Eshche sem' raz lyubil ya, znaya, CHto zhdet lyubov' zemlya syraya, I sem' drugih v polnochnom sne Skol'znuli s fakelom ko mne. I sem' s velikoyu dushoyu, Naivozlyublennejshih mnoyu, Lozoj uvili mne chelo, Ne stavya Zlo tvoe vo zlo. Kogda zh vernesh'sya ty, chtob vseh Ih voskresit', izbyv svoj greh? Kogda zh vernesh'sya ty, menya - Kak ya proshchayu - ne kaznya?" ("Moi grehi tebe meshayut, A sobstvennye - ne smushchayut? K moim - prezren'e bespredel'noe, Svoim - poesh' ty kolybel'nuyu".) ("CHto za greh, chto mnoj svershen, Toboyu ne predvoshishchen? SHlyuh ty shlesh' mne na podmenu - Znaesh' sobstvennuyu cenu".) "Ne vernus' ya, ibo penej Dolzhen byt' triumf - ne mene! Kol' tebya perezhivu - Budet povod k torzhestvu! Nebo, Zemlyu i Geennu Ne ob®yat' tebe, smyatennyj. Polechu kuda smelej Provozvestnicej tvoej!" ("Bednyj, zhalkij, bespomoshchnyj Sputnik moj vo t'me polnochnoj, Za tebya ya, kak v okovah, Vsya v slezah svoih svincovyh".) "Tshchetno k vechnosti vzyvayu YA, poka ne polomayu Adskij les suhoj hvoi, - Puty zhenskie tvoi. YA raspnu tebya na skalah, CHtob ne zret' v tvoih oskalah Zla, ni zhalosti k sebe, Ni prezreniya k sud'be. Ili ya sozdam drugoe Nechto, shodnoe s toboyu, Adskij les suhoj hvoi - Il' vstupi na put' Lyubvi. I, otrinuv besserdechnost', Obretem v soglas'e Vechnost' - Ved' Spasitelem dana Mera Hleba i Vina". Perevod V. L. Toporova x x x 82. When Klopstock England defied, Uprose William Blake in his pride; For old Nobodaddy aloft ...and belch'd and cough'd; Then swore a great oath that made Heaven quake, And call'd aloud to English Blake. Blake was giving his body ease, At Lambeth beneath the poplar trees. From his seat then started he And turn'd him round three times three. The moon at that sight blush'd scarlet red, The stars threw down their cups and fled, And all the devils that were in hell, Answered with a ninefold yell. Klopstock felt the intripled turn, And all his bowels began to churn, And his bowels turn'd round three times three, And lock'd in his soul with a ninefold key;... Then again old Nobodaddy swore He ne'er had seen such a thing before, Since Noah was shut in the ark, Since Eve first chose her hellfire spark, Since 'twas the fashion to go naked, Since the old Anything was created... x x x 82. Klopshtok Angliyu hulil kak hotel, No tut kak raz Vil'yam Blejk podospel; Ibo Ne Porodivshij Syna otec ...rygnul i raskashlyalsya pod konec; Svyashchennaya zatrepetala semejka Ot zaklyat'ya, razbudivshego Britanskogo Blejka. Vil'yam Blejk vossedal orlom V okrestnostyah Londona, pod topol'kom. Ne usidev na nasizhennom meste - Kucha ostalas' na etom meste, - Trizhdy on obernulsya na meste, CHto bylo nachalom svyashchennoj mesti. Krov'yu nalilas' pri vide etogo Luna, Zvezdy povalilis'; kak hvativ vina, I devyatikratnoj ploshchadnoyu bran'yu Otozvalos' chertej Kromeshnoe Sobran'e. Klopshtok, v otvet na troekratnyj povorot, Trizhdy s vizgom shvatilsya za zhivot, Trizhdy v ego zhivote perevernulis' vse kishki, I devyat' raz podryad dusha ego vstala na dybki... Togda Ne Porodivshij Syna otec Poklyalsya, chto ne vstrechalsya emu podobnyj igrec S teh por, kak Noj smasteril svoj kovcheg, S teh por, kak Eva vkusila zapretnyh neg, S teh por, kak on t'mu otdelil ot sveta, S teh por, kak sodeyat' zamyslil eto... Voschuvstvovav tak, on menya prosil, CHtob muku Klopshtokovu ya smyagchil... Tako Blejk pobedil, oblegchayas', A uzh v stihah pobedit, ruchayus'! Perevod V. L. Toporova x x x 83. Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau: Mock on, mock on; tis all in vain! You throw the sand against the wind, And the wind blows it back again. And every sand becomes a gem Reflected in the beams divine; Blown back they blind the mocking eye, But still in Israel's paths they shine. The Atoms of Democritus And Newton's Particles of Light Are sands upon the Red Sea shore, Where Israel's tents do shine so bright. x x x 83. ZHivej, Vol'ter! Smelej, Russo! Bushuj, bumazhnaya groza! Vernetsya po vetru pesok, CHto nam shvyryaete v glaza. Peschinka kazhdaya - almaz, Kogda v nej bleshchet luch nebes... Nasmeshniki! dlya vashih glaz Nest' v nashej Biblii chudes! Pridumal atom Demokrit, N'yuton raz®yal na chasti svet... Peschanyj smerch Nauki spit, Kogda my slushaem Zavet. Perevod V. L. Toporova x x x 84. When a man has married a wife, he finds out whether Her knees and elbows are only glued together. x x x 84. Poka ne zhenimsya, skazat' my ne sumeem, Ne skleeny li u zheny koleni kleem. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka 85. ON THE VIRGINITY OF THE VIRGIN MARY AND JOHANNA SOUTHCOTT Whate'er is done to her she cannot know, And if you'll ask her she will swear it so. Whether 'tis good or evil none's to blame: No one can take the pride, no one the shame. 85. O DEVSTVENNOSTI DEVY MARII I DZHOANNY SAUSKOTT Sodeyali s neyu dobro ili zlo? Ne znaet sama; bezmyatezhno chelo. I nekomu eto postavit' v ukor: Nich'ya tut zasluga, nichej tut pozor. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj 86. MORNING To find the Western path, Right thro' the Gates of Wrath I urge my way; Sweet Mercy leads me on With soft repentant moan: I see the break of day. The war of swords and spears, Melted by dewy tears, Exhales on high; The Sun is freed from fears, And with soft grateful tears Ascends the sky. 86. Ishcha tropinki na Zakat, Prostranstvom tesnym Gnevnyh Vrat YA bodro prohozhu. I zhalost' krotkaya menya Vedet, v raskayan'e stenya. YA problesk dnya slezhu. Mechej i kopij gasnet boj Rassvetnoj ranneyu poroj, Zalit slezami, kak rosoj. I solnce, v radostnyh slezah, Preodolev svoj tyazhkij strah, Siyaet yarko v nebesah. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka x x x 87. 'Now Art has lost its mental charms France shall subdue the world in arms.' So spoke an Angel at my birth; Then said 'Descend thou upon earth; Renew the Arts on Britain's shore, And France shall fall down and adore. With works of art their armies meet And War shall sink beneath thy feet. But if thy nation Arts refuse, And if they scorn the immortal Muse, France shall the arts of peace restore And save thee from the ungrateful shore.' Spirit who lov'st Britannia's Isle Round which the fiends of commerce smile - x x x 87. Utratilo iskusstvo svoj Plenitel'nyj duhovnyj stroj, Teper' im zapravlyaet Gall, - Tak dobryj angel mne skazal. - No ty, prodolzhil on, rozhden Vernut' iskusstvo v Al'bion. Pojdut iskusstva rat' na rat' - I gall'skomu - ne ustoyat'. No esli Francii otdash' Pobedu - to iskusstv shabash Ohvatit celyj materik, I tam sochtut, chto ty velik... Moj duh, nadezhda Al'biona, Zaulybalsya chut' smushchenno... Perevod V. L. Toporova (1808-1811) 88. TO F [LAXMAN] I mock thee not, though I by thee am mocked; Thou call'st me madman, but I call thee blockhead. (1808-1811) 88. MOEMU HULITELYU Pust' obo mne ty raspuskaesh' lozh', YA nad toboyu ne glumlyus' tajkom. Pust' sumasshedshim ty menya zovesh', Tebya zovu ya tol'ko durakom. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka x x x 89. Here lies John Trot, the friend of all mankind: He has not left one enemy behind. Friends were quite hard to find, old authors say; But now they stand in everybody's way. x x x 89. Ni odnogo vraga vseobshchij drug, Dzhon Trot, Ostavit' ne sumel u Vechnosti Vorot. "Drug - redkost'!" - myslili tak drevnie v trevoge. Teper' druz'ya stoyat vsem poperek dorogi. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj x x x 90. I was buried near this dyke, That my friends may weep as much as they like. 90. |PITAFIYA YA pogreben u gorodskoj kanavy vodostochnoj, CHtob slezy lit' mogli druz'ya i dnem i ezhenoshchno. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka x x x 91. My title as a genius thus is prov'd: Not prais'd by Hayley, nor by Flaxman lov'd. x x x 91. Teper' poprobujte skazat', chto ya ne genialen: Fleksmanom ya ne lyubim, Hejli - ne zahvalen. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj x x x 92. Grown old in Love from Seven till Seven times Seven I oft have wish'd for Hell, for Ease from Heaven. x x x 92. Vsyu zhizn' lyubov'yu plamennoj sgoraya, Mechtal ya v ad popast', chtob otdohnut' ot raya. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka x x x 93. All pictures that's panted with sense and with thought Are panted by madmen, as sure as a groat; For the greater the fool is the pencil more blest, As when they are drunk they always pant best. They never can Raphael it, Fuseli it, nor Blake it; If they can't see an outline, pray how can they make it? When men will draw outlines begin you to jaw them; Madmen see outlines and therefore they draw them. x x x 93. CHuvstva i mysli v kartine nashedshij Smeknet, chto ee napisal sumasshedshij. CHem bol'she durak - tem ostree nait'e. Blazhen karandash, esli duren' - v podpit'e. Kto kontur ne vidit - ne mozhet ego risovat', Ni rafaelit', ni fyuzelit', ni blejkovat'. Za konturnyj metod vy rady hudozhnika s®est', No kontury vidit bezumec i pishet kak est'. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj x x x 94. Why was Cupid a boy, And why a boy was he? He should have been a girl, For aught that I can see. For he shoots with his bow, And the girl shoots with her eye, And they both are merry and glad, And laugh when we do cry. And to make Cupid a boy Was the Cupid girl's mocking plan; For a boy can't interpret the thing Till he is become a man. And then he's so pierc'd with cares, And wounded with arrowy smarts, That the whole business of his life Is to pick out the heads of the darts. 'Twas the Greeks' love of war Turn'd Love into a boy, And woman into a statue of stone - And away fled every joy. 94. KUPIDON Zachem ty sozdan, Kupidon S mal'chisheskoyu stat'yu? Tebe by devochkoyu byt', Po moemu ponyat'yu! Ty porazhaesh' cel' streloj, A devochka - glazami, I oba schastlivy, kogda Zal'emsya my slezami. V zatee - mal'chikom tebya Sozdat', uznal ya zhenshchin ruku: Lish' vozmuzhav, postignesh' ty Glumlen'ya slozhnuyu nauku. No do teh por - neschetnyh strel V tebya vop'yutsya zhal'ca, A ih vydergivat' iz ran Vsyu zhizn' - udel stradal'ca. Lyubvi pridav muzhskuyu stat', Iz kamnya zhenskij pol vayat' Vojnolyubivyj vzdumal grek - I radost' uneslo navek. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj x x x 95. I asked my dear friend Orator Prig: 'What's the first part of oratory?' He said: 'A great wig.' 'And what is the second?' Then, dancing a jig And bowing profoundly, he said: 'A great wig.' 'And what is the third?' Then he snored like a pig, And, puffing his cheeks out, replied: 'A great wig.' So if a great panter with questions you push, 'What's the first part of panting?' he'll say 'A pant-brush.' 'And what is the second?' with most modest blush, He'll smile like a cherub, and say: 'A pant-brush.' 'And what is the third?' he'll bow like a rush, With a leer in his eye, he'll reply: 'A pant-brush.' Perhaps this is all a panter can want: But, look yonder-that house is this house of Rembrandt! x x x 95. - CHto oratoru nuzhno? Horoshij yazyk? - Net, - otvetil orator. - Horoshij parik! - A eshche? - Ne smutilsya pochtennyj starik I otvetil: - Opyat' zhe horoshij parik. - A eshche? - On zadumalsya tol'ko na mig I voskliknul: - Konechno, horoshij parik! - CHto, maestro, vazhnee vsego v portretiste? On otvetil: - Osobye kachestva kisti. - A eshche? - On, palitru staratel'no chistya, Povtoril: - Razumeetsya, kachestvo kisti. - A eshche? - Stanovyas' ponemnogu rechistej, On voskliknul: - Vysokoe kachestvo kisti! Perevod S. YA. Marshaka x x x 96. Having given great offence by writing in prose, I'll write in verse as soft as Bartoloze. Some blush at what others can see no crime in; But nobody sees any harm in riming. Dryden, in rime, cries 'Milton only plann'd': Every fool shook his bells throughout the land. Tom Cooke cut Hogarth down with his clean graving: Thousands of connoisseurs with joy ran raving. Thus, Hayley on his toilette seeing the soap, Cries, 'Homer is very much improv'd by Pope.' Some say I've given great provision to my foes, And that now I lead my false friends by the nose. Flaxman and Stothard, smelling a.sweet savour, Cry 'Blakified drawing spoils painter and engraver'; While I, looking up to my umbrella, Resolv'd to be a very contrary fellow, Cry, looking quite from skumference to centre: 'No one can finish so high as the original Inventor.' Thus poor Schiavonetti died of the Cromek- A thing that's tied around the Examiner's neck! This is my sweet apology to my friends, That I may put them in mind of their latter ends. If men will act like a maid smiling over a churn, They ought not, when it comes to another's turn, To grow sour at what a friend may utter, Knowing and feeling that we all have need of butter. False friends, fie! fie! Our friendship you shan't sever; In spite we will be greater friends than ever. 96. BLEJK V ZASHCHITU SVOEGO KATALOGA Poskol'ku ot prozy moej ostalis' u mnogih zanozy, Gravyur Bartolocci nezhnej, stihi napishu vmesto prozy. Inoj bez prichin zalivaetsya kraskoj styda. Odnako nikto v rifmopletstve ne vidit vreda. "Mil'tonom sozdan lish' plan!" - Drajden v stihah vosklicaet, I vsyakij durackij kolpak bubencami ob etom bryacaet. Hogarta Kuk obkornal chisten'kim gravirovan'icem. S revom begut znatoki, voshishchayas' ego darovan'icem. Hejli, na mylo vziraya, hvatil cherez meru: "Pop, - zakrichal on, - pridal sovershenstva Gomeru!" Za nos fal'shivyh druzej vozhu, govoryat, ya neploho I opolchit'sya uspel, ot vragov ozhidaya podvoha. Fleksman so Stothardom pryanost' uchuyali nyuhom: "Beda, kol' graver i hudozhnik proniknutsya blejkovskim duhom!" No ya, nepokladistyj malyj, na sobstvennyj zont Bespechno smotryu snizu vverh i gotov na afront. V tochku, gde shodyatsya spicy, ustaviv glyadelki, Krichu ya: "Lish' avtor sposoben dostich' blagorodstva otdelki!" ZHertva kromekov, - neschastnyj pogib Sk'yavonetti: Petlya na sheyu - my skazhem ob etom predmete! Proshu u druzej izvinen'ya - zachem naobum YA mysl' o gryadushchej konchine privel im na um? Kak devushka, nad maslobojkoj stan sklonivshaya gibkij, Mutovku drugim ustupaya, s lica ne stirajte ulybki, Ne skisajte ot slova druga, esli ono ne hvalebno, Ne zabyvajte, chto maslo lyubomu iz nas potrebno! Lozhnym druz'yam v dosadu, naperekor ih fal'shi, Istinnoj druzhby uzy krepnut' budut i dal'she! Perevod V. A. Potapovoj x x x 97. Some people admire the work of a fool, For it's sure to keep your judgement cool; It does not reproach you with want of wit; It is not like a lawyer serving a writ. x x x 97. Tvoren'e duraka po vkusu mnogim lyudyam. O nem navernyaka my bez volnen'ya sudim. Nas v tuposti ono ne upreknet; v otmestku, Kak stryapchij, - ne prishlet sudebnuyu povestku. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj x x x 98. Since all the riches of this world May be gifts from the Devil and earthly kings, I should suspect that I worshipp'd the Devil If I thank'd my God for worldly things. 98. O BLAGODARNOSTI Ot d'yavola i ot carej zemnyh My poluchaem znatnost' i bogatstvo. I nebesa blagodarit' za nih, Po moemu suzhden'yu, - svyatotatstvo. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka x x x 99. I rose up at the dawn of day - 'Get thee away! get thee away! Pray'st thou for riches? Away! away! This is the Throne of Mammon grey.' Said I: This, sure, is very odd; I took it to be the Throne of God. For everything besides I have: It is only for riches that I can crave. I have mental joy, and mental health, And mental friends, and mental wealth; I've a wife I love, and that loves me; I've all but riches bodily. I am in God's presence night and day, And He never turns His face away; The accuser of sins by my side doth stand, And he holds my money-bag in his hand. For my worldly things God makes him pay, And he'd pay for more if to him I would pray; And so you may do the worst you can do; Be assur'd, Mr. Devil, I won't pray to you. Then if for riches I must not pray, God knows, I little of prayers need say; So, as a church is known by its steeple, If I pray it must be for other people. He says, if I do not worship him for a God, I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod; So, as I don't value such things as these, You must do, Mr. Devil, just as God please. x x x 99. YA vstal, kogda redela noch'. - Podi ty proch'! Podi ty proch'! O chem ty molish'sya, poklony Kladya pred kapishchem Mamony? YA byl nemalo udivlen - YA dumal, - eto bozhij tron. Vsego hvataet mne, no malo V karmane zvonkogo metalla. Est' u menya bogatstvo dum, Vostorgi duha, zdravyj um, ZHena lyubimaya so mnoyu. No beden ya kaznoj zemnoyu. YA pered bogom den' i noch'. S menya on glaz ne svodit proch'. No d'yavol tozhe neotluchen: Moj koshelek emu poruchen. On moj nevol'nyj kaznachej. YA el by pishchu bogachej, Kogda by stal emu molit'sya. YA ne hochu, a d'yavol zlitsya. Itak, ne byt' mne bogachom. K chemu zh molit'sya i o chem? ZHelanij u menya nemnogo, I za drugih molyu ya boga. Puskaj daet mne zlobnyj chert Odezhdy, pishchi hudshij sort, - Mne i v nuzhde zhivetsya slavno... I vse zhe, chert, sluzhi ispravno! Perevod S. YA. Marshaka THE PICKERING MANUSCRIPT (1800-1803) 100. THE SMILE There is a smile of love, And there is a smile of deceit, And there is a smile of smiles In which these two smiles meet. And there is a frown of hate, And there is a frown of disdain, And there is a frown of frowns Which you strive to forget in vain, For it sticks in the heart's deep core And it sticks in the deep backbone - And no smile that ever was smil'd, But only one smile alone, That betwixt the cradle and grave It only once smil'd can be; And, when it once is smil'd, There's an end to all misery. MANUSKRIPT PIKERINGA (1800-1803) 100. ULYBKA Est' Ulybka Lyubvi, Est' Ulybka pritvornoj Lichiny, Est' Ulybka Ulybok - V nej obe Ulybki ediny. Est' Uhmylka Vrazhdy, Est' Uhmylka Prezren'ya, Est' Uhmylka Uhmylok, Ot kotoroj ne znayut zabven'ya, Ibo v strup'yah dusha ot nee I nutro v neschislimyh uvech'yah; No edinoj Velikoj Ulybke Suzhdeno na ustah chelovech'ih Edinozhdy vspyhnut' v puti Ot Kolybeli do Groba; No dostatochno ej rascvesti -- I vpadaet v nichtozhestvo Zloba. Perevod A. V. Parina 101. THE GOLDEN NET Three Virgins at the break of day: - 'Whither, young man, whither away? Alas for woe! alas for woe!' They cry, and tears for ever flow. The one was cloth'd in flames of fire, The other cloth'd in iron wire, The other cloth'd in tears and sighs Dazzling bright before my eyes. They bore a Net of golden twine To hang upon the branches fine. Pitying I wept to see the woe That Love and Beauty undergo, To be consum'd in burning fires And in ungratified desires, And in tears cloth'd night and day Melted all my soul away. When they saw my tears, a smile That did Heaven itself beguile, Bore the Golden Net aloft, As on downy pinions soft, Over the Morning of my day. Underneath the net I stray, Now entreating Burning Fire Now entreating Iron Wire, Now entreating Tears and Sighs - O! when will the morning rise? 101. ZLATAYA SETX Tri devy v predrassvetnyj chas: "Kuda ty, yunosha, ot nas? O gore, gore!" Iz ochej U kazhdoj hlynul slez ruchej. Odna - ognem odela stan, Drugoj - naryad zheleznyj dan. Na tret'ej - polnoe siyan'ya, Iz slez i vzdohov odeyan'e. I set' iz pryazhi zolotoj Nesut, rydaya, v les gustoj. Zaplakav s nimi, ya uzrel Lyubvi i Krasoty udel: Oni dvojnym ognem palimy. ZHelan'ya ih neutolimy. Do slez ya zhazhdal im pomoch', - Odetym v slezy den' i noch'. Tut vyzval ya u nih ulybku, CHto nebesa vvela b v oshibku, - Ulybku, chto zlatuyu set' Zastavila, kak puh, vzletet' I zahlestnut' nachalo dnej Moih, chtob ya bluzhdal pod nej. Vzyvayu k YAromu Ognyu, Molyu ZHeleznuyu Bronyu, Slezam i Vzdoham govoryu: - Kogda uvizhu ya zaryu? Perevod V. L. Potapovoj 102. THE MENTAL TRAVELLER I travell'd thro' a land of men, A land of men and women too; And heard and saw such dreadful things As cold earth-wanderers never knew. For there the Babe is born in joy That was begotten in dire woe; Just as we reap in joy the fruit Which we in bitter tears did sow. And if the Babe is born a boy He's given to a Woman Old, Who nails him down upon a rock, Catches his shrieks in cups of gold. She binds iron thorns around his head, She pierces both his hands and feet, She cuts his heart out at his side, To make it feel both cold and heat. Her fingers number every nerve, Just as a miser counts his gold; She lives upon his shrieks and cries, And she grows young as he grows old. Till he becomes a bleeding Youth, And she becomes a Virgin bright; Then he rends up his manacles, And binds her down for his delight. He plants himself in all her nerves, Just as a husbandman his mould; And she becomes his dwelling-place And garden fruitful seventyfold. An aged Shadow, soon he fades, Wandering round an earthly cot, Full filled all with gems and gold Which he by industry had got. And these are the gems of the human soul, The rubies and pearls of a love-sick eye, The countless gold of the aching heart, The martyr's groan and the lover's sigh. They are his meat, they are his drink; He feeds the beggar and the poor And the wayfaring traveller: For ever open is his door. His grief is their eternal joy; They make the roofs and walls to ring; Till from the fire on the hearth A little Female Babe does spring. And she is all of solid fire And gems and gold, that none his hand Dares stretch to touch her baby form, Or wrap her in his swaddling-band. But she comes to the man she loves, If young or old, or rich or poor; They soon drive out the Aged Host, A beggar at another's door. He wanders weeping far away, Until some other take him in; Oft blind and age-bent, sore distrest, Until he can a Maiden win. And to allay his freezing age, The poor man takes her in his arms; The cottage fades before his sight, The garden and its lovely charms. The guests are scatter'd thro' the land, For the eye altering alters all; The senses roll themselves in fear, And the flat earth becomes a ball; The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away, A desert vast without a bound, And nothing left to eat or drink, And a dark desert all around. The honey of her infant lips, The bread and wine of her sweet smile, The wild game of her roving eye, Does him to infancy beguile; For as he eats and drinks he grows Younger and younger every day; And on the desert wild they both Wander in terror and dismay. Like the wild stag she flees away, Her fear plants many a thicket wild; While he pursues her night and day, By various arts of love beguil'd; By various arts of love and hate, Till the wide desert planted o'er With labyrinths of wayward love, Where roam the lion, wolf, and boar. Till he becomes a wayward Babe, And she a weeping Woman Old. Then many a lover wanders here; The sun and stars are nearer roll'd; The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy To all who in the desert roam; Till many a city there is built, And many a pleasant shepherd's home. But when they find the Frowning Babe, Terror strikes thro' the region wide: They cry 'The Babe! the Babe is born!' And flee away on every side. For who dare touch the Frowning Form, His arm is wither'd to its root; Lions, boars, wolves, all howling flee, And every tree does shed its fruit. And none can touch that Frowning Form, Except it be a Woman Old; She nails him down upon the rock, And all is done as I have told. 102. STRANSTVIE YA stranstvoval v Strane Lyudej, YA byl v Strane Muzhej i ZHen - I lyutyj strah zastyl v glazah, V ushah ostalsya s teh vremen. Tam tyazhkij trud - Zachat' Ditya, Zabava Prazdnaya - Rozhat'; Tak nam legko sbirat' plody, No tyazhko seyat' i sazhat'. Ditya zhe, esli eto Syn, Staruhe Dryahloj otdayut, I ta, raspyav ego gvozdem, Sbiraet krik v zlatoj sosud. YAzvit ternovnikom CHelo, Pronzaet Nogu i Ladon', I Serdce, grud' emu raz®yav, Kidaet v prorub' i v ogon'. "Tut bol'no? - ishchet. - Tut? a tut?" V nahodke kazhdoj - torzhestvo. Rastet on v mukah, a ona Lish' molodeet ottogo. I vot on - stroen i krovav. I deva s uzhasom v glazah. I, puty sbrosiv, on ee Beret - vsyu v putah i v slezah. "Tut bol'no? - ishchet. - Tut? a tut?" Vedet, kak plugom, borozdu; On obitaet v nej teper', Kak v neskonchaemom sadu. No vyanet vskorosti i on, V svoem zhilishche, kak slepoj, Kradyas' mezh Bleshchushchih Bogatstv, CHto zahvatil za Den' Zemnoj. Ego bogatstva - zhemchug slez, Rubiny vospalennyh glaz, I zlato raskalennyh dum, I strast', i pros'ba, i prikaz. On - eto el, on - eto pil; Teper' on kormit i poit I perehozhih, i bol'nyh - Otnyne dom ego otkryt. K nemu prihodyat - poglazet', On stal posmeshishchem dlya vseh; Mladenec-Deva iz ognya Dolzhna vosstat', chtob smolknul smeh. I vosstaet iz ochaga - Zlataya, ognennaya stat', - Ne podymaetsya ruka Dotronut'sya i spelenat'. A Deva ishchet ne ego - Bogat il' beden, yun il' star Ee izbrannik, - no emu Dom starca prepodnosit v dar. Ograblennyj, uhodit von. Ishcha strannopriimnyj dom, Gde vyjdet Deva iz ognya I slyubitsya so starikom. Sedoj, sogbennyj i slepoj, Beret on Ognennuyu Dshcher' - I vot rassypalsya dvorec. I sad osypalsya teper'. Vse perehozhie - bezhat', Drozha v smyaten'e, kak listva, I sharom ploskaya Zemlya Krutitsya v vihre estestva. SHarahayutsya zvezdy proch', Zabivshis' v shcheli pustoty, Ne stalo pishchi i pit'ya, Odni pustyni stol' pusty. No est' Nevinnye Usta, Oni - Vino, i Hleb, i Med; Est' Pticy Glaz na vertelah - I, voskresaya, est i p'et. On znaet, chto rastet nazad, Rastet v mladencheskie dni; V pustyne straha i styda Vdvoem skitayutsya oni. Ona, kak lan', nesetsya proch' - I, gde promchalas', vyros les, Ee smyaten'em porozhden; A on - za nej, vo t'mu dreves, Vo t'mu dreves, vo t'mu Lyubvi I Nenavisti, - on za nej; I vse izvilistej lesa, Neprohodimej i temnej. I vsya pustynya zarosla Stolpami mertvennyh derev, I v Debryah Begstva i Lyubvi Uzh ryshchut Volk, i Vepr', i Lev. I on dobilsya svoego! Mladenec on, ona - dryahla; Vernulis' lyudi v te kraya, A v nebo - zvezdy bez chisla. Derev'ya prinesli plody, Manya i pishchej i pit'em; Uzhe vozvodyat goroda I stroyat hizhiny krugom. No lish' Uzhasnoe Ditya Uvidyat zhiteli strany, Kak s gromkim voplem: "Rodilos'