Жанр: Лирика
Лирика
...n a sweeping, falling strain
And Nesace is in her halls again.
From the wild energy of wanton haste
Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart;
And zone that clung around her gentle waist
Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart.
Within the centre of that hall to breathe
She paus'd and panted, Zanthe! all beneath,
The fairy light that kiss'd her golden hair
And long'd to rest, yet could but sparkle there!
Young flowers were whispering in melody
To happy flowers that night - and tree to tree;
Fountains were gushing music as they fell
In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell;
Yet silence came upon material things -
Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings -
And sound alone that from the spirit sprang
Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang:
"'Neath blue-bell or streamer -
Or tufted wild spray
That keeps, from the dreamer,
The moonbeam away -
Bright beings! that ponder,
With half closing eyes,
On the stars which your wonder
Hath drawn from the skies,
Till they glance thro' the shade, and
Come down to your brow
Like - eyes of the maiden
Who calls on you now -
Arise! from your dreaming
In violet bowers,
To duty beseeming
These star-litten hours -
And shake from your tresses
Encumber'd with dew
The breath of those kisses
That cumber them too -
(O! how, without you. Love!
Could angels be blest?)
Those kisses of true love
That lull'd ye to rest!
Up! - shake from your wing
Each hindering thing:
The dew of the night -
It would weight down your flight;
And true love caresses -
O! leave them apart!
They are light on the tresses,
But lead on the heart.
Ligeia! Ligeia!
My beautiful one!
Whose harshest idea
Will to melody run,
O! is it thy will
On the breezes to toss?
Or, capriciously still,
Like the lone Albatross,
Incumbent on night
(As she on the air)
To keep watch with delight
On the harmony there?
Ligeia! wherever
Thy image may be,
No magic shall sever
Thy music from thee.
Thou hast bound many eyes
In a dreamy sleep -
But the strains still arise
Which _thy_ vigilance keep -
The sound of the rain
Which leaps down to the flower,
And dances again
In the rhythm of the shower -
The murmur that springs
From the growing of grass
Are the music of things -
But are modell'd, alas! -
Away, then my dearest,
O! hie thee away
To springs that lie clearest
Beneath the moon-ray -
To lone lake that smiles,
In its dream of deep rest,
At the many star-isles
That enjewel its breast -
Where wild flowers, creeping,
Have mingled their shade,
On its margin is sleeping
Full many a maid -
Some have left the cool glade, and
Have slept with the bee -
Arouse them my maiden,
On moorland and lea -
Go! breathe on their slumber,
All softly in ear,
The musical number
They slumber'd to hear -
For what can awaken
An angel so soon
Whose sleep hath been taken
Beneath the cold moon,
As the spell which no clumber
Of witchery may test,
The rhythmical number
Which lull'd him to rest?"
Spirits in wing, and angels to the view,
A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean thro',
Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight -
Seraphs in all but "Knowledge", the keen light
That fell, refracted, thro' thy bounds, afar
O Death! from eye of God upon that star:
Sweet was that error - sweeter still that death -
Sweet was that error - ev'n with us the breath
Of Science dims the mirror of our joy -
To them 'twere the Simoon, and would destroy -
For what (to them) availeth it to know
That Truth is Falsehood - or that Bliss is Woe?
Sweet was their death - with them to die was rife
With the last ecstasy of satiate life -
Beyond that death no immortality
But sleep that pondereth and is not "to be" -
And there - oh! may my weary spirit dwell -
Apart from Heaven's Eternity - and yet how far
from Hell!
What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim,
Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn?
But two: they fell: for Heaven no grace imparts
To those who hear not for their beating hearts.
A maiden-angel and her seraph-lover -
O! where (and ye may seek the wide skies over)
Was Love, the blind, near sober Duty known?
Unguided Love hath fallen - 'mid "tears of perfect
moan."
He was a goodly spirit - he who fell:
A wanderer by moss-y-mantled well -
A gazer on the lights that shine above -
A dreamer in the moonbeam by his love:
What wonder? for each star is eye-like there,
And looks so sweetly down on Beauty's hair -
And they, and ev'ry mossy spring were holy
To his love-haunted heart and melancholy.
The night had found (to him a night of wo)
Upon a mountain crag, young Angelo -
Beetling it bends athwart the solemn sky,
And scowls on starry worlds that down beneath it lie.
Here sate he with his love - his dark eye bent
With eagle gaze along the firmament:
Now turn'd it upon her - but ever then
It trembled to the orb of EARTH again.
"lanthe, dearest, see! how dim that ray!
How lovely 'tis to look so far away!
She seem'd not thus upon that autumn eve
I left her gorgeous halls - nor mourn'd to leave.
That ese - that eve - I should remember well -
The sun-ray dropp'd, in Lemnos, with a spell
On th' Arabesque carving of a gilded hall
Wherein I sate, and on the draperied wall -
And on my eye-lids - О the heavy light!
How drowsily it weigh'd them into night!
On flowers, before, and mist, and love they ran
With Persian Saadi in his Gulistan:
But О that light! - I slumber'd - Death, the while,
Stole o'er my senses in that lovely isle
So softly that no single silken hair
Awoke that slept - or knew that he was there.
The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon
Was a proud temple call'd the Parthenon -
More beauty clung around her column'd wall
Than ev'n thy glowing bosom beats withal,
And when old Time my wing did disenthral
Thence sprang I - as the eagle from his tower,
And years I left behind me in an hour.
What time upon her airy bounds I hung
One half the garden of her globe was flung
Unrolling as a chart unto my view -
Tenantless cities of the desert too!
lanthe, beauty crowded on me then,
And half I wish'd to be again of men."
"My Angelo! and why of them to be?
A brighter dwelling-place is here for thee -
And greener fields than in yon world above,
And woman's loveliness - and passionate love."
"But, list, Ianthe! when the air so soft
Fail'd, as my pennon'd spirit leapt aloft,
Perhaps my brain grew dizzy - but the world
I left so late was into chaos huri'd -
Sprang from her station, on the winds apart,
And roll'd, a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart.
Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar
And fell - not swiftly as I rose before,
But with a downward, tremulous motion thro'
Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto!
Nor long the measure of my falling hours,
For nearest of all stars was thine to ours -
Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth,
A red Daedalion on the timid Earth.
"We came - and to thy Earth - but not to us
Be given our lady's bidding to discuss:
We came, my love; around, above, below,
Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go,
Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod
_She_ grants to us, as granted by her God -
But, Angelo, than thine grey Time unfurl'd
Never his fairy wing o'er fairier world!
Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes
Alone could see the phantom in the skies,
When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be
Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea -
But when its glory swell'd upon the sky,
As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye,
We paus'd before the heritage of men,
And thy star trembled - as doth Beauty then!"
Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away
The night that waned and waned and brought no day.
They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts
Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.
(1829-1845)
¶8. ИЗ ПОЭМЫ "АЛЬ-ААРАФ"§
¶ГИМН НЕСЭСИ§
"Дух! ты, кто в высоте,
Там, где в эфире ясном
Равно по красоте
Ужасное с прекрасным!
Где твердь завершена,
Где грань орбитам звездным,
Откуда плыть должна
Звезда назад по безднам!
Где твой предел святой,
Незримый лишь кометам,
Наказанным судьбой
За грех пред вечным светом,
Несущим пламя в даль,
Луч алый преступленья
И вечную печаль, -
Вовек без промедленья!
Мы знаем: ты - во всем!
Ты - в вечности: мы верим!
Но на челе твоем
И тень - мы чем измерим?
Друзья весны моей
Хранили убежденье,
Что вечности твоей
Мы, в малом, отраженье.
Но все, как ты решил;
Звезда моя далеко.
И путь ей меж светил
Твое казало око.
Здесь мне мечтой взнестись
К тебе, что - путь единый:
В твою святую высь
Или в твои глубины.
Твой рок мне возвещен
Фантазией священной,
Пока не станет он
Открыт для всей вселенной!"
(1924)
Перевод В. Брюсова
¶9. TO -§
¶1§
Should my early life seem,
(As well it might), a dream -
Yet I build no faith upon
The king Napoleon -
I look not up afar
For my destiny in a star:
¶2§
In parting from you now
Thus much I will avow -
There are beings, and have been
Whom my spirit had not seen
Had I let them pass me by
With a dreaming eye -
If my peace hath fled away
In a night - or in a day -
In a vision - or in none -
Is it therefore the less gone? -
¶3§
I am standing 'mid the roar
Of a weather-beaten shore,
And I hold within my hand
Some particles of sand -
How few! and how they creep
Thro' my fingers to the deep!
My early hopes? no - they
Went gloriously away,
Like lightning from the sky
At once - and so will I.
¶4§
So young? ah! no - not now -
Thou hast not seen my brow,
But they tell thee I am proud -
They lie - they lie aloud -
My bosom beats with shame
At the paltriness of name
With which they dare combine
A feeling such as mine -
Nor Stoic? I am not:
In the terror of my lot
I laugh to think how poor
That pleasure "to endure!"
What! shade of Zeno! - I!
Endure! - no - no - defy.
(1829)
9. К***
¶1.§
Прежняя жизнь предо мной
Предстает, - что и верно, - мечтой;
Уж я не грежу бессонно
О жребии Наполеона,
Не ищу, озираясь окрест,
Судьбы в сочетании звезд.
¶2.§
Но, мой друг, для тебя, на прощанье,
Одно я сберег признанье:
Были и есть существа,
О ком сознаю я едва,
Во сне предо мной прошли ли
Тени неведомой были.
Все ж навек мной утрачен покой, -
Днем ли, - во тьме ль ночной, -
На яву ль, - в бреду ль, - все равно ведь;
Мне душу к скорби готовить!
¶3.§
Стою у бурных вод,
Кругом гроза растет;
Хранит моя рука
Горсть зернышек песка;
Как мало! как спешат
Меж пальцев все назад!
Надежды? нет их, нет!
Блистательно, как свет
Зарниц, погасли вдруг...
Так мне пройти, мой друг!
¶4.§
Столь юным? - О, не верь!
Я - юн, но не теперь.
Все скажут, я - гордец.
Кто скажет так, тот - лжец!
И сердце от стыда
Стучит во мне, когда
Все то, чем я томим,
Клеймят клеймом таким!
Я - стоик? Нет! Тебе
Клянусь: и в злой судьбе
Восторг "страдать" - смешон!
Он - бледен, скуден - он!
Не ученик Зенона -
Я. Нет! - Но - выше стона!
(1924)
Перевод В. Брюсова
¶10. TO -§
The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
The wantonest singing birds,
Are lips - and all thy melody
Of lip-begotten words -
Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined
Then desolately fall,
О God! on my funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall -
Thy heart - thy heart! - I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy -
Of the baubles that it may.
(1829-1845)
10. К***
Та роща, где, в мечтах, - чудесней
Эдемских, - птицы без числа:
Твои уста! и все те песни:
Слова, что ты произнесла!
На небе сердца, - горе! горе! -
Нещадно жгуч твой каждый взгляд!
И их огни, как звезды - море,
Мой дух отравленный палят.
Ты, всюду - ты! Куда ни ступишь!
Я в сон спешу, чтоб видеть сны:
О правде, что ничем не купишь,
И о безумствах, что даны!
(1924)
Перевод В. Брюсова
¶11. TO THE RIVER -§
Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty - the unhidden heart -
The playful maziness of art
In old Alberto's daughter;
But when within thy wave she looks -
Which glistens then, and trembles -
Why, then the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies -
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.
(1829-1845)
¶11. К РУЧЬЮ§
Живой ручей! Как ясен ты,
Твой бег лучами вышит,
Твой блеск - эмблема красоты,
Души, открытой тайнам чувств,
Привольной прихоти искусств,
Чем дочь Альберто дышит.
Когда она глядит в тебя,
Дрожишь ты, многоводен,
И, детский лик волной дробя,
Со мной, ручей, ты сходен;
Как ты, вбираю я в себя
Ее черты глубоко,
И я, как ты, дрожу, дробя
Души взыскующее око.
(1924)
Перевод В. Брюсова
¶12. TO -§
I heed not that my earthly lot
Hath - little of Earth in it -
That years of love have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute: -
I mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
Who am a passer by.
(1828-1849)
12. * * *
Я не скорблю, что мой земной удел
Земного мало знал самозабвенья,
Что сон любви давнишней отлетел
Перед враждой единого мгновенья.
Скорблю я не о том, что в блеске дня
Меня счастливей нищий и убогий,
Но что жалеешь ты, мой друг, меня,
Идущего пустынною дорогой.
(1901)
Перевод К. Бальмонта
¶13. FAIRY-LAND§
Dim vales - and shadowy floods -
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over.
Huge moons there wax and wane -
Again - again - again -
Every moment of the night -
Forever changing places -
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down - still down - and down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain's eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be -
O'er the strange woods - o'er the sea -
Over spirits on the wing -
Over every drowsy thing -
And buries them up ojuite
In a labyrinth of light -
And then, how deep! - O, deep!
Is the passion of their sleep.
In the morning they arise,
And their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like - almost any thing -
Or a yellow Albatross.
They use that moon no more
For the same end as before -
Videlicet a tent -
Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Of which those butterflies,
Of Earth, who seek the skies,
And so come down again
(Never-contented things!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.
(1829, 1845)
¶13. СТРАНА ФЕЙ§
Мгла долов - тень по кручам -
Лес, подобный тучам,
Чьи формы брезжут странно
В слепых слезах тумана.
Бессмертных лун чреда, -
Всегда, - всегда, - всегда, -
Меняя мутно вид,
Ущерб на диск, - бежит, -
Бежит, - улыбкой бледной
Свет звезд гася победно.
И, в полночь по луне, -
Одна, туманней всех
(Не та ль, что в вышине
Всех дольше длила бег),
Нисходит - долу - долу -
Свой центр клоня к престолу
Горы, на снег вершин,
Туман огромной сферы
Скрывает, - плащ без меры, -
Сон хижин и руин,
И лес на всем просторе,
И море, - о! и море!
Всех духов, что скользят,
Все существа, что спят,
Вбирая полно их
В лабиринт лучей своих,
Как будто в этот срок
Их сон глубок, - глубок!
Им вскроет день глаза,
И лунный их покров
Взлетит на небеса
С тяжелым севом гроз:
Он стал - цепь облаков
Иль желтый альбатрос,
И та же днем луна
Им больше не нужна,
Как одеянье тайны -
(Но как все чрезвычайно!)
А атомы луны
Днем в дождь разрешены;
Не их ли мотыльки,
Когда летят, легки,
В лазурь, ах! для паденья
(Вовек без достиженья),
Во образе пыльцы
Приносят образцы!
(1924)
Перевод В. Брюсова
¶14. TO HELEN§
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-Land!
(1831-1845)
¶14. К ЕЛЕНЕ§
О, Елена, твоя красота для меня -
Как Никейский челнок старых дней,
Что, к родимому краю неся и маня,
Истомленного путника мчал все нежней
Над волной благовонных морей.
По жестоким морям я блуждал, нелюдим,
Но классический лик твой, с загадкою грез,
С красотой гиацинтовых нежных волос,
Весь твой облик Наяды - всю грусть, точно дым,
Разогнал - и меня уманила Наяда
К чарованью, что звалось - Эллада,
И к величью, что звалося - Рим.
Вот, я вижу, я вижу тебя вдалеке,
Ты как статуя в нише окна предо мной,
Ты с лампадой агатовой в нежной руке,
О, Психея, из стран, что целебны тоске
И зовутся Святою Землей!
(1904)
Перевод К. Бальмонта
¶15. ISRAFEL§
And the angel Israfel whose heart-
strings are a lute, who has the sweetest
voice of all God's creatures.
- Koran
In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute;
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell)
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.
Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamoured moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.
And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings -
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.
But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty -
Where Love's a grown-up God -
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.
Therefore, thou ar
...Поділитися у соцмережах
