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;