing care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak-through this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
That a forsaken bird's nest filled with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine -
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!

x x x

Ty vse molchish'! Kak bystro otcvela
Tvoya lyubov', ne vyderzhav dyhan'ya
Razluki, rastoptav vospominan'ya,
Otvergla dolg i dar svoj otnyala.

No v gor'kij plen moj razum ty vzyala,
Tebe sluzhit' - inogo net zhelan'ya!
I hot' sozhgla ty proshloe dotla,
Dusha, kak nishchij, prosit podayan'ya.

Otvet'! - Pust' serdce, pylkoe togda,
Kogda my strastnym predavalis' negam,
Pustym, holodnym stalo navsegda, -

Gnezdo v lesu, zasypannoe snegom,
V gluhom lesu, gde zamer kazhdyj zvuk.
Otvet', molyu, ne dli zhestokih muk!

From "Sonnets"

Iz knigi "Sonety"

COMPOSED ON A MAY MORNING, 1838

Life with yon Lambs, like day, is just begun,
Yet Nature seems to them a heavenly guide.
Does joy approach? they meet the coming tide;
And sullenness avoid, as now they shun
Pale twilight's lingering glooms, - and in the sun
Couch near their dams, with quiet satisfied;
Or gambol-each with his shadow at his side,
Varying its shape wherever he may run.
As they from turf yet hoar with sleepy dew
All turn, and court the shining and the green,
Where herbs look up, and opening flowers are seen;
Why to God's goodness cannot We be true,
And so, His gifts and promises between,
Feed to the last on pleasures ever new?

SOCHINENO MAJSKIM UTROM, 1838

Lish' nachinayut zhit' yagnyata eti.
Poka priroda voshishchaet ih.
YAgnyata zhdut lish' radostej zemnyh,
Ih storonitsya grust', a sami deti
Begut ot temnyh kushch, lezhat pri svete
Zlatogo solnca vozle mam svoih
Il' skachut vmeste s ten'yu za dvoih,
Menyaya ee formu v piruete.
A kak letyat po travam, gde chisty
Visyat rosinki, gde cvety v tumane!
Kak po zelenoj nosyatsya polyane!
CHto zh nam-to malo Bozh'ej dobroty?
CHto zh sred' ego darov i obeshchanij
Vse novoj ishchem sladkoj suety?

From "Poems" (1845)

Iz sbornika "Stihotvoreniya" (1845)

THE SIMPLON PASS

-----Brook and road
Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass,
And with them did we journey several hours
At a slow step. The immeasurable height
Of woods decaying, never to be decayed,
The stationary blasts of waterfalls,
And in the narrow rent, at every turn,
Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn,
The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,
The rocks that muttered close upon our ears,
Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside
As if a voice were in them, the sick sight
And giddy prospect of the raving stream,
The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens,
Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light-
Were all like workings of one mind, the features
Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree,
Characters of the great Apocalypse,
The types and symbols of Eternity,
Of first, and last, and midst, and without end.

SIMPLONSKIJ PEREVAL

Doroga i reka
Soputstvovali nam. My shli chasami
Netoroplivym shagom. Iz lesov
K nam donosilsya tyazhkij zapah tlen'ya,
No zhizn' torzhestvovala zdes' povsyudu;
Gremeli, nizvergayas', vodopady;
V tesnine uzkoj voevali vetry
I vyli, pobezhdennye, protyazhno;
Potoki izlivalis' - s yasnoj vysi;
Nevnyatnymi gluhimi golosami
CHerneyushchie - vse v slezah - utesy
Pytalis' nam povedat' o sebe;
Bezumstvuya, rechnaya bystrina
Nam golovy kruzhila; v nebesah
Parili oblaka svobodnoj staej.
Pokoj i nepokoj i t'ma i svet -
Vse slovno odnogo uma tvoren'e
I slovno odnogo lica cherty.
O, groznye, tainstvennye znaki!
Svoej rukoj ih nachertala vechnost':
Nachalo, i konec, i beskonechnost'.

x x x

Though the bold wings of Poesy affect
The clouds, and wheel aroud the mountain tops
Rejoicing, from her loftiest hight she drops
Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt,
Or muse in seldom grove whose shades protect
The lingering dew-there steals along, or stops
Watching the least small bird that round her hops,
Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect.
Her functions are they therefore less divine,
Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent
Her simplest fancies? Should that fear be thine,
Aspiring Votary, are thy hand present
One offering, kneel before her modest shrine,
With brow in penitential sorrow bent!

x x x

Na moshchnyh kryl'yah unosyas' v zenit,
Piruya na zaoblachnyh vershinah,
Poeziya s vysot svoih orlinyh
Poroj na zemlyu vzory ustremit -
I, v dol sletev, zadumchivo sledit,
Kak manyat pchel cvety na lugovinah,
Kak ptaha prygaet na nozhkah dlinnyh
I pauchok po nitochke skol'zit.
Uzhel' togda ee vostorg svyashchennyj
Bednee smyslom? Ili men'she v nem
Glubinnoj mudrosti? O derznovennyj!
Kogda ty smog pomyslit' o takom,
Pokajsya, prinosya ej dar smirennyj,
I na koleni vstan' pred altarem.

Prilozhenie

GARRI-GILLX

CHto za prichina! chto za chudo!
Nash Garri-Gill' ugryum kak ten';
Lico ego tak zhelto, hudo,
I ves' on zyabnet celyj den'.
Uzh malo l' u nego odezhi,
Plashchej, kamzolov i vsego:
U vsej u nashej molodezhi
Net stol'ko ih, kak u nego.

A vse drozhit on; dazhe letom
Emu, kak v zimu, holodno.
Sosedi vse tverdyat ob etom,
CHto Garri-Gill' drozhit davno -
Drozhit vo vsyakuyu pogodu,
Poutru, v podden' i v nochi,
Idet li solnyshko po svodu,
Blestyat li mesyaca luchi.

A byl on fermer sil'nyj, tuchnyj,
Rumyanyj, slovno makov cvet;
Imel on golos gromozvuchnyj,
Silach, kakih v derevne net. -
Bedna byla starushka Gudi,
ZHila podennym lish' trudom;
Byvalo, vse divilis' lyudi,
Kak u serdechnoj beden dom.

Ves' den' pryadet ona, byvalo,
I dolgo za polnoch' pryadet,
A vypryadet poroj tak malo,
CHto chut' na svechi dostaet.
ZHila ona u nas let sorok,
V Dorsetskom grafstve, pod goroj,
Gde ugol' kamennyj tak dorog
I k nam privozitsya vodoj.

U nas vse bednye starushki
Vedut hozyajstvo soobshcha;
No Gudi-Blek odna v lachuzhke
ZHila, na Boga ne ropshcha.
Eshche ej letom bylo snosno,
Kogda den' dolog, noch' tepla,
Ves' den' pryadet ona pod sosnoj,
Kak konoplyanka, vesela.

Zato kak zhit' serdechnoj trudno,
Kogda zamerznut volny rek!
Togda-to, Bozhe pravosudnyj,
Kakaya zhizn' dlya Gudi-Blek!
Ej hudo dnem, a noch'yu huzhe.
Kakaya grustnaya pora!
Kak strashno lech' v postel' ot stuzhi,
Ne spat' ot stuzhi do utra!

Zato, o verh blagopoluch'ya!
Kogda metel', kachaya bor,
V noch' polomaet sosen such'ya
I zaneset ih k nej na dvor.
No nikogda, vam skazhet kazhdyj,
Ej ne sluchalos' ih nabrat'
Tak mnogo, chtob hotya odnazhdy
Sogret'sya i ne gorevat'.

Kogda treshchit moroz i stanet
Uzh ne po silam holod ej, -
Kak sil'no vzor starushki manit
K sebe sosednih vid pletnej!
I, molvit' istinu, neredko,
V izbe prodrognuv celyj den',
Hodila po nocham sosedka
Lomat' u Garri-Gill' pleten'.

Davno starushku v pohishchen'i
Nash Garri-Gill' podozreval,
I v serdce kamennom o mshchen'i
Nemiloserdno zamyshlyal,
I chasto noch'yu, vstav s posteli,
Hodil dozorom po polyam,
I na snegu, v moroz, v meteli,
On podzhidal sosedku tam.

I vot on raz, za skirdom hleba,
Starushku Gudi storozhil.
Luna svetila yarko s neba,
I zhnivo inej serebril.
I vdrug on slyshit chej-to shoroh;
Togda on tiho spolz s holma
I s dikoj radost'yu vo vzorah
Glyadit - to Gudi-Blek sama!

V raspolozhenii veselom,
On za kustom k zemle prinik
I vidit: Gudi, kol za kolom,
Kladet v dyryavyj perednik;
Potom, na plechi vzyav vyazanku,
Speshit okolicej domoj.
Togda neschastnuyu beglyanku
On uhvatil i kriknul: stoj!

I zlobno ruku ej pozhal on
Rukoj tyazheloj, kak svinec,
I zlobno ruku potryasal on,
Kricha: "Popalas' nakonec!"
Tut Gudi, s uzhasom vo vzore,
Brosaet nazem' noshu drov
I, preklonya kolena, v gore
Tak molitsya tvorcu mirov:

"O Bozhe, bednyh pokrovitel',
Ne daj emu sogret'sya vek!"
Holodnyj mesyac byl lish' zritel',
Kak na kolenyah Gudi-Blek,
Issohshie podnyavshi ruki,
Molilas' zharkoyu mol'boj.
Nash Garri, slov teh slysha zvuki,
Vdrug ohladev, poshel domoj.

Nautro vse uznali vskore
Uzhasnuyu v derevne byl'.
V lice bolezn', na serdce gore,
Ves' den' ne mog sogret'sya Gill';
Ves' den' hodil on v redingote,
Vo vtornik on kupil drugoj,
Kupil dve shuby on k subbote,
No ne sogrelsya ni v odnoj.

Ne greet meh, ne greyut shuby,
Emu vse tak zhe holodno;
Stuchat, stuchat o zuby zuby,
Kak v buryu vethoe okno.
S teh por on vyanet v yunom cvete:
Na nem proklyatiya pechat',
I skol'ko b ni zhil on na svete,
On ne sogreetsya opyat'.

On govorit' ni s kem ne hochet,
On vseh dichitsya, ves' oslab,
I vechno sam s soboj bormochet:
"Bednyazhka Garri-Gill' ozyab".
I, golovoj poniknuv k grudi,
Stuchit zubami celyj vek. -
Poroyu vspomnite, o lyudi!
O Garri-Gill' i Gudi-Blek.

Perevod D. Mina

NAS SEMERO

Rebenku tak legko dyshat' na svete!
On zhizni polon, - i zachem emu
O smerti znat'? Net, mysli eti
Nesrodny detskomu umu.

Idu, - mne devochka navstrechu.
Sem' let ej, po ee slovam.
Divlyus' gustym ee kudryam,
Volnami v'yushchimsya na plechi!
Prostye sel'skie cherty,
I strannost' dikaya naryada,
I glazki, chudo krasoty, -
Vse v etoj devochke otrada.

"Vas skol'ko bratcev i sester?"
- Nas sem', - ona mne otvechaet
I robko lyubopytnyj vzor
Na neznakomca podymaet.
"Blagoslovennaya sem'ya...
I vmeste vse, dusha moya?"
- Na korablyah ushli kuda-to,
Da dvoe nas v zemle lezhat;
A podle nih, von tam v izbushke,
My s mamen'koj...
YA slushat' rad!
"Tak dvoe za morem, vostrushka,
Da dvoe v gorode zhivut,
I stalo vas ne sem', a menej?"
- Net, sem', ved' brat s sestricej tut,
V zemle, pod kupoyu yasenej.
"Ty, drug moj, sporish' mne na smeh!
Dvoih uzh vy pohoronili;
Vas bylo sem', kogda te zhili,
Teper' ne pyatero li vseh?"
- Ih vidno, barin, gde oni zaryty:
Mogilki svezhej zelen'yu pokryty.
Za hizhinoj shagov pyatok nazad, -
Tam! - oba ryadyshkom lezhat.

I ya hozhu tuda vyazat' chulochek,
Dlya kukly shit' ili rubit' platochek.
Na travke sidya, kak v rayu,
Dlya nih ya pesenki poyu;
A zakatitsya solnce krasno
I na dvore teplo i yasno,
YA chasto uzhin svoj beru, -
Hot' mamen'ke ne po nutru, -
Idu opyat' k mogilkam v gosti
I uzhinayu na pogoste...

Sestrica prezhde umerla:
V postel'ke ohala, stonala;
Bog szhalilsya, - i perestala,
I molcha v grobik svoj soshla.
Na kladbishche ee zaryli.
Vse leto s bratcem my hodili
K nej nad mogilkoyu igrat';
Vot stal i sneg uzh vypadat',
Uzh nachalisya i katan'ya, -
Brat zahvoral - i, bez stradan'ya,
On ryadyshkom s sestricej leg...

YA budto by ponyat' ne mog.
"Tak skol'ko zh vas teper' na svete?
Dvoih Gospod' na nebo vzyal?"
Ona pri tom zhe vse otvete:
- Nas semero! - YA sporit' stal;
No rechi tratil s nej naprasno,
Ona stoyala na svoem,
I ej kazalos' ochen' yasno,
CHto zhit' nel'zya ne vsemerom!

Perevod E. Korsha

NAS SEMERO

Rebenok prostodushnyj, chej
Tak legok kazhdyj vdoh,
V kom zhizn' struitsya, kak ruchej,
CHto znat' o smerti mog?

YA vstretil devochku, idya
Dorogoj polevoj.
"Mne vosem'", - molvilo ditya
S kudryavoj golovoj.

Odezhda zhalkaya na nej
I dikovatyj vid.
No milyj vzglyad ee ochej
Byl krotok i otkryt.

"A skol'ko brat'ev i sester
V tvoej sem'e, moj svet?"
Brosaya udivlennyj vzor,
"Nas sem'", - dala otvet.

"I gde zh oni?" - "Ushli ot nas
V dalekij Konvej dvoe,
I dvoe na more sejchas.
A vseh nas sem' so mnoyu.

Za nashej cerkov'yu v teni
Lezhat sestrenka s bratom.
I s mamoj my teper' odni
V storozhke s nimi ryadom".

"Ditya moe, kak mozhet vas
Byt' semero s toboyu,
Kol' dvoe na more sejchas
I na chuzhbine dvoe?"

"Nas sem', - otvet ee byl prost, -
Sestra moya i brat,
Edva vojdesh' ty na pogost -
Pod derevom lezhat".

"Ty zdes' rezvish'sya, angel moj,
A im vovek ne vstat'.
Kol' dvoe spyat v zemle syroj,
To vas ostalos' pyat'".

"V cvetah zhivyh mogily ih.
SHagov dvenadcat' k nim
Ot dveri v dom, gde my zhivem
I ih pokoj hranim.

YA chasto tam chulki vyazhu,
Sebe odezhku sh'yu.
I na zemle bliz nih sizhu,
I pesni im poyu.

A yasnoj letneyu poroj,
Po svetlym vecheram
Beru ya misochku s soboj
I uzhinayu tam.

Snachala Dzhejn ushla ot nas.
Stonala den' i noch'.
Gospod' ee ot boli spas,
Kak stalo ej nevmoch'.

My tam igrali - ya i Dzhon,
Gde kamen' grobovoj
Nad neyu vyros, okruzhen
Vesenneyu travoj.

Kogda zh zasypal sneg puti
I zablestel katok,
Dzhon tozhe dolzhen byl ujti:
S sestroj on ryadom leg".

"No esli brat s sestroj v rayu, -
Vskrichal ya, - skol'ko zh vas?"
Ona v otvet na rech' moyu:
"Nas semero sejchas!"

"Ih net, uvy! Oni mertvy!
Na nebesah ih dom!"
Ona zh po-prezhnemu: "Nas sem'!" -
Menya ne slushaya sovsem,
Stoyala na svoem.

Perevod I. Melameda

x x x

Poka ne nachalas' moya
Doroga piligrima,
O Angliya, ne vedal ya,
Kak mnoyu ty lyubima.

Proshel tot grustnyj son, i vnov'
V prostor menya ne tyanet,
No, kazhetsya, k tebe lyubov'
Rasti ne perestanet.

Tvoi lesa, tvoi luga,
Zdes' vse, chto serdcu svyato,
U anglijskogo ochaga
Lyusi pryala kogda-to.

Tvoe svetilo grelo nas
V dni yunosti veseloj,
I vzor Lyusi v poslednij raz
Vzglyanul na eti doly.

Perevod G. Ivanova

PESNYA VECHNOGO ZHIDA

Vody burnye potokov
Bystro vniz nesutsya s gor,
No, umchavshis' ot istokov,
Otdyhayut sredi gor.

Burya v nebe gonit tuchi,
No zamolknet vetra voj,
I oni odenut kruchi
Nepodvizhnoj pelenoj.

U provornoj bystroj serny
Posredi al'pijskih l'dov
Est' priyut v peshcherah vernyj,
Ej odnoj znakomyj krov.

Morzh, zatihnut' dav volnen'yu,
Posredi puchin morskih
Otdaetsya voln techen'yu,
Zadremav na grebnyah ih.

Voron, bureyu gonimyj,
Derzhit v gory trudnyj put',
CHtob usest'sya nedvizhimo
Na ih kamennuyu grud'.

Po peskam pustyni znojnoj
Straus brodit celyj den',
No v gnezde svoem spokojno
On vstrechaet nochi ten'.

S kazhdym dnem moj put' tyazhele,
S kazhdym dnem toska rastet,
I k bezvestnoj dal'nej celi
Stranstvij duh menya vlechet.

Perevod M. Frolovskogo

PADENIE VENECIANSKOJ RESPUBLIKI

Ona strashila nekogda Vostok
I ohranyala Zapad: doch' Svobody
I pervenec ee, ona skvoz' gody
Blyula sebya i svoj vysokij rok.
I poyas devstva stan ee oblek!
Ni soblaznitel', ni pryamoj nasil'nik
Ne smeli pogasit' er svetil'nik.
Venchalsya s neyu lish' morskoj potok.
Veneciya! i vdrug bylaya slava
Ischezla i bylaya moshch' proshla -
I nad toboyu gryanula rasprava,
I vse tvoi velikie dela
Vsego lish' ten'... No ten' stol' velichava,
CHto ne ee, a vzor nam zastit mgla.

Perevod V. Toporova

K MILXTONU

Mil'ton? Zachem tebya mezh nami net?
Britanii ty nuzhen v dni paden'ya!
Vezde zavetov proshlogo zabven'e,
Pogibla chest', pomerknul pravdy svet.

Rodimyj kraj pod gnetom tyazhkih bed,
V okovah lzhi, toski, ozhestochen'ya.
O, probudi v nas chestnye stremlen'ya,
Stryahni mogil'nyj son, vosstan', poet!

Tvoya dusha byla zvezdoj blestyashchej,
Tvoj golos byl kak svetlyj val morskoj -
Moguchij, i svobodnyj, i zvenyashchij;

Ty tverdo shel zhitejskoyu tropoj.
Bud' vnov' dlya nas zareyu voshodyashchej,
Bud' fakelom nad smutnoyu tolpoj!

Perevod K. Bal'monta

LONDON, 1802

O, Mil'ton, dolzhen zhit' ty v eti gody!
Ty nuzhen Anglii; ona sejchas
Stoyachee boloto; v nej ugas
Duh radosti, zakal byloj porody.

Altar', pero i mech, ochag, zal, svody
Pokinul on. V korysti mir pogryaz.
O, k nam pridi i podnimi vseh nas,
Verni nam doblest', muzhestvo svobody.

Tvoj duh siyal zvezdoyu odinoko,
A golos tvoj zvuchal priboem bur',
Svoboden, velichav, chist, kak lazur'.

Ty stranstvoval sredi zhitejskih nuzhd
Bozhestvenno-svetlo, no duh vysokij
Obyazannostyam nizkim ne byl chuzhd.

Perevod M. Zenkevicha

LONDON, 1802. MILXTON

Kak nynche, Mil'ton, Anglii ty nuzhen!
Ona - boloto; mech, pero, amvon,
Selo i zamok vpali v mutnyj son.
My sebyalyubcy, i nash duh neduzhen.

Vernis' zhe k nam, daby toboj razbuzhen
Byl kraj rodnoj i k zhizni voskreshen!
Pust' moshchnym, vol'nym, vlastnym stanet on
I s dobrodetel'yu iskonnoj druzhen.

S dushoj, kak odinokaya zvezda,
I rech'yu, slovno gul stihii vodnoj,
Kak nebo chist, moguchij i svobodnyj,

Ty bodro-blagochestnym byl vsegda,
Vzvaliv na serdce, v prostote bezgnevnoj,
Ubogij trud raboty povsednevnoj.

Perevod Ark. SHtejnberga

x x x

Otshel'nicam ne tesno zhit' po kel'yam;
V peshcherah zhizn' pustynniku legka;
Ves' den' poet ne shodit s cherdaka;
Rabotnica poet za rukodel'em;
Tkach lyubit stan svoj; v Forner-Fell's
k ushchel'yam
Pchela s polej letit izdaleka,
CHtob utonut' tam v chashechke cvetka;
I uzniki zhivut v tyur'me s vesel'em.
Vot pochemu tak lyubo mne zamknut',
V chas otdyha, mysl' vol'nuyu poeta
V razmere trudnom tesnogo soneta.
YA rad, kogda on v serdce ch'e-nibud',
Uznavshee izlishnej voli bremya,
Prol'et otradu, kak i mne, na vremya.

Perevod D. Mina

x x x

Gospoden' mir, ego my vsyudu zrim,
I smert' pridet, kopi ili rashoduj.
A v nas tak malo obshchego s prirodoj,
V nash podlyj vek my zanyaty inym.

Igraet more s mesyacem zlatym,
Porhaet veter, op'yanen svobodoj,
Il' spit i kopit moshch' pred nepogodoj.
CHto nam s togo! My ravnodushny k nim.

My dlya vsego chuzhie. Bozhe pravyj,
Zachem ya ne v yazychestve rozhden!
Togda, svyashchennoj vskormlennyj dubravoj,

YA videl by vekov minuvshih son.
Pri mne b iz voln vstaval Protej lukavyj,
Pri mne by dul v kruchenyj rog Triton.

Perevod V. Levaka

x x x

Ispolnen vecher istinnoj krasy,
Svyatoe vremya tiho, kak chernica,
Proniknutaya blagost'yu; saditsya
Svetilo dnya, kak v oblake rosy...
Na kraeshke pribrezhnoj polosy
Prislushajsya! kak grom, grohochet Sushchij,
Krugovrashchen'em pravit Vsemogushchij,
I dlyatsya vechnosushchie chasy.
Ditya! podruga! esli gneta myslej
Ne znaesh' ty i na poroge mraka,
To ty - ravnobozhestvenna miram.
Togda sebya k blazhennym soprichisli,
Togda vojdi bestrepetno vo hram.
Gospod' izbral tebya, ne dav nam znaka.

Perevod V. Toporova

BESSONNICA

Volokna shersti myagkoj, chto pryadet
Lenivo pryalka. SHum dozhdya i pchel
Guden'e. Vsplesk reki, i rovnyj dol,
I veter v nebe, i polotna vod -
YA peredumal obo vsem i vot
Lezhu bez sna. A skoro vo dvore
Uslyshu shchebet ptic, i na zare
Pechal'naya kukushka propoet...
Kak proshlyh dve, ya etu noch' opyat'
Ne v silah obresti tebya, moj son.
Uzheli snova ya tebya lishen?
CHto bez tebya mne utro mozhet dat'?
Pridi, den' dolzhen byt' toboyu zavershen.
Pridi, istochnik sil, zdorov'ya mat'.

Perevod N. Konchalovskoj

MOTYLXKU

Pobud' vblizi, prervi polet!
Pust' vzor moj na tebe zamret!
Toboj vossozdan kazhdyj mig
Pervonachal'nyh dnej moih!
I vremya, chto davno mertvo,
ozhivleno toboj,
Porhayushchee sushchestvo:
Otca ya vizhu svoego
so vsej moej sem'ej.

O, sladost', sladost' detskih let,
Kogda za motyl'kom vosled
Bezhali my s moej sestroj,
Razgoryachennye igroj.
YA, kak ohotnik, podstereg
Dobychu - no naprasen byl
Moj beg, otchayannyj pryzhok:
Oberegal revnivo Bog
pyl'cu prelestnyh kryl.

Perevod I. Melameda

K KUKUSHKE

Edva nachnesh' ty kukovat',
YA stanu bezzabotnym,
O, pticej li tebya nazvat'
Il' zvukom pereletnym?

Vot ya v trave vysokoj leg
I slyshu krik povtornyj,
Letit on, - blizok i dalek, -
Trevozha vozduh gornyj.

Tverdish' ty dolam o vesne,
O solnce i rasten'yah,
No povest' ty prinosish' mne
O prizrachnyh mgnoven'yah.

Privet! Ty nam laskaesh' sluh
Vesnoyu ne sluchajno.
Ne ptica, a nezrimyj duh,
Brodyachij golos, tajna.

Vse tot zhe, chto menya plenyal
V dalekom detstve, v shkole,
I vglyadyvat'sya zastavlyal
V kusty, derev'ya, pole.

YA za toboj v lesu brodil,
I, golos pereletnyj,
Ty mne nadezhdoj sladkoj byl,
Prekrasnoj i besplotnoj.

I ya lyublyu tebe vnimat',
Sokryt travoj gustoyu,
Poka ne ozhivet opyat'
To vremya zolotoe.

I mir, gde obitaesh' ty,
Mne kazhetsya, o ptica,
CHudesnoyu stranoj mechty,
Gde serdcu sladko bit'sya.

Perevod G. Ivanova

KUKUSHKA

YA slyshu izdali skvoz' son
Tebya, moj davnij drug.
Ty - ptica ili nezhnyj ston,
Bluzhdayushchij vokrug?

Lozhus' v travu, na grud' zemli,
I tvoj dvukratnyj zov
Zvuchit tak blizko i vdali,
Kochuet mezh holmov.

Privet lyubimice vesny!
Do nyneshnego dnya
Ty - zvonkij golos tishiny,
Zagadka dlya menya.

Tebya ya slushal s detskih let
I dumal: gde zhe ty?
YA za holmom iskal tvoj sled,
Obsharival kusty.

Tebya iskal ya vnov' i vnov'
V lesah, sredi polej.
No ty, kak schast'e, kak lyubov',
Vse dal'she i milej.

YA i sejchas lyublyu byvat'
V tvoem lesu vesnoj,
I vremya yunosti opyat'
Vstaet peredo mnoj.

O ptica-tajna! Mir vokrug,
V kotorom my zhivem,
Viden'em kazhetsya mne vdrug.
On - tvoj volshebnyj dom.

Perevod S. Marshaka

ZHELTYE NARCISSY

Pechal'nym reyal ya tumanom
Sredi dolin i gor sedyh,
Kak vdrug ochnulsya pered stanom,
Tolpoj narcissov zolotyh:
SHatal i gnul ih veterok,
I kazhdyj trepetal cvetok.

Beschislenny v svoem mercan'e,
Kak zvezdy v mlechnosti nochnoj,
Oni vilis' po ochertan'yu
Izluchiny beregovoj -
Sto soten ohvatil na glaz
Pustivshihsya v veselyj plyas.

Plyasala i volna; rezvee,
Odnako, byl cvetov zador,
Tosku poeta vmig razveyal
Ih ozhivlennyj razgovor,
No serdcu bylo nevdogad,
Kakoj mne v nih otkrylsya klad.

Ved' nyne v sladkij chas pokoya
Il' dumy odinokij chas
Vdrug ozaryat oni vesnoyu,
Pred okom myslennym yavyas',
I serdcem ya plyasat' gotov,
Likuya radost'yu cvetov.

Perevod I. Lihacheva

x x x

Ohvachennyj vostorgom, svoj poryv
YA toropilsya razdelit' - no ty
Spala sredi mogil'noj nemoty,
Privychnoj skorb'yu radost' ugasiv.

Lyubov' moya, vo mne tvoj obraz zhiv!
No kak ya mog zabyt' tebya? CH'ya vlast'
Hotya b na mig pozvolila mne past',
Svoim siyan'em lzhivym oslepiv

Glaza, oplakavshie tvoj uhod?!
Kak prevozmoch' mne bol' moyu, moj styd?
Hrani zhe, serdce, sredi vseh nevzgod

Almaz, chto v glubine tvoej sokryt.
Uvy, ni etot, ni gryadushchij god
Tot lik nebesnyj mne ne vozvratit.

Perevod I. Melameda

x x x

O Sumrak, knyaz' odnoj godiny sonnoj!
Priyatnej nochi, chej udel - chernit',
Ty lish' predmetov grani hochesh' skryt'
Ot zreniya. O vlastelin iskonnyj!
Mercali tak zhe vody, stlalis' sklony
Dlya vzora britta, chto glavu sklonit'
Pod volch'ej shkuroj shel i opochit'
Na krugah skal il' skvoz' pokrov zelenyj
Glyadel, poka ne zasypal. Emu
Byl tot zhe, chto i nam, prostor otkryt,
Tvoya, o vlastelin tenej, kartina.
My zrim zaliv i moshchnyh skal kajmu,
Nad glad'yu zvezdy - dreven etot vid,
Kak neba i zemli pervoprichina.

Perevod A. Parina

GLYADYA NA OSTROVOK CVETUSHCHIH PODSNEZHNIKOV V BURYU

Kogda nadezhd razveetsya pokrov
I ruhnet Gordost' voinom ustalym,
Togda velich'e perehodit k malym:
V splochen'e bratskom robost' poborov,
Oni vstrechayut buri groznyj rev, -
Tak hrupkie podsnezhniki pod shkvalom
Stoyat, protivyas' vihryam odichalym,
V pomyatyh shlemah belyh lepestkov.
Vzglyani na doblestnyh - i udostoj
Sravnen'em ih bessmertnye znamena.
Tak makedonskaya falanga v boj
Stenoyu shla - i tak vo vremya ono
Geroi, obrechennye Sud'boj,
Pod Fivami stoyali nepreklonno.

Perevod G. Kruzhkova

DALEKOMU DRUGU

O, ne molchi! Ili lyubov' - cvetok?
I holod otdalen'ya moego
Ubil poslednij slabyj lepestok
Prekrasnogo cveteniya ego?

YA, slovno strannik, nishch i odinok.
Prervi svoj son, kak zloe koldovstvo!
Pover', chto schast'ya tvoego zalog
Lish' v ispolnen'i dolga svoego.

Otkliknis' zhe! Pust' serdce-sirota
Pechal'nej opustevshego gnezda,
Zasypannogo snegom sred' nagih

I zyabnushchih shipovnika vetvej, -
No tysyach'yu priznanij dorogih
Somnen'ya nesterpimye razvej!

Perevod I. Melameda

Kommentarii

V kommentariyah ispol'zovany sobstvennye primechaniya Vordsvorta,
napisannye im v poslednie gody zhizni, opublikovannye v izdanii 1857 g. i
vosproizvedennye v izdanii: The Complete Poetical Works of William
Wordsworth. With an Introduction by John Morley. London, New York, 1891.

FROM "LYRICAL BALLADS" (1798)
IZ SBORNIKA "LIRICHESKIE BALLADY" (1798)

Sbornik "Liricheskie ballady" vyshel v Bristole v sentyabre 1798 g.
anonimno. My vpervye publikuem vse proizvedeniya Vordsvorta, voshedshie v nego.
Nekotorye iz stihotvorenij v posleduyushchih izdaniyah podverglis' sushchestvennoj
pererabotke, no my privodim ih v okonchatel'noj avtorskoj redakcii, za
isklyucheniem stihotvorenij "Stroki, ostavlennye na kamne v razvetvlenii
tisovogo dereva...", "Strannica", "Sajmon Li" i "Istoriya dlya otcov". Pomimo
ballad i stihotvorenij Vordsvorta v sbornik voshli sleduyushchie proizvedeniya
Kol'ridzha: "Skazanie o Starom Morehode" (The Rime of the Ancyent Mariners),
"Rasskaz priemnoj materi" (The Foster-Mother Tale), "Osuzhdennyj" (The
Convict) i "Solovej" (The Nightingale).

LINES LEFT IN A SEAT UPON A YEW-TREE WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF ESTHWAITE,
ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE, YET COMMANDING A BEAUTIFUL PROSPECT

STROKI, OSTAVLENNYE NA KAMNE V RAZVETVLENII TISOVOGO DEREVA, STOYASHCHEGO
NEPODALEKU OT OZERA ISTU|JD V UEDINENNOJ, NO ZHIVOPISNOJ CHASTI POBEREZHXYA

Stihotvorenie zaversheno v 1795 g. Po vospominaniyam Vordsvorta 1840-h
godov, "napisano chastichno v shkole v Hokshede. Derevo teper' ischezlo, a
uchastok obshchinnoj zemli, na kotorom ono stoyalo, uzhe davno ogorozhen, tak chto
doroga utratila bol'shuyu chast' svoej privlekatel'nosti. |to bylo lyubimoe
mesto moih vechernih progulok v poslednie gody ucheby v shkole. CHelovek, ch'i
privychki i harakter zdes' opisany, byl dzhentl'menom, zhivshim po sosedstvu,
talantlivym uchenym, poluchivshim obrazovanie v odnom iz nashih universitetov i
vernuvshimsya zhit' v uedinenii v svoem pomest'e. On umer v srednem vozraste
holostym. Privlechennyj krasotoj vida, on postroil domik sredi skal
poluostrova, ryadom s kotorym stoit parom. Domik potom pereshel v
sobstvennost' mistera Kervina. |tot vid uzhe davno vydelen misterom Uestom v
ego "Putevoditele" kak gordost' ozer i teper' izvesten pod nazvaniem
"Ostanovka"". |tot kommentarij Vordsvorta pokazyvaet, naskol'ko poet dorozhil
kazhdoj detal'yu, opisyvaya lyubimyj kraj. Nachalo XIX v. bylo vremenem, kogda -
vo mnogom blagodarya romanticheskoj poezii - esteticheskoe vospriyatie pejzazha i
puteshestviya po prekrasnym ugolkam prirody dostatochno shiroko
rasprostranilis', kogda stali poyavlyat'sya pervye putevoditeli, v tom chisle po
Ozernomu krayu. V 1810 g. Vordsvort opublikoval "Opisanie vidov ozer na
severe Anglii" (Description of the Scenery of the Lakes in the North of
England) kak predislovie k knige Dzhozefa Uilkinsona "Izbrannye vidy
Kamberlenda, Vestmorlenda i Lankashira". V 1835 g. v rasshirennom vide eto
sochinenie bylo opublikovano pod nazvaniem "Putevoditel' po Ozernomu krayu na
severe Anglii" (A Guide through the District of the Lakes in the North of
England) i pereizdavalos' v 1842, 1843 i 1846 gg.

THE FEMALE VAGRANT
STRANNICA

Istoriyu strannicy Vordsvort uslyshal vo vremya puteshestviya na o-v Uajt i
po doline Sejlsberi v 1793 g. U ostrova, vspominal on, stoyala na rejde
anglijskaya eskadra, gotovaya k nachalu voennyh dejstvij protiv Francii, chto
sulilo dlya Anglii zatyazhnuyu vojnu, v kotoroj bolee vsego budut stradat', kak
i vsegda, bednyaki. Trevozhnoe nastroenie poeta, vpechatlenie, proizvedennoe na
nego, vospominanie o nedavnej vojne s amerikanskimi koloniyami i uslyshannaya
istoriya neschastnoj zhenshchiny dali tolchok k sozdaniyu etoj poemy. Po povodu
rasskaza strannicy Vordsvort pisal: "Vo vsem, chto kasaetsya ee stradanij kak
zheny moryaka v Amerike i ee sostoyaniya vo vremya puteshestviya domoj, ya tochno
sledoval rasskazu, peredannomu mne ee podrugoj, kotoraya proshla cherez te zhe
ispytaniya i perezhila te zhe utraty".
"Strannica" byla zadumana kak chast' bol'shoj poemy pod nazvaniem Guilt
and Sorrow, or Incidents upon Salisbury Plain. Poema tak ponravilas'
Kol'ridzhu, chto on prosil Vordsvorta vklyuchit' ee v "Liricheskie ballady"
celikom, no Vordsvort schital istoriyu vtorogo dejstvuyushchego lica, otstavnogo
soldata, sovershivshego prestuplenie (ubijstvo putnika) i skryvayushchegosya ot
pravosudiya, eshche nedostatochno otdelannoj i opublikoval rasskaz strannicy kak
samostoyatel'noe proizvedenie. Celikom poema "Vina i skorb'" uvidela svet
lish' v 1842 g.

GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL. A True Story
GUDI BLEJK I GARRI DZHILL. Pravdivaya istoriya

Napisano v Al'foksdene v 1798 g. Syuzhet, po slovam Vordsvorta,
zaimstvovan iz "Zoonomii" d-ra Darvina.
|razm Darvin (Darwin, Erasmus, 1731-1802) - anglijskij uchenyj i poet,
ded CHarlza Darvina, poeticheskuyu izvestnost' emu prinesla poema Botanic
Garden (1792).
"Zoonomia" (1794-1796) - glavnyj nauchnyj trud |. Darvina po problemam
biologii, razmnozheniya i evolyucii v mire rastenij i zhivotnyh.
V XIX v. etu balladu perevodil D. E. Min (1818-1885), odin iz luchshih
perevodchikov s anglijskogo. Ego perevod byl opublikovan v al'manahe "Panteon
Literatury" za 1888 g., | 1.

LINES WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY HOUSE AND SENT BY MY LITTLE BOY
TO THE PERSON TO WHOM THEY WERE ADDRESSED
STIHI, NAPISANNYE NEPODALEKU OT DOMA I PEREDANNYE MOIM MALXCHIKOM TOJ,
K KOMU OBRASHCHENY
Stihotvorenie napisano pered domom, kotoryj snimali Vordsvorty v

Al'foksdene v 1798 g., i adresovano sestre poeta Doroti. Mal'chik, peredavshij
stihi, - ih podopechnyj, syn Bejzila Montepo.

SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN, WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED
SAJMON LI

Stihotvorenie napisano v Al'foksdene v 1798 g. Geroj ego sluzhil
ohotnikom u skvajrov Al'foksdena. Ego dom, vspominal Vordsvort, stoyal na
obshchinnoj zemle nepodaleku ot vhoda v usadebnyj park. "Izlishne dobavlyat', -
otmechal on, - chto vse rasskazannoe o nem v stihotvorenii sootvetstvuet
dejstvitel'nosti, i sejchas, po proshestvii 45 let, obraz starika tak zhivo
stoit u menya pered glazami, kak budto ya videl ego vchera".
Cardigan - grafstvo v central'nom Uel'se.

ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS
ISTORIYA DLYA OTCOV

Stihotvorenie napisano v Al'foksdene v 1798 g. Pyatiletnij mal'chik,
geroj stihotvoreniya, - podopechnyj Vordsvortov, syn Bejzila Montepo.

WE ARE SEVEN
NAS SEMERO

Ballada napisana v Al'foksdene. Devochku, geroinyu stihotvoreniya,
Vordsvort vstretil v 1793 g. vozle zamka Gucridzh vo vremya puteshestviya,
kogda, posetiv o-v Uajt i dolinu Sejlsberi, on prodolzhil put' vverh po
techeniyu reki Uaj. V 1841 g. poet vnov' posetil zamok Gudridzh i vspomnil o
devochke, no otyskat' vyrosshuyu geroinyu uzhe ne smog, tak kak dazhe ne sprosil
ee imeni.
Convoy - morskoj port v severnom Uel'se.
|ta ballada Vordsvorta vyzvala naibol'shij interes russkih perevodchikov
XIX v. Perevod I. Kozlova vpervye opublikovan v kn.: Sobranie sochinenij
Ivana Kozlova. SPb., 1833. Perevod E. Korsha vpervye opublikovan v zhurnale
"Biblioteka dlya chteniya" za 1837 g., t. 24. E. Korsh yavlyaetsya takzhe avtorom
odnoj iz pervyh v Rossii statej o Vordsvorte: "Feliciya Gimens i Villiam
Vordsvort", opublikovannoj v zhurnale "Biblioteka dlya chteniya", 1835, t. 12,
za podpis'yu E. K.

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING
STROKI, NAPISANNYE RANNEYU VESNOJ

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1798 g. v Al'foksdene, po vospominaniyam poeta,
v odnom iz ego lyubimyh ugolkov na beregu ruch'ya, bezhavshego s vysokoj skaly i
obryvavshegosya vodopadom v nebol'shoe ozerco.

THE THORN
TPRN

Ballada napisana v Al'foksdene v 1798 g. Vordsvort pozzhe vspominal, chto
odnazhdy na gore Kvontok v nenastnyj den' ego porazil svoim vidom tern,
kotorogo on ne zamechal v obychnuyu pogodu. Togda emu zahotelos' pridumat'
takoj syuzhet, kotoryj sohranil by etot tern v pamyati chitatelya. Syuzhet ballady
vosproizvodit odnu iz tradicionnyh fol'klornyh tem, ves'ma populyarnyh i v
sentimental'noj poezii konca XVIII v.: devushka broshena vozlyublennym v
ozhidanii rebenka. V romanticheskoj obrabotke Vordsvorta etot syuzhet zazvuchal
osobenno pronzitel'no blagodarya sile chuvstv srazhennoj gorem geroini i tomu,
chto vsya priroda oberegaet ee gore kak svyatynyu.

THE LAST OF THE FLOCK
POSLEDNIJ IZ STADA

Ballada napisana v Al'foksdene v 1798 g., a sluchaj, o kotorom ona
rasskazyvaet, kak utochnil sam poet, proizoshel v sosednej derevne Holford.
Perevod YU. Danielya (pod psevdonimom YU. Petrov) vpervye opublikovan v
1975 g.

THE MAD MOTHER
BEZUMNAYA MATX

Ballada napisana v Al'foksdene v 1798 g. Istoriya geroini byla
rasskazana Vordsvortu "odnoj damoj iz Bristolya, kotoraya sama videla eto
bednoe sozdanie". Anglijskie issledovateli vidyat shodstvo etoj ballady s
nekotorymi narodnymi balladami iz izvestnogo sobraniya episkopa Persi
Reliques of Old English Poetry (1765), osobenno s balladoj Lady Ann
Bothwell's Lament.

THE IDIOT BOY
SLABOUMNYJ MALXCHIK

Ballada napisana v 1798 g. Vordsvort prokommentiroval ee tak:
"Poslednyaya strofa The Cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo, And the sun did shine
so cold posluzhila osnovoj vsego sochineniya. |ti slova byli peredany mne moim
dobrym drugom Tomasom Pulom; s teh por ya slyhal pohozhie rasskazy o drugih
slaboumnyh. Pozvolyu sebe dobavit', chto eto dlinnoe stihotvorenie bylo
sochineno v roshchah Al'foksdena pochti na odnom dyhanii; mne kazhetsya, ni slova
ne bylo izmeneno, tol'ko opushchena odna strofa. Upominayu ob etom s
blagodarnost'yu za te schastlivye minuty, potomu chto, voistinu, ni odno
stihotvorenie ya ne sochinyal s takoj radost'yu".
Perevod A. Karel'skogo vpervye opublikovan v 1992 g. Privodim otryvok
iz razmyshlenij perevodchika, kasayushchihsya soderzhaniya ballady: "Prochitav v svoe
vremya etu balladu, ya porazilsya bezuprechnoj chistote nravstvennogo chuvstva, ee
pronizyvayushchego, i uzhasnulsya krichashchemu nesootvetstviyu mezhdu tekstom i ego
interpretaciyami. Mne govoryat, chto tut pokazan idiotizm derevenskoj zhizni, a
ya u Vordsvorta vizhu ee organicheskuyu dobrotu i dostoinstvo; odni mne govoryat,
chto Dzhonni bestolkov i pridurkovat, a drugie, naprotiv, uveryayut, chto poet
hotel pokazat' v nem nekuyu "vysshuyu mudrost'"; no ya ne vizhu ni togo, ni
drugogo. "Bestolkov" i "pridurkovat" - tak my mozhem skazat' o normal'nom
_neumnom_, no ne ob umstvenno _bol'nom_ cheloveke, a Vordsvort pokazyvaet
mal'chika imenno bol'nogo, i po otnosheniyu k nemu takie epitety nenuzhno
zhestoki. No i nikakoj vysshej mudrosti poet svoemu geroyu nigde ne pripisyvaet
- on lish' s sostradatel'noj chutkost'yu dopuskaet vozmozhnost' togo, chto u
etogo bednogo sozdaniya mozhet byt' svoj osobyj mir, svoe voobrazhenie, svoe
chuvstvo radosti, doblesti, krasoty. I to, kak delikatno poet vvodit etu temu
(v opisanii nochnyh stranstvij Dzhonni), s kakim dobrym lukavstvom on beret
otvetstvennost' za vse eti fantazii sobstvenno na sebya, podavaya ih kak vsego
lish' svoi predpolozheniya, - vse eto stavit pod somnenie dazhe i preslovutuyu
prostotu vordsvortovskogo stilya: na samom-to dele on yavlyaet nam vysshij
pilotazh poeticheskogo artistizma. Pisat' prosto i _horosho_ - zadacha
poslozhnej, chem pisat' temno i vyalo: vot eshche i poeticheskij, a ne tol'ko
eticheskij urok Vordsvorta".

LINES WRITTEN NEAR RICHMOND UPON THE THAMES, AT EVENING
STIHI, NAPISANNYE VECHEROM U TEMZY VBLIZI RICHMONDA

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1789 g.; strofy III, IV i V posvyashcheny Uil'yamu
Kollinzu. Vposledstvii Vordsvort razdelil ego po sovetu Kol'ridzha na dva
stihotvoreniya: Lines Written while Sailing in a Boat at Evening (pervye tri
strofy) i Remembrance on Collins, Composed upon the Thames near Richmond
(vtorye tri strofy).
Uil'yam Kollinz (Collins, William, 1721-1759) schitaetsya odnim iz samyh
odarennyh poetov XVIII v., chej tvorcheskij put' oborvalsya prezhdevremenno
vsledstvie tyazheloj bolezni. Izvesten kak avtor "Persidskih eklog" (1742) i
sbornika "Ody" (1746), vyzvavshego voshishchenie Dzhejmsa Tomsona (1700-1748),
znamenitogo avtora poemy "Vremena goda" (1726-1730), s kotorym Kollinz
podderzhival druzheskie otnosheniya vplot' do ego smerti.
Who murmuring here a later ditty... - Rech' idet ob elegii Kollinza na
smert' Tomsona, napisannoj v 1749 g. i schitayushchejsya odnim iz liricheskih
shedevrov poezii XVIII v. Tomson zhil poslednie gody v Richmonde, gde i byl
pohoronen, o pohoronah v Richmonde idet rech' v ode Kollinza.

EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY; THE TABLES TURNED, AN EVENING SCENE ON THE
SAME SUBJECT
UVESHCHEVANXE I OTVET; VSE NAOBOROT.
Vechernyaya scena, posvyashchennaya toj zhe teme

|ti stihotvoreniya, posvyashchennye odnoj teme, napisany v 1798 g. v
Al'foksdene. Oni vyrazhayut vazhnuyu dlya romantikov Ozernoj shkoly ideyu cennosti
neposredstvennogo zhiznennogo vpechatleniya ili perezhivaniya, prioriteta ego
pered knizhnoj mudrost'yu. Vordsvort upomyanul v kommentarii, chto eti
stihotvoreniya byli osobenno lyubimy kvakerami - posledovatelyami odnoj iz
protestantskih misticheskih sekt, voznikshej v Anglii vo vtoroj polovine XVII
v., - propovedovavshimi princip, chto "istina zaklyuchaetsya ne v knigah, a v
serdcah lyudej".

OLD MAN TRAVELLING. ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY. A Sketch
STRANSTVUYUSHCHIJ STARIK. POKOJ I UMIRANIE. Zarisovka

Stihotvorenie napisano v Al'foksdene v 1798 g.

THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN
ZHALOBA POKINUTOJ INDIANKI

Ballada napisana v Al'foksdene v 1798 g. V osnove syuzheta - rasskaz o
zhizni indejcev iz "Puteshestvij" Hirna.
Semyuel' Hirn (Hearne, Samuel, 1745-1792) - anglijskij puteshestvennik,
sostoyal na sluzhbe u kompanii "Gudzonov zaliv", issledoval berega Gudzonova
zaliva i sovershil neskol'ko puteshestvij na severo-zapad v poiskah medi.
Polnoe nazvanie ego knigi Journey from Prince of Wales Fort in Hudson Bay to
the North Ocean (1795).

LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS
OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. JULY 13, 1798
STROKI, NAPISANNYE NA RASSTOYANII NESKOLXKIH MILX OT TINTERNSKOGO ABBATSTVA
PRI POVTORNOM PUTESHESTVII NA BEREGA REKI UAJ

"Ni odno moe stihotvorenie ne bylo napisano pri obstoyatel'stvah,
kotorye mne bylo by priyatnee vspominat', chem eto. YA nachal sochinyat' ego,
pokinuv Tintern i perepravivshis' cherez Uaj, i zakonchil, kak raz podhodya
vecherom k Bristolyu posle chetyreh- ili pyatidnevnoj progulki s moej sestroj.
Ni strochki iz nego ne bylo izmeneno i ni strochki ne zapisano do priezda v
Bristol'. Ono pochti srazu zhe bylo opublikovano v malen'kom sbornike, o
kotorom mnogoe uzhe govorilos' v etih zametkah" (t. e. "Liricheskih balladah".
- Prim. Vordsvorta).
Tinternskoe abbatstvo raspolozheno v Monmutshire na reke Uaj. Osnovano
Uolterom de Klerom v 1131 g. dlya monahov Cisternianskogo ordena. Zakryto vo
vremya cerkovnoj reformy pri Genrihe VIII v pervoj polovine XVI v. Schitaetsya
odnoj iz samyh zhivopisnyh i znamenityh cerkovnyh ruin v Anglii.

FROM "LYRICAL BALLADS, AND OTHER POEMS" (1800)
IZ "LIRICHESKIH BALLAD I DRUGIH STIHOTVORENIJ" (1800)

|tot sbornik vyshel s familiej Vordsvorta na titule. On byl dvuhtomnym;
v pervyj tom voshli prinadlezhavshie emu proizvedeniya iz pervogo sbornika s
novym, bol'shim predisloviem poeta; vo vtoroj tom - novye stihotvoreniya.

THERE WAS A BOY
MALXCHIK

Stihotvorenie napisano v Germanii v 1799 g., kogda u Vordsvorta
skladyvalsya zamysel poemy "Prelyudiya", posvyashchennoj ego stanovleniyu kak poeta,
i predstavlyaet soboj kak by rannij nabrosok k nej. Sam Vordsvort zametil:
"|to otryvok iz poemy o moem poeticheskom obrazovanii". Poet vspominal takzhe,
chto iskusstvo svistet' na pal'cah bylo vo vremena ego detstva izvestno
kazhdomu shkol'niku Ozernogo kraya, hotya ne vsem davalos' odinakovo horosho.

"STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE I KNOWN...", "SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN
WAYS...", "I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN...", "A SLUMBER DID MY
SPIRIT SEAL..."
"KAKIE TAJNY ZNAET STRASTX...", "SREDI NEHOZHENYH DOROG...", "K CHUZHIM,
V DALEKIE KRAYA...", "ZABYVSHISX, DUMAL YA VO SNE..."

|ti stihotvoreniya, napisannye v 1799 g. v Germanii, v Goslare, obrazuyut
vmeste so stihotvoreniem "Three years she grew in sun and shower..." tak
nazyvaemyj cikl "Lyusi". Vordsvort nikogda ne kommentiroval etih
stihotvorenij, no schitaetsya, chto oni posvyashcheny Peggi Hatchinson, rano
umershej.
Beside the spring of Dove... - Imeetsya v vidu nazvanie doma, v kotorom
vpervye poselilsya Vordsvort v Grasmire, - Dove Cottage. Tret'e
stihotvorenie, "I travelled among unknown men...", bylo opublikovano pozzhe,
v sbornike 1807 g., no zdes' my schitaem umestnym otstupit' ot principa
pervoj publikacii radi sohraneniya celostnosti liricheskogo cikla.
S. YA. Marshak perevel pervoe, vtoroe, tret'e i pyatoe stihotvoreniya
cikla; tret'e stihotvorenie, "K chuzhim, v dalekie kraya...", vpervye bylo
opublikovano v zhurnale "Krasnoarmeec", 1943, N^o 11, ostal'nye - v knige
"Anglijskie ballady i pesni" (M., 1944). CHetvertoe i dostatochno vazhnoe v
idejnom plane stihotvorenie:

Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said: "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A Lady of my own.

"Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The Girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.

"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn,
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

"The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the Storm
Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form
By silent sympathy.

"The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.

And vital seelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such Thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake - The work was done
How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died and left to me
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.

V zhurnale "Vsemirnaya illyustraciya" za 1875 g. (t. 14, | 6, s. 107), v
stat'e, posvyashchennoj hudozhestvennoj vystavke v Londonskoj korolevskoj
akademii, pomeshchen anonimnyj vol'nyj perevod chasti etogo stihotvoreniya. Rech'
idet o tom, chto zhenskie skul'ptury, predstavlennye na vystavke, vypolneny
tehnichno, no sami modeli nedostojny uvekovecheniya v proizvedenii iskusstva. O
nih "priroda ne skazala by togo, chto govorit ustami Uorsuorta v ego
prelestnom stihotvorenii "Lyusi"".

V dni yunosti svetloj v tishi bezmyatezhnoj polej
Zakonom, primerom ya budu dlya miloj moej.
Kak lan' molodaya, veselosti detskoj polna,
Ne znaya zaboty, zdes' budet rezvit'sya ona.
Ej dorogi budut i zvezdy v lazuri nochnoj,
I kolos, chto klonitsya v nive zelenoj volnoj.
Cvety na polyanah ej budut rodnye druz'ya,
I pesneyu vnyatnoj ej stanet zhurchan'e ruch'ya.

Ni v burnyh poryvah, ni v sladkoj poldnevnoj tishi
Moj golos ne budet zagadkoj dlya yunoj dushi;
I chuvstvo prekrasnogo, v chistyh siyaya chertah,
Zvezdoyu zableshchet v lazurnyh, kak nebo, glazah
I, plamenem vechnym pylaya v grudi molodoj,
Ukrasit chelo ej vysokoj, izyashchnoj krasoj,
I schastliva budet izbrannica Lyusi moya,
Zatem, chto vezde nerazluchnoyu s nej budu ya.

LUCY GRAY, OR SOLITUDE
LYUSI GREJ

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1799 g. v Goslare, v Germanii. V osnove ego -
proisshestvie, rasskazannoe sestroj poeta Doroti: v Jorkshire, nedaleko ot
Galifaksa, malen'kaya devochka poteryalas' zimoj v buryu, roditeli nashli ee
sledy, kotorye veli k plotine u kanala i obryvalis'. Telo ee bylo pozzhe
najdeno v kanale. Vordsvort v kommentariyah obrashchal vnimanie chitatelya na to,
chto ego traktovka etogo sluchaya, ego popytka oduhotvorit' obraz devochki i
odet' budnichnuyu tragediyu pokrovom voobrazheniya otlichayutsya ot suhoj
faktograficheskoj (matter of fact) manery Krabba, neredko obrashchavshegosya k
podobnym syuzhetam.

THE BROTHERS
BRATXYA

Poema byla napisana v 1800 g. v Grasmire. Vordsvort vspominal: "Poema
byla sochinena v roshche na severo-vostochnom beregu Grasmirskogo ozera. |ta roshcha
byla potom pochti polnost'yu unichtozhena iz-za dorogi, prolozhennoj pryamo u
vody. Nemnogie sohranivshiesya derev'ya byli ostavleny po moemu nastoyaniyu. V
osnovu poemy leg sluchaj, kotoryj mne rasskazali v |nnerdejle: pastuh zasnul
na vershine skaly pod nazvaniem Stolp i pogib, kak zdes' opisano, a posoh ego
ostalsya viset' poseredine skaly".
Perevod vypolnen M. Frolovskim (1895-1943) v konce 1910-h godov.
Pechataetsya po rukopisi, hranyashchejsya v RGALI.

MICHAEL. A Pastoral Poem
MAJKL. Pastusheskaya poema

Poema napisana v Grasmire v 1800 g. Poet vspominal, chto harakter i
obstoyatel'stva zhizni Lyuka byli spisany s molodogo cheloveka, sem'e kotorogo
ran'she prinadlezhal tot dom v Taun-|nd, v kotorom poselilis' Vordsvorty.
Nazvanie zhe "Vechernyaya zvezda" poluchil drugoj dom, raspolozhennyj severnee v
toj zhe doline. Nedostroennyj zagon dlya ovec, igrayushchij vazhnuyu rol' v syuzhete
poemy, takzhe sushchestvoval v real'nosti, sohranilis' vospominaniya znakomogo
Vordsvorta doktora Arnol'da o tom, chto poet vodil ego smotret' etot zagon.

TO JOANNA
SKALA DZHOANNY

Stihotvorenie napisano v Grasmire v 1800 g., ono obrashcheno k Dzhoanne
Hatchinson, mladshej sestre Meri Hatchinson, budushchej zheny poeta, i otnositsya k
ciklu "Stihotvorenij o nazvaniyah mest" (Poems of the Naming of Places).
Ob�yasnyaya zamysel etogo cikla, Vordsvort pisal: "U lyudej, zhivushchih v derevne i
privyazannyh k sel'skim veshcham, mnogie mesta ostayutsya bez nazvanij... no tam
ne mogli ne sluchat'sya neznachitel'nye proisshestviya, ne perezhivat'sya raznye
chuvstva, pridayushchie etim mestam chastnyj i osobyj interes. ZHelaya zapomnit'
podobnye sobytiya, sohranit' perezhivaniya podobnyh chuvstv, avtor i ego druz'ya
stali davat' nazvaniya razlichnym mestam, a potom o nih byli napisany
sleduyushchie stihotvoreniya".
I, like a Runic Priest... - V Kamberlende i Vestmorlende, zametil
Vordsvort, est' neskol'ko nadpisej na mestnyh skalah, kotorye po proshestvii
dlitel'nogo vremeni i vsledstvie grubosti raboty byli oshibochno prinyaty za
runicheskie; na samom dele oni, nesomnenno, rimskie.
Above the Rotha, by the forest-side... - Rota, reka, protekayushchaya cherez
ozera Grasmir i Rajdejl.

SONG FOR THE WANDERING JEW
AGASFER

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1800 g. Agasfer ili Vechnyj zhid - personazh
hristianskoj legendy pozdnego zapadnoevropejskogo srednevekov'ya. Po legende,
Agasfer vo vremya krestnogo puti Hrista na Golgofu otkazal emu v kratkom
otdyhe, za chto byl sam obrechen do skonchaniya vremen bezostanovochno skitat'sya.
Perevod S. YA. Marshaka vpervye opublikovan v zhurnale "Krasnaya nov'" v 1941
g., | 4.

FROM "POEMS" (1807)
IZ SBORNIKA "STIHOTVORENIYA" (1807)

|tot dvuhtomnik soderzhal mnogie liricheskie shedevry Vordsvorta i teper'
schitaetsya luchshim liricheskim sbornikom svoego desyatiletiya, odnako po vyhode
on poluchil pochti edinodushnye otricatel'nye otzyvy kritiki. V nem vpervye
poyavilis' sonety (pravda, nekotorye politicheskie sonety uzhe byli
opublikovany v gazetah). Pozzhe Vordsvort sgruppiroval svoi politicheskie
sonety v cikl "Stihi, posvyashchennye nacional'noj nezavisimosti i svobode", a
liricheskie - v cikl "Razroznennye sonety".

Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty
Stihi, posvyashchennye nacional'noj nezavisimosti i svobode

Sonety etogo cikla sozdavalis' v period s 1802 po 1816 g., pozdnee oni
byli podeleny na dve chasti, i v pervuyu voshli sonety 1802-1806 gg.,
opublikovannye v sbornike 1807 g. V svoih politicheskih sonetah Vordsvort
bral za obrazec grazhdanskie sonety Mil'tona.

"I GRIEVED FOR BUONAPARTE, WITH A VAIN..."
"S PECHALXYU SMUTNOJ DUMAL YA NE RAZ..."

Sonet napisan 21 maya 1802 g., vpervye opublikovan v gazete "Morning
Post" v sentyabre 1802 g.

"CALAIS, AUGUST 15, 1802"
"KAKIH TORZHESTV SVIDETELEM YA STAL..."

Sonet napisan v Kale vo vremya poezdki Vordsvorta vo Franciyu dlya
svidaniya s Annet Vallon i svoej docher'yu v avguste 1802 g., vpervye
opublikovan v gazete "Morning Post" v fevrale 1803 g.
Buonaparte's natal day - Napoleon rodilsya 15 avgusta 1769 g., ego den'
rozhden'ya otmechalsya posle ego prihoda k vlasti po vsej strane.
Consul for life - Napoleon stal pervym konsulom v 1799 g.

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC
NA LIKVIDACIYU VENECIANSKOJ RESPUBLIKI, 1802 g.

Sonet napisan v 1802 g., vpervye opublikovan v sbornike 1807 g. Veneciya
byla gorodom-respublikoj vo glave s dozhem vplot' do 1797 g., kogda ee
okkupirovala napoleonovskaya armiya.
Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee... - Venecianskaya respublika
dolgoe vremya byla glavnym sredizemnomorskim centrom torgovli s Vostokom.
She must espouse the everlasting Sea... - namek na ezhegodnyj prazdnik
"brakosochetaniya" dozha Venecii s Adriaticheskim morem.

TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE
TUSSENU LUVERTYURU

Sonet napisan v 1802 g., vpervye opublikovan v sbornike 1807 g.
Fransua Tessen Luvertyur (1743-1803) - predvoditel' vosstaniya
negrov-rabov na Gaiti, v 1801 g. stal pravitelem etogo ostrova, v 1802 g.
tuda vtorglis' vojska Napoleona i on popal v plen. Byl privezen v Parizh, gde
i umer v zaklyuchenii. Podobno sonetu Bajrona k SHil'onu (1816), etot sonet
razvivaet romanticheskuyu temu svobody chelovecheskogo duha, kotoruyu ne mogut
skovat' steny temnicy.

SONNET WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802
ANGLIYA, 1802

Sonet napisan po vozvrashchenii iz Francii.

LONDON, 1802
LONDON, 1802

Sonet napisan v Londone po vozvrashchenii iz Francii, vpervye opublikovan
v sbornike 1807 g. i vyrazhaet otnoshenie poeta k real'nosti sovremennoj
social'no-politicheskoj zhizni Anglii. Dzhon Mil'ton predstaet kak vysshij ideal
poeta i grazhdanina. Perevod K. Bal'monta vpervye opublikovan v zhurnale
"Russkaya mysl'", 1893, | 9.

"NUNS FRET NOT AT THEIR CONVENTS NARROW ROOM..."
"MONASHKE MIL SVOJ NISHCHIJ UGOLOK..."

Sonet napisan v 1806 g. i vpervye opublikovan v sbornike 1807 g.
Furness-Fells - poluostrov mezhdu ust'em reki Daddon i zalivom Morkam v
Ozernom krae.

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802
SONET, NAPISANNYJ NA VESTMINSTERSKOM MOSTU 3 SENTYABRYA 1802 GODA

Sonet vpervye opublikovan v sbornike 1807 g. |tot i sleduyushchie sonety
dannogo sbornika pozzhe voshli v cikl Miscellaneous Sonnets.

"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON..."
"NAS MANIT SUETY IZBITYJ PUTX..."

Sonet napisan v 1806 g., opublikovan v 1807 g.
Proteus rising from the sea... - Protej, grecheskoe morskoe bozhestvo,
umel prinimat' oblik zverya, vody i dereva, obladal darom prorochestva.
Old Triton blow his wreathed horn - grecheskoe morskoe bozhestvo, syn
Posejdona, izobrazhalsya s ryb'im hvostom, trezubcem i rakovinoj v rukah.

"IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND FREE..."
"PRELESTNYJ VECHER TIH, CHAS TAJNY NASTUPIL..."

Sonet napisan v avguste 1802 g. v Kale vo vremya progulki po plyazhu s
desyatiletnej Kerolajn, docher'yu poeta ot Annet Vallon.
Thou lies! in Abraham's bosom - ty prebyvaesh' na lone Avraamovom, t. e.
v rayu.

"I AM NOT ONE WHO MUCH OR OFT DELIGHT..."
"PRIZNATXSYA, YA NE OCHENX-TO OHOCH..."

Sonet napisan v 1806 g. i vhodit v cikl iz chetyreh sonetov pod
nazvaniem Personal Talk, pozzhe vhodivshij v cikl Miscellaneous Sonnets.
Forms, with chalk / Painted on rich men's floors... - linii, kotorye
vycherchivalis' melom na polu bal'noj zaly, po kotorym tancuyushchie vypolnyali
slozhnye figury.

""BELOVED VALE!, I SAID, "WHEN I SHALL CON...""
"YA DUMAL: "MILYJ KRAJ! CHREZ MNOGO LET...""

Sonet napisan v 1806 g. i opublikovan v sbornike 1807 g. Rech' idet o
doline Istuej grafstva Kamberlend.

TO SLEEP ("O gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee...")
SON

Sonet napisan v 1806 g., pervyj iz treh sonetov, posvyashchennyh snu.

TO SLEEP ("A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by...")
"ZEMLYA V CVETU I CHISTYJ NEBOSVOD..."

Napisan v 1806 g., vtoroj iz treh sonetov na etu temu.

"WITH SHIPS THE SEA WAS SPRINKLED FAR AND NIGH..."
"VSE MORE SPLOSHX USEYALI SUDA..."

Sonet napisan v 1806 g., vpervye opublikovan v sbornike 1807 g.

TO A BUTTERFLY
K MOTYLXKU

Stihotvorenie napisano v marte 1802 g., po vospominaniyam Vordsvorta, v
sadu ego doma v Taun-|nd v Grasmire i voskreshaet svetlye vospominaniya
detskih igr s sestroj v te gody, kogda eshche byla zhiva ego mat'.

"MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD..."
"ZAJMETSYA SERDCE, CHUTX ZAMECHU..."

Stihotvorenie napisano v Grasmire v 1802 g.

"AMONG ALL LOVELY THINGS MY LOVE HAD BEEN..."
"MOYA LYUBOVX LYUBILA PTIC, ZVEREJ..."

Napisano v Grasmire v 1802 g.

WRITTEN IN MARCH
NAPISANNOE V MARTE

Napisano ekspromtom v 1802 g.

TO A BUTTERFLY
"NAD ZHELTYM NAKLONYASX CVETKOM..."

Stihotvorenie napisano 20 aprelya 1802 g. v sadu doma v Taun-|nd v
Grasmire.

THE GREEN LINNET
ZELENYJ REPOLOV

Napisano v 1803 g.

THE SOLITARY REAPER
ODINOKAYA ZHNICA

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1803 g. vo vremya puteshestviya s Doroti po
SHotlandii i vhodit v cikl Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803.

TO THE CUCKOO
KUKUSHKA

Stihotvorenie napisano v sadu doma v Grasmire v 1804 g. V XIX v. ego
perevodil D. Min.

"SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT..."
"SOZDANXEM ZYBKOJ KRASOTY..."

Stihotvorenie napisano v Grasmire v 1804 g.

"I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD..."
NARCISSY

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1804 g. v Grasmire; v dnevnike Doroti
Vordsvort imeetsya zapis' o progulke, vo vremya kotoroj oni s bratom vyshli na
bereg ozera, ves' zarosshij zheltymi narcissami.

THE SEVEN SISTERS, OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE
ZAMOK BINNORI

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1804 g. v Grasmire, ego syuzhet zaimstvovan u
nemeckoj poetessy Frideriki Bryun (Frederica Brim). Perevod D. Belya vpervye
opublikovan v literaturnom prilozhenii k gazete "Syn otechestva", 1868, | 51.

TO THE SPADE OF A FRIEND.
Composed while We Were Labouring Together in His Pleasure-Ground
LOPATE DRUGA.
Stihi, sochinennye, kogda my vmeste trudilis' v ego sadu

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1804 g. i posvyashcheno drugu Vordsvorta Tomasu
Uilkinsonu, vladel'cu nebol'shogo imeniya na beregu reki |mont, gde on razbil
pejzazhnyj park po primeru poeta SHenstona v ego usad'be Lizaus, shiroko
izvestnoj v konce XVIII v. Uilkinson byl kvakerom i pisal stihi, iz kotoryh
Vordsvorta tronulo odno stihotvorenie, posvyashchennoe ptice, potrevozhennoj
avtorom v to vremya, kak ona vysizhivala ptencov v ego sadu.

ELEGIAC STANZAS, SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEEL CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED
BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT
|LEGICHESKIE STROFY, VNUSHENNYE KARTINOJ S|RA DZHORDZHA BOMONTA, IZOBRAZHAYUSHCHEJ
PILSKIJ ZAMOK VO VREMYA SHTORMA

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1805 g.
Ser Dzhordzh Bomont (1768-1830) - hudozhnik, pisavshij v manere Kloda
Lorrena, pokrovitel' iskusstv; sem'ya Vordsvortov mnogie gody podderzhivala s
nim otnosheniya, gostila v ego pomest'e Koleorton.

A COMPLAINT
SOZHALENIE

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1806 g., v Grasmire. Po zamechaniyu Vordsvorta,
"podskazano izmeneniem v povedenii druga".

FROM "THE EXCURSION" (1814)
UEDINENIE (otryvok iz poemy "PROGULKA") (1814)

Bol'shaya poema "Progulka" sozdavalas' na protyazhenii 1795-1814 gg. Tri ee
glavnyh dejstvuyushchih lica - the Wanderer, the Solitary, the Pastor -
vstrechayutsya avtoru vo vremya progulok, rasskazyvayut o evrej zhizni i o zhizni
sosedej. Otryvok, perevedennyj K. Bal'montom, vzyat iz vtoroj knigi poemy,
"The Solitary", izobrazhayushchej harakter, otchasti spisannyj, po priznaniyu
Vordsvorta, s Roberta Sauti.

FROM "POEMS" (181S)
IZ SBORNIKA "STIHOTVORENIYA" (1815)

A NIGHT-PIECE NOCHX

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1798 g., kak vspominal Vordsvort, ekspromtom,
po doroge iz Nezer-Stoui, gde zhil Kol'ridzh, v Al'foksden.

INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS IN CALLING FORTH AND STRENGTHENING THE
IMAGINATION IN BOYHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH
VLIYANIE PRIRODY NA RAZVITIE VOOBRAZHENIYA V DETSTVE I RANNEJ YUNOSTI

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1799 g. v Germanii kak podgotovitel'nyj
nabrosok k poeme "Prelyudiya". Perevod M. Frolovskogo pechataetsya po rukopisi,
hranyashchejsya v RGALI.

LAODAMIA
LAODAMIYA

Poema napisana v 1814 g. v Rajdal-Maunt. Vordsvort zametil, chto tolchkom
k ee sozdaniyu posluzhil vid derev'ev, kotorye vyrosli i zasohli, napomniv emu
ob antichnom syuzhete: "YA pisal v nadezhde pridat' emu bolee vozvyshennyj ton,
chem tot, chto zvuchal, naskol'ko mne izvestno, u antichnyh avtorov, pisavshih o
nem".
Perevod M. Frolovskogo vypolnen v konce 1910-h godov i pechataetsya po
rukopisi, hranyashchejsya v RGALI.

"I DROPPED MY PEN; AND LISTENED TO THE WIND..."
"YA OTLOZHIL PERO; MNE SHKVALXNYJ VETER PEL..."

|to vtoroj iz sonetov, napisannyh Vordsvortom vo vremya raboty nad
traktatom, posvyashchennym Konvencii v Sintre. Anglijskie vojska pomogali
Portugalii i Ispanii v vojne protiv Napoleona. Konvenciya v Sintre,
podpisannaya 12 avgusta 1808 g., pozvolyala razgromlennoj napoleonovskoj armii
na l'gotnyh usloviyah pokinut' Pirenejskij poluostrov, chto vyzvalo vozmushchenie
Vordsvorta, kak i mnogih ego sovremennikov.

THE FRENCH AND THE SPANISH GUERILLAS
FRANCUZY I ISPANSKIE PARTIZANY

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1810 g. i posvyashcheno teme partizanskoj bor'by
protiv napoleonovskih vojsk.

"WEAK IS THE WILL OF MAN, HIS JUDGEMENT BUND..."
"SLAB CHELOVEK I RAZUMENXEM SLEP..."

Napisan mezhdu 1810 i 1815 gg., kogda byl opublikovan v kachestve
epigrafa k poeme The White Doe of Rybtone.

"SURPRISED BY JOY-IMPATIENT AS THE WIND..."
"SMUTYASX OT RADOSTI, YA OBERNULSYA..."

Sonet napisan v 1812 g., ego liricheskaya tema - smert' docheri poeta
Ketrin v iyune 1812 g.

SEPTEMBER 1815
BLIZOSTX OSENI

V etom sonete Vordsvort poetiziruet osennyuyu prirodu i osen', kak vremya
tvorcheskogo vdohnoveniya, chto do nego v anglijskoj poezii mozhno najti,
pozhaluj, lish' v poeme ego predshestvennika Uil'yama Kupera "Zadacha" (The Task,
1785). K strochke For me who under kinder laws sam Vordsvort sdelal sleduyushchij
kommentarij: "|to zaklyuchenie, k moemu velikomu sozhaleniyu, ne raz vyzyvalo
muchitel'no grustnye chuvstva v serdcah molodyh lyudej, uvlechennyh poeziej i
sochinitel'stvom, po prichine kontrasta mezhdu ih slabym i ugasayushchim zdorov'em
i moim krepkim teloslozheniem, kotoroe pozvolyaet mne radovat'sya moroznomu i
snezhnomu vremeni, bolee blagopriyatnomu dlya Muz, chem samo leto".

"HAIL, TWILIGHT, SOVEREIGN OF ONE PEACEFUL HOUR!.."
"O SUMRAK, PREDVECHERXYA GOSUDARX!.."

Sonet napisan, veroyatno, v 1812 g.

FROM THE PROLOGUE TO "PETER BELL" (1819)
OTRYVOK IZ PROLOGA K PO|ME "PITER BELL" (1819)

Komicheskaya poema o pohozhdeniyah stranstvuyushchego gorshechnika Pitera Bella i
najdennogo im osla byla napisana v 1798 g. dlya sbornika "Liricheskie
ballady", no opublikovana lish' dvadcat' let spustya. Vordsvort obratilsya
zdes' k tradicii Uil'yama Kupera, avtora "Istorii Dzhona Gilpina" (1782), i
Roberta Bernsa, avtora shutochnoj poemy "Tem O'SHenter" (1791). Prolog k
"Piteru Bellu" posvyashchen teme poeticheskogo voobrazheniya, kotoroe ne nuzhdaetsya,
po mysli Vordsvorta, v sverh�estestvennyh predmetah i obrazah, chtoby
proyavit' svoi luchshie svojstva.

FROM "THE RIVER DUDDON, A SERIES OF SONNETS... AND OTHER POEMS" (1820)
IZ SBORNIKA "SONETY K REKE DADDON I DRUGIE STIHOTVORENIYA" (1820)

The River Duddon
Sonety k reke Daddon

Cikl k reke Daddon vklyuchaet 34 soneta, on sozdavalsya v 1806-1820 gg.
Daddon - nebol'shaya rechka, berushchaya nachalo u pogranichnyh kamnej treh grafstv,
Vestmorlend, Kamberlend i Lankashir, -i vpadayushchaya v Irlandskoe more.
Vordsvort "provel mnogo voshititel'nyh chasov na ee beregah", navsegda
zapomnil pervoe znakomstvo s neyu, kogda v shkol'nye gody otpravilsya tuda
udit' rybu, v studencheskie kanikuly zhil u rodstvennikov na ee beregah, pozzhe
puteshestvoval po nej s zhenoj i druz'yami. Sonety izobrazhayut techenie reki ot
istokov do ust'ya kak techenie chelovecheskoj zhizni, prohodyashchej cherez raznye
vozrasty.

"HOW SHALL I PAINT THEE..."
U ISTOKA

Tretij sonet cikla, poetiziruyushchij istok "skromnoj reki, ne otmechennoj
ni osobymi fizicheskimi dannymi, ni istoricheskimi reminiscenciyami".

AFTER-THOUGHT
PROSHCHALXNYJ SONET REKE DADDON

Zavershayushchij, 34-j sonet cikla, sopostavlenie zhizni prirody i
chelovecheskoj zhizni.

THE PILGRIM'S DREAM
SON PILIGRIMA

Po povodu etogo stihotvoreniya sam U. Vordsvort pisal: "YA otchetlivo
pomnyu tot vecher, kogda voznik zamysel etogo stihotvoreniya v 1818 g. |to bylo
na doroge iz Rajdalp v Grasmir, gde polno svetlyachkov. Zvezda svetila nad
sklonom Laurig-Fell, kak raz naprotiv".

ON SEEING A TUFT OF SNOWDROPS IN A STORM
"KOGDA NADEZHDA V PRAHE SLEZY LXET..."

Sonet napisan v 1819 g., opublikovan v 1820 g.
The Emathian phalanx - makedonskaya falanga.
Theban band - vozmozhno, imeetsya v vidu fivanskoe vojsko, zashchishchavshee
gorod protiv semi legendarnyh geroev vo glave s Adrastom i Polinikom
(legenda "Semero protiv Fiv" nashla otrazhenie u |shila, Sofokla i Evripida).

SONG FOR THE SPINNING WHEEL
PESNYA ZA PRYALKOJ

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1812 g. i imeet podzagolovok "Osnovano na
verovanii, bytuyushchem v pastusheskih dolinah Vestmorlenda". V kommentarii
Vordsvort zametil, chto chasto slyhal o nem ot staroj sosedki po Grasmiru.

THE HAUNTED TREE
OKOLDOVANNYJ DUB

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1819 g. Vordsvort zametil: "|to derevo roslo v
parke Rajdel, i ya chasto slushal ego skrip, kak ob etom rasskazano".

FROM "ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS" (1822)
IZ SBORNIKA "CERKOVNYE SONETY" (1822)

132 soneta, vhodyashchie v etot cikl, sozdavalis' v 1821-1822 gg. i
vossozdavali vsyu istoriyu anglijskoj cerkvi so vremen hristianizacii strany
do konca XVIII v., osobenno ee otnosheniya s papskim Rimom, istoriyu Reformacii
i ee duhovnyh posledstvij i t. d.

MUTABILITY
IZMENCHIVOSTX

|tot sonet vyrazhaet odnu iz skvoznyh idej cikla, ideyu postoyannoj
izmenchivosti.

INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE
V KAPELLE KOROLEVSKOGO KOLLEDZHA V KEMBRIDZHE

Sonet napisan v 1820 g. vo vremya poseshcheniya Kembridzha.
the royal Saint - osnovatel' kolledzha, korol' Genrih VI.

FROM "THE POETICAL WORKS" (1827)
IZ KNIGI "PO|TICHESKIE PROIZVEDENIYA" (1827)

LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR
ZHALOBA M|RI, KOROLEVY SHOTLANDCEV, V KANUN NOVOGO GODA

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1817 g. Vordsvort vspomnil, chto ishodnym
vpechatleniem byla polosa lunnogo sveta, uvidennaya poetom, kogda on podhodil
k lestnice, vedushchej iz sada v Rajdal-Maunt, k domu. Mariya Styuart
(1547-1587), koroleva SHotlandskaya, buduchi katolichkoj, postoyanno srazhalas' s
protestantskoj oppoziciej, pretendovala takzhe na anglijskij prestol,
neskol'ko let provela v zatochenii i byla kaznena po prikazu
"sestry-korolevy" Elizavety Anglijskoj.

TO----("Let other bards of angels sing...")
"KTO VYSHEL SOLNCEM BEZ PYATNA.."

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1824 g. v Rajdal-Maunt. Posvyashcheno zhene poeta
Meri Vordsvort.

"SCORN NOT THE SONNET; CRITIC, YOU HAVE FROWNED..."
"NE HMURXSYA, KRITIK, NE OTRINX SONETA!.."

Sonet napisan v 1827 g., kak zametil Vordsvort, pochti ekspromtom, vo
vremya progulki po zapadnomu beregu ozera Rajdal.

TO THE TORRENT AT THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE, NORTH WALES, 1824
VODOPAD

Sonet napisan v sentyabre 1824 g.
hath not Pindus... - Pind, gornyj massiv na severe Grecii.
where the band / Of Patriots - rech' idet o bor'be sovremennyh
Vordsvortu grekov protiv tureckogo vladychestva.
from that young Stream - Rejn.
Viamala - skalistoe mesto, raspolozhennoe vblizi istoka Rejna, gde
Vordsvort pobyval vo vremya svoego studencheskogo puteshestviya po Evrope.

FROM "YARROW REVISITED, AND OTHER POEMS" (1835)
IZ SBORNIKA "SNOVA V YARROU I DRUGIE STIHOTVORENIYA" (1835)

V centre etogo sbornika cikl iz 23 sonetov, sozdannyj vo vremya
puteshestviya po SHotlandii v 1831 g.: Composed during a Tour in Scotland and
on the English Border in the Autumn of 1831.

THE TROSACHS
TPOCCEKC

Rech' idet o nazvanii dikoj mestnosti, raspolozhennoj mezhdu dvumya ozerami
v zapadnoj chasti SHotlandii.

"CALM IS THE FRAGRANT AIR, AND LOTH TO LOSE..."
VECHERNIE IMPROVIZACII

Stihotvorenie napisano v 1832 g.

A WREN'S NEST
GNEZDO PENOCHKI

Stihotvorenie napisano v Rajdal-Maunt v 1833 g. "|to gnezdo bylo svito,
kak opisano, na dereve, kotoroe rastet u pruda na pole Dory, primykayushchem k
sadu Rajdal-Maunt" (prim. Vordsvorta).

"IF THIS GREAT WORLD OF JOY AND PAIN..."
"NASH MIR, RAZLICHEN I EDIN..."

Napisano v 1833 g.

"MOST SWEET IT IS WITH UNUPLIFTED EYES..."
VNUTRENNEE ZRENIE

Sonet napisan v 1833 g. i vhodit v cikl Poems Composed or Suggested
during a Tour in the Summer of 1833.

"WHY ART THOU SILENT! IS THY LOVE A PLANT..."
"TY VSE MOLCHISHX! KAK BYSTRO OTCVELA..."

Napisano v 1835 g. "V yanvare, kogda Dora i ya shli iz Taun-|nd v Grasmire
po doline, gde uzhe lezhal sneg, ona primetila sredi gustoj, no uzhe bezlistnoj
izgorodi ptich'e gnezdo, napolovinu zaporoshennoe snegom. |to grustnoe zrelishche
posluzhilo tolchkom k sozdaniyu soneta, kotoryj fakticheski ne imel otnosheniya ni
k kakomu konkretnomu cheloveku, no byl napisan, chtoby dokazat' sebe, chto ya
mog by, esli by zahotel, pisat' v stile, izlyublennom drugimi poetami".

FROM "SONNETS" (1838)
IZ KNIGI "SONETY" (1838)

COMPOSED ON A MAY MORNING, 1838
SOCHINENO MAJSKIM UTROM

Sonet sochinen v 1838 g.

FROM "POEMS" (1845)
IZ SBORNIKA "STIHOTVORENIYA" (1845)

THE SIMPLON PASS
SIMPLONSKIJ PEREVAL

|to stihotvorenie bylo napisano v 1799 g., opublikovano pochti
polstoletiya spustya. Simplonskij pereval Vordsvort posetil so svoim drugom vo
vremya studencheskogo puteshestviya po Al'pam v iyule-oktyabre 1790 g. V
avtobiograficheskoj poeme "Prelyudiya" (kniga 6-ya "Kembridzh i Al'py") Vordsvort
dal shodnoe opisanie Simplonskogo perevala i vpechatleniya, im proizvedennogo
na dushu yunogo poeta.

"THOUGH THE BOLD WINGS OF POESY AFFECT..."
"NA MOSHCHNYH KRYLXYAH UNOSYASX V ZENIT..."

Sonet napisan v 1845 g.

Last-modified: Wed, 09 Nov 2005 18:16:31 GMT
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