rrows past: And to the attendant promise will give heed - The prophecy, - like that of this wild blast, Which, while it makes the heart with sadness shrink, Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed. x x x YA otlozhil pero; mne shkval'nyj veter pel O brigah gibnushchih, o burelomnyh chashchah, - Polunochnyj psalom, utrachennyj dlya spyashchih Nevol'nikov zabot i povsednevnyh del. Pomyslil ya togda: vot moj zemnoj udel - Vnimat' melodii, bez mery i sozvuchij, CHtob ya otvetstvoval na veshchij zov pevuchij I strastnym yazykom prirody ovladel. Nemnogim yavstvenen nadgrobnyj ston takoj, Zvuchashchij nabozhno nad gorem i toskoj Davno minuvshih let; no on, kak burya eta, Poryvom yarostnym pechalya serdce mne, O nastupayushchej prorochit tishine, O legkoj zybi voln v siyanii rassveta. THE FRENCH AND THE SPANISH GUERILLAS Hunger, and sultry heat, and nipping blast From bleak hill-top, and length of march by night Through heavy swamp, or over snow-clad height - These hardships ill-sustained, these dangers past, The roving Spanish Bands are reached at last, Charged, and dispersed like foam: but as a flight Of scattered quails by signs do reunite, So these, - and, heard of once again, are chased With combinations of long-practised art And newly-kindled hope; but they are fled - Gone are they, viewless as the buried dead: Where now? - Their sword is at the Foeman's heart; And thus from year to year his walk they thwart, And hang like dreams around his guilty bed. FRANCUZY I ISPANSKIE PARTIZANY ZHara, i golod, i s dalekih gor Suhie vetry, i nochnoj pohod Po krucham i sredi gnilyh bolot, I nakonec, vsemu naperekor, Nastignuty ispancy, i v upor Tesnyat ih, gonyat, b'yut, no, v svoj chered, - Kak kuropatki, chut' beda projdet, Pereklikayas', sostavlyayut hor, - Oni splotyatsya! Ih ne obmanut', Ne vzyat', ne okruzhit' so vseh storon, - Otryad ischez, kak budto pogreben. No gde ih mech? Vragu napravlen v grud'! Oni emu peresekayut put' I omrachayut bespokojnyj son. x x x "Weak is the will of Man, his judgement blind; Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; Heavy is woe;-and joy, for human-kind, A mournful thing so transient is the blaze!" Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days Who wants the glorious faculty assigned To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind, And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays. Imagination is that sacred power, Imagination lofty and refined: 'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of Faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind. x x x "Slab chelovek i razumen'em slep; Tyazhel on dlya Udachi legkokryloj, Bespomoshchen pred Pamyat'yu unyloj I v tshchetnoj zhazhde Radosti nelep!" - Tak dumal tot, kto sumerki sudeb Vpervye ozaril volshebnoj Siloj, CHto srazu voznesla Rassudok hilyj Nad tuskloj yav'yu budnichnyh potreb. Voobrazhen'e - vot sej dar zhelannyj, Svet myslennyj i istinnyj oplot, Lish' amarant ego blagouhannyj CHelo stradal'ca tiho obov'et, - Ego ne sduyut bedstvij uragany, Ego i veter skorbi ne somnet. x x x Surprised by joy-impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport - Oh! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind - But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss! - That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. x x x Smutyas' ot radosti, ya obernulsya, CHtob podelit'sya - s kem, kak ne s toboj? - No nad tvoej mogil'noyu plitoj, Uvy, davno bezmolvnyj mrak somknulsya. Lyubov' moya! YA slovno by ochnulsya Ot navazhdeniya... Uzhel' ya mog Zabyt', hotya by na nichtozhnyj srok, Svoyu poteryu? Kak ya obmanulsya? I tak mne stalo bol'no v etot mig, Kak nikogda eshche - s toj samoj daty, Kogda, u groba stoya, ya postig, Neotvratimym holodom ob®yatyj, CHto navsegda pomerk nebesnyj lik I gody mne ne vozmestyat utraty. SEPTEMBER 1815 While not a leaf seems faded; while the fields, With ripening harvest prodigally fair, In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air, Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware; And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields." For me, who under kindlier laws belong To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky, Announce a season potent to renew, 'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song, And nobler cares than listless summer knew. BLIZOSTX OSENI While not a leaf seems faded. Eshche i list v dubrave ne poblek, I zhatvy s niv, pod yasnym nebosklonom, Ne srezal serp, a v vozduhe studenom, Pahnuvshem s gor, gde Duh Zimy izvlek Ledyanyj mech, mne slyshitsya namek, CHto skoro list spadet v lesu zelenom. I shepchet list pevcam vesny so stonom: Skorej na yug, vash nedrug nedalek! A ya, zimoj poyushchij, kak i letom, Bez trepeta, v tom sheleste gluhom Gustyh lesov i v yasnom bleske tom Osennih dnej, zhdu s radostnym privetom Snegov i bur', kogda sil'nej sogret, CHem v letnij znoj, vostorgom muz poet. x x x Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour! Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night; But studious only to remove from sight Day's mutable distinctions. - Ancient Power! Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower, To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen The self-same Vision which we now behold, At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought forth; These mighty barriers, and the gulf between; The flood, the stars, - a spectacle as old As the beginning of the heavens and earth! x x x O Sumrak, predvecher'ya gosudar'! Halif na chas, ty T'my nochnoj shchedree, Kogda stiraesh', nad zemleyu reya, Vse prehodyashchee. - O drevnij car'! Ne tak li za gryadoj skalistoj vstar' Mercal zaliv, kogda v lozhbine hmuroj Kosmatyj britt, pokrytyj volch'ej shkuroj, Ustraival sebe nochleg? Dikar', CHto mog uzret' on v merknushchem prostore Pred tem, kak snom ego glaza smezhilo? - To, chto donyne vidim my vdali: Podkovu temnyh gor, i eto more, Priboj i zvezdy - vse, chto est' i bylo Ot sotvoren'ya neba i zemli. From the Prologue to "Peter Bell" Otryvok iz prologa k poeme "Piter Bell" x x x There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon; But through the clouds I'll never float Until I have a little Boat, Shaped like the crescent-moon. And now I _have_ a little Boat, In shape a very crescent-moon Fast through the clouds my boat can sail; But if perchance your faith should fail, Look up - and you shall see me soon! The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring, Rocking and roaring like a sea; The noise of danger's in your ears, And ye have all a thousand fears Both for my little Boat and me! Meanwhile untroubled I admire The pointed horns of my canoe; And, did not pity touch my breast, To see how ye are all distrest, Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you! Away we go, my Boat and I - Frail man ne'er sate in such another; Whether among the winds we strive, Or deep into the clouds we dive, Each is contented with the other. Away we go - and what care we For treasons, tumults, and for wars? We are as calm in our delight As is the crescent-moon so bright Among the scattered stars. Up goes my Boat among the stars Through many a breathless field of light, Through many a long blue field of ether, Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her: Up goes my little Boat so bright! The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull - We pry among them all; have shot High o'er the red-haired race of Mars, Covered from top to toe with scars; Such company I like it not! The towns in Saturn are decayed, And melancholy Spectres throng them; - The Pleiads, that appear to kiss Each other in the vast abyss, With joy I sail among them. Swift Mercury resounds with mirth, Great Jove is full of stately bowers; But these, and all that they contain, What are they to that tiny grain, That little Earth of ours? Then back to Earth, the dear green Earth: - Whole ages if I here should roam, The world for my remarks and me Would not a whit the better be; I've left my heart at home. See! there she is, the matchless Earth! There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean! Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear Through the grey clouds; the Alps are here, Like waters in commotion! Yon tawny slip is Libya's sands; That silver thread the river Dnieper! And look, where clothed in brightest green Is a sweet Isle, of isles the Queen; Ye fairies, from all evil keep her! x x x Komu bol'shoj vozdushnyj shar, Komu krylatogo konya, A ya v chelne letet' hochu, Poka chelna net u menya, YA v oblaka ne polechu. Na polumesyac cheln pohozh, I ya sizhu v moem chelne, YA v nem skvoz' tuchi proplyvu, I esli ty ne verish' mne, Uvidish' noch'yu nayavu. Druz'ya! Vokrug shumyat lesa, Volnuyas', kak voda v moryah, I veter nositsya, zvenya, I vas ohvatyvaet strah, Vy vse boites' za menya. I ya lyubuyus', nevredim, Dvurogoj lodochkoj moej, Mne vas sovsem ne zhal', druz'ya, CHem vam strashnej, tem mne smeshnej, Do slez mogu smeyat'sya ya. Tak ya plyvu vpered, vpered. Dlya hilyh truden etot put', Skvoz' vetry nuzhno mne projti, I v tuchah nuzhno mne tonut', YA vse pereterplyu v puti. Plyvu vpered. CHto mne teper' Myatezh, predatel'stvo, vojna? YA tak velichestven i tih, Kak voshodyashchaya luna Sred' zvezd rassypannyh svoih. Moj cheln vsplyvaet vyshe zvezd, Zalityj svetom zolotym. Plyvet sredi vozdushnyh voln, Sto tysyach zvezd plyvut za nim, Vsplyvaet vyshe zvezd moj cheln. Vot Rak. Vot Byk. Vot Skorpion, My mezhdu nimi proskol'znem. Nad Marsom plyt' nam suzhdeno, On ryzhij ves', rubcy na nem - On mne ne nravitsya davno. Saturn razrushennyj, na nem Pechal'nyh spektrov brodit ten', YA vizhu v bezdne dvuh pleyad, Celuyushchihsya noch' i den'. Nad nimi plyt' ya ochen' rad. Merkurij veselo zvenit. YUpiter svetitsya vdali. Planet Vselennaya polna, CHto im za delo do Zemli - Edva zametnogo zerna? Nazad k Zemle! K rodnoj Zemle! I esli b ya sto let letal, Mir tem zhe byl by dlya menya, On luchshe by nichut' ne stal. Ostavil doma serdce ya. Vot nesravnennaya Zemlya! Rasplastan Tihij okean, Kop'em vonzilis' v oblaka Verhushki Al'p i drevnih And - Ne sokrushayut ih veka. Vot krasnyj Livii pesok, Vot Dnepr, serebryanyj shnurok. A tam sverkaet izumrud, To luchshij v mire ostrovok, Ego nayady steregut. From "The River Duddon, A Series of Sonnets... and Other Poems" Iz sbornika "Sonety k reke Daddon i drugie stihotvoreniya" THE RIVER DUDDON x x x Not envying Latian shades - if yet they throw A grateful coolness round that crystal Spring, Blandusia, prattling as when long ago The Sabine Bard was moved her praise to sing; Careless of flowers that in perennial blow Round the moist marge of Persian fountains cling; Heedless of Alpine torrents thundering Through ice-built arches radiant as heaven's bow; I seek the birthplace of a native Stream. - All hail, ye mountains! hail, thou morning light! Better to breathe at large on this clear height Than toil in needless sleep from dream to dream: Pure flow the verse, pure, vigorous, free, and bright, For Duddon, long-loved Duddon, is my theme! SONETY K REKE DADDON x x x Mne ne znakoma Latuma prohlada, Ne slyshal ya zhurchan'ya rodnikov Banduzii, Goraciya otrady, Poyushchego v sozvuch'i mernyh strof. Cvetov persidskih pyshnyh mne ne nado, YA ne lyublyu fontanov i sadov, Al'pijskogo potoka chuzhd mne rev I raduga v stremninah vodopada. Vverh po reke znakomoyu tropoj Idu, brosayu v gory klich priveta, Legko dyshat' prohladoyu rassveta. Rasstalsya ya s izbytochnoj mechtoj, Lyubov'yu prezhnej pesn' moya sogreta - YA slavlyu Deddon, Deddon moj rodnoj. x x x Child of the clouds! remote from every taint Of sordid industry thy lot is cast; Thine are the honours of the lofty waste Not seldom, when with heat the valleys faint, Thy handmaid Frost with spangled tissue quaint Thy cradle decks;-to chant thy birth, thou hast No meaner Poet than the whistling Blast, And Desolation is thy Patron-saint! She guards thee, ruthless Power! who would not spare Those mighty forests, once the bison's screen, Where stalked the huge deer to his shaggy lair Through paths and alleys roofed with darkest green; Thousands of years before the silent air Was pierced by whizzing shaft of hunter keen! x x x Ditya dalekih tuch! V uedinen'i Ne vedaesh' ty uchasti mirskoj, Obstala glush' lesov tebya stenoj, I vetra svist poet tebe hvalen'ya. Morozy zhdut lish' tvoego velen'ya. - Puskaj v doline pyshet letnij znoj, Ty odevaesh' savan ledyanoj, Tebya hranit velikij duh Zabven'ya. No vremeni ruka uzhe legla Na etot bereg dikij i lesistyj, Gde nekogda carila glush' i mgla, Ogromnyj los' toptal kover pushistyj I zverolova metkaya strela Bezmolviya ne narushala svistom. x x x How shall I paint thee? - Be this naked stone My seat, while I give way to such intent; Pleased could my verse, a speaking monument, Make to the eyes of men thy features known. But as of all those tripping lambs not one Outruns his fellows, so hath Nature lent To thy beginning nought that doth present Peculiar ground for hope to build upon. To dignity the spot that gives thee birth No sign of hoar Antiquity's esteem Appears, and none of modern Fortune's care; Yet thou thyself hast round thee shed a gleam Of brilliant moss, instinct with freshness rare; Prompt offering to thy Foster-mother, Earth! U ISTOKA Kak mne narisovat' tebya? - Prisyadu Na golom kamne, sred' hvoshchej i mhov: Pust' govoryashchij pamyatnik stihov Tvoi cherty yavit lyudskomu vzglyadu. No kak barashku, chto pribilsya k stadu, Iz bleyushchih ne vybrat'sya ryadov, Tak nikakih osobennyh darov Tebe Sud'ba ne pripasla v nagradu. Nichem - ni dan'yu drevnosti sedoj, Ni shchedrost'yu vozvyshennyh primet - Zdes' ne otmecheno tvoe rozhden'e. No svezhij moh, rastushchij nad vodoj, I etot v struyah otrazhennyj svet - Tvoe Zemle surovoj prinoshen'e. THE PLAIN OF DONNERDALE The old inventive Poets, had they seen, Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flowery plains - The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, Transferred to bowers imperishably green, Had beautified Elysium! But these chains Will soon be broken;-a rough course remains, Rough as the past; where Thou, of placid mien, Innocuous as a firstling of the flock, And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky, Shalt change thy temper; and, with many a shock Given and received in mutual jeopardy, Dance, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock, Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high! DONNERDELXSKAYA DOLINA Kogda b sedye bardy byli zhivy I videli tebya, o Deddon moj, Oni b |liziem nazvali bereg tvoj. Ostavil ty svoj prezhnij vid burlivyj, I mezh cvetov polzut tvoi izvivy Vdol' po ravnine svetloyu struej - No, vidno, chuzhd tenistyh roshch pokoj Tvoej volne svobodnoj i shumlivoj. I ty, yagnenka robkogo smirnej, Ognem nebes otsvechivavshij chistym, Vmig zabyvaesh' tishinu polej, Pregrady rvesh' v svoem techen'e bystrom I, kak vakhanka, plyashesh' sred' kamnej, Neistovo razmahivaya tirsom. AFTER-THOUGHT I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide. As being past away. - Vain sympathies! For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide; Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise; We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish; - be it so! Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower. We feel that we are greater than we know. PROSHCHALXNYJ SONET REKE DADDON V proshchal'nyj chas, moj drug i sputnik moj, Idu k tebe. - Naprasnoe vlechen'e! YA vizhu, Daddon, vse v tvoem techen'e, CHto bylo, est' i budet vpred' so mnoj. Ty katish' vody, vechnyj, ozornoj, Daruesh' vechno zhizn' i obnovlen'e, A my - my sila, mudrost', ustremlen'e, My s yunyh let zovem stihii v boj, I vse-taki my smertny. - Da svershitsya! No ne obizhen, kto hot' malyj srok Svoim trudom sluzhit' potomstvu mog, Kto i togda, kogda blizka grobnica, Lyubov', Nadezhdu, Veru - vse sbereg. Ne vyshe l' on, chem smertnym eto mnitsya! THE PILGRIM'S DREAM A Pilgrim, when the summer day Had closed upon his weary way, A lodging begged beneath a castle's roof; But him the haughty Warder spurned; And from the gate the Pilgrim turned, To seek such covert as the field Or heath-besprinkled copse might yield, Or lofty wood, shower-proof. He paced along; and, pensively, Halting beneath a shady tree, Whose moss-grown root might serve for couch or seat, Fixed on a Star his upward eye; Then, from the tenant of the sky He turned, and watched with kindred look, A Glow-worm, in a dusky nook, Apparent at his feet. The murmur of a neighbouring stream Induced a soft and slumbrous dream, A pregnant dream, within whose shadowy bounds He recognised the earth-born Star, And _That_ which glittered from afar; And (strange to witness!) from the frame Of the ethereal Orb, there came Intelligible sounds. Much did it taunt the humble Light That now, when day was fled, and night Hushed the dark earth, fast closing weary eyes, A very reptile could presume To show her taper in the gloom, As if in rivalship with One Who sate a ruler on his throne Erected in the skies. "Exalted Star!" the Worm replied, "Abate this unbecoming pride, Or with a less uneasy lustre shine; Thou shrink'st as momently thy rays Are mastered by the breathing haze; While neither mist, nor thickest cloud That shapes in heaven its murky shroud, Hath power to injure mine. But not for this do I aspire To match the spark of local fire, That at my will burns on the dewy lawn, With thy acknowledged glories;-No! Yet, thus upbraided, I may show What favours do attend me here, Till, like thyself, I disappear Before the purple dawn." When this in modest guise was said, Across the welkin seemed to spread A boding sound-for aught but sleep unfit! Hills quaked, the rivers backward ran; That Star, so proud of late, looked wan; And reeled with visionary stir In the blue depth, like Lucifer Cast headlong to the pit! Fire raged: and, when the spangled floor Of ancient ether was no more, New heavens succeeded, by the dream brought forth: And all the happy Souls that rode Transfigured through that fresh abode, Had heretofore, in humble trust, Shone meekly 'mid their native dust, The Glow-worms of the earth! This knowledge, from an Angel's voice Proceeding, made the heart rejoice Of Him who slept upon the open lea: Waking at morn he murmured not; And, till life's journey closed, the spot Was to the Pilgrim's soul endeared, Where by that dream he had been cheered Beneath the shady tree. SON PILIGRIMA Pod vecher v zamke piligrim, Dorogoj dolgoyu tomim, Prosya nochlega, stuknul u dverej. Nadmenno storozh otkazal, I strannik dal'she zashagal, Nadeyas' v tishine lesov Najti gostepriimnyj krov, Pod zarosl'yu vetvej. Zadumchivo tyazhelyj put' On prodolzhal i otdohnut' Pod derevom prisel na mhu gustom. Zvezda zateplilas' nad nim... Kogda zhe vzglyad svoj piligrim Vniz opustil - u samyh nog Uvidel skromnyj ogonek, Zazhzhennyj svetlyakom. Drema kosnulasya ochej... Nedaleko zhurchal ruchej, I strannyj son naveyal plesk vody. Zvezdu zemnuyu - svetlyaka - I tu, chto v nebe, daleka, Uvidel on, i rechi zvuk K nemu syuda donessya vdrug S efirnoj vysoty. Prezritel'no zvuchala rech': I cherv' posmel svoj svet zazhech' V tot chas, kogda smykaet son glaza. Ne dlya nego li nochi ten' Teper' smenila letnij den'? Ne mnit li on ravnyat'sya s toj, CH'ej carstvennoyu krasotoj Gordyatsya nebesa? I ej skazal svetlyak v otvet: "Zvezda kichlivaya, tvoj svet Syraya dymka mozhet zatemnit', Legko ty gasnesh', i tvoj luch Ne v silah vybrat'sya iz tuch. Menya zhe i gustoj pokrov Tumana ili oblakov Ne v silah pogasit'. Net, ya ne l'shchu sebya mechtoj, Blestya teper' v trave syroj, CHut' vidimyj pod krovom temnoty, S tvoej ravnyat'sya slavoj, - net, No moj edva zametnyj svet Daet mne radost', a potom YA gasnu v purpure dnevnom... No gasnesh' ved' i ty". Edva uspel promolvit' on - Iz kraya v kraj ves' nebosklon Otkliknulsya na golos gromovoj. Dol drognul, vspyat' poshla voda, Pomerkla yarkaya zvezda I, pomercav, kak Lyucifer, Nizrinutyj s nebesnyh sfer, Skatilas' v mrak nochnoj. Son dlilsya. Zvezdnyj svod nebes. Ob®yatyj plamenem, ischez I novogo otkrylsya blesk ocham. V preobrazhennoj krasote Tam zasiyali dushi te, CHto zdes' vo mrake i pyli Ogon' nadezhdy sberegli, Podobno svetlyakam. I spavshij na lugu postig, CHto Angel Bozhij v etot mig Besedoval v viden'e sonnom s nim. Vospryanuv serdcem i dushoj, Zabyl on utrom ropot svoj, No do konca zemnyh trevog Svoj chudnyj son zabyt' ne mog Pod derevom gustym. SEPTEMBER 1819 The sylvan slopes with corn-clad fields Are hung, as if with golden shields, Bright trophies of the sun! Like a fair sister of the sky, Unruffled doth the blue lake lie, The mountains looking on. And, sooth to say, yon vocal grove, Albeit uninspired by love, By love untaught to ring, May well afford to mortal ear An impulse more profoundly dear Than music of the Spring. For _that_ from turbulence and heat Proceeds, from some uneasy seat In nature's struggling frame, Some region of impatient life: And jealousy, and quivering strife, Therein a portion claim. This, this is holy; - while I hear These vespers of another year, This hymn of thanks and praise, My spirit seems to mount above The anxieties of human love, And earth's precarious days. But list! - though winter storms be nigh, Unchecked is that soft harmony: There lives Who can provide For all his creatures; and in Him, Even like the radiant Seraphim, These choristers confide. SENTYABRX Kak pozlashchennye shchity, Trofei plamennogo neba, Legli na gornye hrebty Polya s roskoshnoj zhatvoj hleba. Kak stklo, lazorevyh ozer Poverhnost' spit, ne kolyhayas', I vysi dal'nyh sizyh gor V nee glyadyatsya, otrazhayas'. Povsyudu gulkie lesa Oglasheny pernatyh pen'em, Hotya uzh ptichek golosa Lyubvi ne dyshat vdohnoven'em. No pust' v svyashchennoj tishine Ih pesnya strast'yu ne sogreta, - Ona sto raz otradnej mne, CHem muzyka vesny i leta. V vesennih pesnyah pyl lyubvi, Bor'ba, trevoga, razdrazhen'e, Ogon' v klokochushchej krovi I zhizni burnoe volnen'e. V nih strasti rvutsya na prostor, Trepeshchut sladostrast'em zvuki, V nih slyshen beshenyj razdor I golos revnosti i muki. A zdes' svyataya pesn' slyshna, Kak blagovest drugogo goda; V nej, blagodarnosti polna, Gimn Bozhestvu gremit priroda. I ya, vnimaya pesne toj, Vse dol'noe otbrosiv dolu I chuzhdyj muk bor'by zemnoj, Nesus' dushoj k Ego prestolu. Gremi zhe, pesn'! Da ne smutit Tebya bur' zimnih priblizhen'e! ZHiv Tot, ch'ya blagost' sohranit Vse, chto zhivet, ot razrushen'ya, Vse, chto zhivet, zhivet lish' Im, Otcom lyubvi, Vladykoj slavy, I shestikrylyj heruvim, I zvuchnyj hor pevcov dubravy. ON SEEING A TUFT OF SNOWDROPS IN A STORM When haughty expectations prostrate lie, And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing, Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring Mature release, in fair society Survive, and Fortune's utmost anger try; Like these frail snowdrops that together cling, And nod their helmets, smitten by the wing Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by. Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate; And so the bright immoral Theban band, Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command, Might overwhelm, but could not separate! x x x Kogda nadezhda v prahe slezy l'et I gnetsya gordyj duh, prosya proshchen'ya, U malyh sih, ne zhdushchih razreshen'ya Vseh bed prirodoj, sily dostaet ZHit' pravedno, nesya vsem mirom gnet. Tak trepetnyh podsnezhnikov skoplen'ya Stoyat, kachayutsya, hot' v isstuplen'e Ih besnovatyj vihr' krylami b'et. V cvety vsmotris'! Zdes' ozhivaet v malom Velikoe: derzhala hod vragov Falanga makedoncev udalaya; Fivancev, v ih gerojstve nebyvalom, Stroj vojsk, chto v boj poslal otec bogov, Raz®edinit' ne smog, odolevaya. SONG FOR THE SPINNING WHEEL Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel! Night has brought the welcome hour, When the weary fingers feel Help, as if from faery power; Dewy night o'ershades the ground; Turn the swift wheel round and round! Now, beneath the starry sky, Couch the widely-scattered sheep; - Ply the pleasant labour, ply! For the spindle, while they sleep, Runs with speed more smooth and fine, Gathering up a trustier line. Short-lived likings may be bred By a glance from fickle eyes; But true love is like the thread Which the kindly wool supplies, When the flocks are all at rest Sleeping on the mountain's breast. PESNYA ZA PRYALKOJ Pozdnij chas glyadit v okno, No ustalaya ruka Krutit vnov' vereteno, I provorna i legka, - Noch' prishla, legla rosa, CHashche shelest kolesa. Razbrelis' v polyah stada, Spyat pod krovom temnoty, - Pryazha l'etsya bez truda, V pal'cah bol'she bystroty. Ovcy spyat - i krepche nit' Nachinaet pryalka vit'. Zastilaet vzglyad ochej Bystroletnoj strast'yu krov', Dolgovechnej i prochnej Nastoyashchaya lyubov', - |to nit' v rukah u pryah V chas, kak ovcy spyat v gorah. THE HAUNTED TREE Those silver clouds collected round the sun His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less To overshade than multiply his beams By soft reflection - grateful to the sky, To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human sense Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy More ample than the time-dismantled Oak Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use Was fashioned; whether, by the hand of Art, That eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs In languor; or, by Nature, for repose Of pan