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 PodŽyatyj 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