ting Wood-nymph, wearied with the chase. O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight Than fairest spiritual creature of the groves, Approach; - and, thus invited, crown with rest The noon-tide hour though truly some there are Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid This venerable Tree; for, when the wind Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound (Above the general roar of woods and crags) Distinctly heard from far - a doleful note! As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed) The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed Some bitter wrong. Nor is it unbelieved, By ruder fancy, that a troubled ghost Haunts the old trunk; lamenting deeds of which The flowery ground is conscious. But no wind Sweeps now along this elevated ridge; Not even a zephyr stirs; - the obnoxious Tree Is mute; and, in his silence, would look down, O lovely Wanderer of the trackless hills, On thy reclining form with more delight Than his coevals in the sheltered vale Seem to participate, the while they view Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads Vividly pictured in some glassy pool, That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream! OKOLDOVANNYJ DUB Pokrovom serebristym oblaka CHut' zatyanuli solnce, no ne v silah Smyagchit' ego luchej, i znoj poldnevnyj Potokom otrazhennym l'etsya s neba Na skaly, roshchi i luga. Pozhaluj, V takuyu poru ne najti priyuta Otradnej, chem pod etim starym dubom, Raskinuvshim shiroko ten' svoih Vetvej stoletnih nad kovrom dushistym, Razostlannym zdes' vereskom cvetushchim. Navernoe, ne znal roskoshnej lozha I sam sultan, lezhashchij na podushkah Sredi cvetov, otdavshis' nege sonnoj. Sama priroda vytkala ego Dlya otdyha ustalyh nimf-ohotnic. I ty, kotoraya dlya glaz moih Prekrasnej vseh, zhivushchih v etih roshchah I geniev i duhov, neuzheli Ty ne pridesh', chtob otdohnut' zdes' tozhe V poldnevnyj chas. YA znayu, govoryat, CHto k dubu podhodit' nebezopasno, CHto on, kogda v lesu poryvy vetra Revut, shumyat, - on tozhe gromko stonet I skorbnyj zvuk nesetsya s uraganom. Kogda b pastuh arkadskij eto slyshal, Skazal by on, chto bednaya driada Obrechena oplakivat' svoj zhrebij, Ee navek svyazavshij s etim dubom. Pover'e est' inoe, budto duhi Nedobrye sletayutsya syuda I vspominayut zhaloboj i stonom O teh delah, kotorym byl svidetel' Odin cvetushchij veresk. No teper' Spokojno vse, ne shelestyat vershiny, I vozduh tih, ne kolyhnetsya. Nem Vinovnik etih strahov, i v molchan'e Pod sen' svoyu tebya on primet nezhno, I nad toboj on sklonitsya vershinoj, Kak klonyatsya rovesniki ego Nad zavod'yu spokojnoj, i toboyu On budet lyubovat'sya, kak oni Lyubuyutsya nevernym otrazhen'em Svoih vetvej v zamedlivshej reke. From "Ecclesiastical Sonnets" Iz sbornika "Cerkovnye sonety" MUTABILITY From low to high doth dissolution climb, And sink from high to low, along a scale Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail; A musical but melancholy chime. Which they can hear who meddle not with crime, Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care. Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear The longest dale do melt like frosty rime, That in the morning whitened hill and plain And is no more; drop like the tower sublime Of yesterday, which royally did wear His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain Some casual shout that broke the silent air, Or the unimaginable touch of Time. IZMENCHIVOSTX Voshodit vvys' melodiej moguchej Raspad vselenskij i na spad idet Nespeshnoj cheredoj uzhasnyh not, Garmoniej skrezheshchushchih sozvuchij; Kto slyshit ih, - tot preziraet sluchaj, Bezhit nechistyh vygod i hlopot. Bessmertna pravda; no ona zhivet V oblich'yah dnya, v ih smene neminuchej. Tak inej, vybelivshij utrom lug, Rastaet; tak sedaya bashnya vdrug Ot vozglasa sluchajnogo kachnetsya I, slovno sleplennaya iz peska, Obrushitsya, - kogda ee kosnetsya Nevidimaya Vremeni ruka. INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned - Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed Scholars only - this immense And glorious Work of fine intelligence! Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more; So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering - and wandering on as loth to die; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. V KAPELLE KOROLEVSKOGO KOLLEDZHA V KEMBRIDZHE Ne uprekaj svyatyh za motovstvo, Ni zodchego, chto sozdal nebyvalyj Velikolepnyj hram - dlya gorstki maloj Uchenyh prihozhan, - vlozhiv v nego Vse, bez ostatka - mysl' i masterstvo! Bud' shchedrym; chuzhd vzyskatel'nym vysotam Trud, otyagchennyj melochnym raschetom; Tak dumal on, voznesshij volshebstvo Reznyh kolonn i arok nevesomyh, Gde radugi drozhat v cvetnyh proemah, Gde v polumrake muzyka parit, Bluzhdaya v sotah kamennogo svoda, - Kak mysli, koih sladost' i svoboda Nam o bessmert'e duha govorit. From "The Poetical Works" Iz knigi "Poeticheskie proizvedeniya" LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR I Smile of the Moon! - for so I name That silent greeting from above; A gentle flash of light that came From her whom drooping captives love; Or art thou of still higher birth? Thou that didst part the clouds of earth, My torpor to reprove! II Bright boon of pitying Heaven! - alas, I may not trust thy placid cheer! Pondering that Time to-night will pass The threshold of another year; For years to me are sad and dull; My very moments are too full Of hopelessness and fear. III And yet, the soul-awakening gleam, That struck perchance the farthest cone Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem To visit me, and me alone; Me, unapproached by any friend, Save those who to my sorrows lend Tears due unto their own. IV To-night the church-tower bells will ring Through these wild realms a festive peal; To the new year a welcoming; A tuneful offering for the weal Of happy millions lulled in sleep; While I am forced to watch and weep, By wounds that may not heal. V Born all too high, by wedlock raised Still higher - to be cast thus low! Would that mine eyes had never gazed On aught of more ambitious show Than the sweet flowerets of the fields - It is my royal state that yields This bitterness of woe. VI Yet how? - for I, if there be truth In the world's voice, was passing fair; And beauty, for confiding youth, Those shocks of passion can prepare That kill the bloom before its time; And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair. VII Unblest distinction! showered on me To bind a lingering life in chains: All that could quit my grasp, or flee, Is gone; - but not the subtle stains Fixed in the spirit; for even here Can I be proud that jealous fear, Of what I was remains. VIII A Woman rules my prison's key; A sister Queen, against the bent Of law and holiest sympathy, Detains me, doubtful of the event; Great God, who feel'st for my distress, My thoughts are all that I possess, O keep them innocent! IX Farewell desire of human aid, Which abject mortals vainly court! By friends deceived, by foes betrayed, Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport; Nought but the world-redeeming Cross Is able to supply my loss, My burthen to support. X Hark! the death-note of the year Sounded by the castle-clock! From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear Stole forth, unsettled by the shock; But oft the woods renewed their green, Ere the tired head of Scotland's Queen Reposed upon the block! ZHALOBA M|RI, KOROLEVY SHOTLANDCEV, V KANUN NOVOGO GODA I Luny ulybka! Nazvala ya Tak etu lasku s vysoty Ot toj, chto teplitsya, pitaya Unylyh uznikov mechty, Pronzaya tuchi svetlym okom. V moem bezdejstvii zhestokom Mne shlesh' uprek bezmolvnyj ty! II O svetlyj dar lyubvi Gospodnej, Mne uteshen'ya net, uvy, Segodnya, noch'yu novogodnej, Nadezhdy, otleteli vy. CHto vperedi? Pechal' bez mery. Gryadushchie mgnoven'ya sery, Neumolimy i mertvy. III A vse zhe etot svet luchistyj, Upav v tyur'mu, kak na sosnu, V lesah SHotlandii skalistoj, On naveshchal menya odnu, Kotoruyu druz'ya zabyli, Il', placha, zdes' so mnoj delili Svoyu pechal', svoyu vinu. IV Segodnya kolokol'nym zvonom Vdrug oglasitsya vsya strana. Bespechno dremlyushchim mil'onam Lyudej ne budet i slyshna Ta pesnya radostnogo chuda, A ya bez sna tomit'sya budu, Rydat' i toskovat' odna. V Uvy! Rozhdennoj tak vysoko Upast' tak nizko s vysoty... Kogda b moe ne znalo oko Inoj na svete krasoty, CHem cvetiki prostye v pole, YA b ne ispytyvala boli, - CHto, san moj, pridaesh' mne ty! VI Menya, kol' pravda est' na svete, Prekrasnoyu zvala molva, A krasota stremitsya v seti Lyubvi, poznav ee edva, I strast' mertvit cvety do sroka, I prezhdevremenno zhestoko Sedeet nasha golova. VII Otlich'e zloe, ty izlito, CHtob zhizn' svyazat' cepyami muk. Vse, chem vladela ya, - zabyto, Vse iz moih bezhalo ruk. No, nesmotrya na vse stradan'ya, Uzhasnej ih vospominan'ya I proshlogo malejshij zvuk. VIII Vladeet zhenshchina klyuchami Temnicy, gde vlachu ya dni, I ravnodushnymi ochami Glyadit na goresti moi. Gospod', odno prosit' ya smeyu, Ved' mysli - vse, chto ya imeyu, Tak v chistote ih sohrani. IX Proshchaj, zhelan'e byt' spasennoj, Kotorym teshatsya raby. Obmanutoj i obojdennoj Igrushke straha i sud'by Odin lish' krest ostalsya nyne Usladoj v gorestnoj pustyne, Gde tshchetny slezy i mol'by. X Vnimaj! Na bashne zamka chetko Udar razdalsya rokovoj, Ee glaza blesnuli krotko Tem zvukom vyzvannoj slezoj. No mnogo let promchalos' mimo, Poka ona, toskoj tomima, Na plahe obrela pokoj. TO -- Let other bards of angels sing, Bright suns without a spot; But thou art no such perfect thing: Rejoice that thou art not! Heed not tho' none should call thee fair; So, Mary, let it be If nought in loveliness compare With what thou art to me. True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved. x x x Kto vyshel solncem, bez pyatna, Tot angelov i poj. Ty v "sovershenstva" ne godna, I tut ya shozh s toboj. Tvoej ne vidyat krasoty, No ya, moya dusha, YA, Meri, vsem tverzhu, chto ty Bezmerno horosha: Ne tem, chto videt' vsem dano, A vidnym - lish' dvoim, Kogda serdca slilis' v odno I lyubyashchij lyubim. TO A SKY-LARK Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still! Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home! ZHAVORONKU Nebesnyj piligrim i menestrel'! Il' kazhetsya zemlya tebe nechistoj? Il', vvys' vzletev i rassypaya trel', Ty serdcem zdes' s gnezdom v trave rosistoj? Ty padaesh' v gnezdo svoe sred' trav, Slozhivshi kryl'ya, penie prervav! K predelam zren'ya, vyshe unosis', Pevun otvazhnyj! I lyubovnoj pesnej Tebya s tvoimi ne razluchit vys', Dolinu s vysoty charuj chudesnej! Odin ty mozhesh' pet' sred' sinevy, Ne svyazannyj spleteniem listvy. Ostav' tenistyj les dlya solov'ya; Sredi luchej - tvoe uedinen'e; Bozhestvennej garmoniya tvoya, Nad mirom l'yushchayasya v upoen'e. Tak i mudrec parit, vdal' ne stremyas' I v nebe s domom sohranyaya svyaz'! x x x Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakspeare unlocked his heart; the melody Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound; A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound; With it Camoens soothed an exile's grief; The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp, It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew Soul-animating strains - alas, too few! x x x Ne hmur'sya, kritik, ne otrin' soneta! On klyuch, kotorym serdce otkryval Svoe SHekspir; Petrarka vracheval Pechal', kogda zvenela lyutnya eta; U Tasso chasto flejtoj on vzyval; Im skorb' Kamoensa byla sogreta; On v kiparisovyj venok poeta, Kotorym Dant chelo koronoval, Vpleten, kak mirt; on, kak svetlyak bessonnyj, Vel Spensera na trudnyj pereval, Iz carstva fej, dorogoj potaennoj; Truboj v rukah u Mil'tona on stal, CH'e mednoglas'e dushu vozvyshalo; Uvy, truba zvuchala slishkom malo! TO THE TORRENT AT THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE, NORTH WALES, 1824 How art thou named? In search of what strange land, From what huge height, descending? Can such force Of waters issue from a British source, Or hath not Pindus fed thee, where the band Of Patriots scoop their freedom out, with hand Desperate as thine? Or come the incessant shocks From that young Stream, that smites the throbbing rocks. Of Viamala? There I seem to stand, As in life's morn; permitted to behold, From the dread chasm, woods climbing above woods, In pomp that fades not; everlasting snows; And skies that ne'er relinquish their repose; Such power possess the family of floods Over the minds of Poets, young or old! VODOPAD Poutru rano ili v chas, kogda Zakat gorit poslednim bleskom sveta I v sumrak vechera vsya dal' odeta, Vzglyani, poet zadumchivyj, togda Na vodopad, gde burnaya voda, Kak v loge lev, bushuet. Net predmeta Uzhasnee! Duh strashnyj vodometa V vence iz kamnya, kudri, boroda Struyat potoki - vossidit nad urnoj, Skryvaya dnem svoj oblik. On struit Po barhatu lugov potok lazurnyj Ili, vstrechaya na puti granit Obrushennyj, oblomki gor, gremit I penitsya chrez nih volnoyu burnoj. From "Yarrow Revisited, and Other Poems" Iz sbornika "Snova v YArrou i drugie stihotvoreniya" THE TROSACHS There's not a nook within this solemn Pass, But were an apt confessional for One Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, That Life is but a tale of morning grass Withered at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest, If from a golden perch of aspen spray (October's workmanship to rival May) The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, wih all its cares, to rest! TROSSEKS Tut gory vstali v groznom torzhestve, Tut hram dlya vseh, dostigshih perevala, CH'e mesto - v proshlom, osen' minovala, I zhizn' podobna vyanushchej trave, Eshche nedavno svezhej. O, kak malo, V iskusstvennosti nashih modnyh zal, My cenim schast'e zhit' sred' gor i skal, Sredi ozer, ch'yu glad' ne oskvernyalo Nich'e dyhan'e. Trizhdy schastliv tot, Pred kem osina drognet zolotaya (V hudozhestvah oktyabr' - sopernik maya). I gost'ya krasnogrudaya vsporhnet, Zadumchivuyu pesnyu napevaya, Bayukaya sostarivshijsya god. x x x Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose Day's grateful warmth, tho' moist with falling dews, Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; Look up a second time, and, one by one, You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, And wonder how they could elude the sight! The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers, Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers, But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers: Nor does the village Church-clock's iron tone The time's and season's influence disown; Nine beats distinctly to each other bound In drowsy sequence - how unlike the sound That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear On fireside listeners, doubting what they hear! The shepherd, bent on rising with the sun, Had closed his door before the day was done, And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep, And joins his little children in their sleep. The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade, Flits and reflits along the close arcade; The busy dor-hawk chases the white moth With burring note, which Industry and Sloth Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both. A stream is heard - I see it not, but know By its soft music whence the waters flow: Wheels and the tread of hoofs are heard no more; One boat there was, but it will touch the shore With the next dipping of its slackened oar; Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay, Might give to serious thought a moment's sway, As a last token of man's toilsome day! VECHERNIE IMPROVIZACII Tak nehotya s dnevnym teplom i svetom Vechernij vozduh rasstaetsya letom. Vzglyani na nebo - zvezd i ne vidat', Vzglyani eshche - chut' nachali mercat', I ih ogni, nevidimye srazu, Uzhe zametny pristal'nomu glazu. Veselyj shchebet ptich'ih golosov Slabej, slabej i smolk; sredi cvetov Ih sumerek prozrachnyj skryl pokrov. Na kolokol'ne sel'skoj ostorozhno CHasy probili devyat'. Kak trevozhno U ochaga vnimali my zimoj Ih zhutkim zvukam v tishine nochnoj. Teper' oni zvuchat tak mirno, yasno, Boyas' smushchat' prirodu ponaprasnu. Eshche svetlo, i zapad ne potuh - K sebe ushel i zaper dver' pastuh, S nim vmeste rano spat' legli i deti - Emu vstavat' pridetsya na rassvete. Vot netopyr' mel'knul v listve gustoj; CHerez dorogu legkij kozodoj Tuda, syuda metnulsya raz, drugoj - I mezh vetvej nebrezhno, no umelo Pognalsya vdrug za babochkoyu beloj. Davno zamolk prohladnyj stuk kopyt, Nevidimo vblizi reka zhurchit, Poslednij raz vsplesnuli vesla chetko, U berega pristala gde-to lodka. I etot zvuk, chut' slyshnyj v tishine, Tak vnyatno mysl' podskazyvaet mne O trudovom okonchivshemsya dne. A WREN'S NEST Among the dwellings framed by birds In field or forest with nice care, Is none that with the Jittle Wren's In snugness may compare. No door the tenement requires, And seldom needs a laboured roof: Yet is it to the fiercest sun Impervious, and storm-proof. So warm, so beautiful withal, In perfect fitness for its aim, That to the Kind by special grace; Their instinct surely came. And when for their abodes they seek An opportune recess, The hermit has no finer eye For shadowy quietness. These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls, A canopy in some still nook; Others are pent-housed by a brae That overhangs a brook. There to the brooding bird her mate Warbles by fits his low clear song; And by the busy streamlet both Are sung to all day long. Or in sequestered lanes they build, Where, till the flitting bird's return, Her eggs within the nest repose, Like relics in an urn. But still, where general choice is good, There is a better and a best; And, among fairest objects, some Are fairer than the rest; This, one of those small builders proved In a green covert, where, from out The forehead of a pollard oak, The leafy antlers sprout; For She who planned the mossy lodge, Mistrusting her evasive skill, Had to a Primrose looked for aid Her wishes to fulfil. High on the trunk's projecting brow, And fixed an infant's span above The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest The prettiest of the grove! The treasure proudly did I show To some whose minds without disdain Can turn to little things; but once Looked up for it in vain: 'Tis gone - a ruthless spoiler's prey, Who heeds not beauty, love, or song, Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved Indignant at the wrong. Just three days after, passing by In clearer light the moss-built cell I saw, espied its shaded mouth; And felt that all was well. The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves; And thus, for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives. Concealed from friends who might disturb Thy quiet with no ill intent, Secure from evil eyes and hands On barbarous plunder bent, Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young Take flight, and thou art free to roam, When withered is the guardian Flower, And empty thy late home, Think how ye prospered, thou and thine, Amid the unviolated grove Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft In foresight, or in love. GNEZDO PENOCHKI Iz gnezd, svivaemyh vesnoj Po roshcham ptichkami, nich'e S takoj ne stroitsya krasoj, Kak penochki zhil'e. Na nem i svoda sverhu net, Net i dverej; no nikogda Ne pronikaet yarkij svet, Ni dozhdik v glub' gnezda. V nem tak uyutno, tak umno Vse prisposobleno, chto, znat', Uzh svyshe penochkam dano Iskusstvo tak svivat' I pryatat' gnezda ot nevzgod V takuyu glush', v takuyu ten', CHto i pustynnik ne najdet Dlya kel'i gushche sen'. Oni v'yut gnezda to v shchelyah Ruin, vkrug ubrannyh plyushchom; To ih svivayut v kamyshah, Navisshih nad ruch'em, Gde, chtoby samke ne skuchat', Samec l'et zvonko trel' svoyu Il' celyj den' otec i mat' Poyut pod takt ruch'yu; To v'yut ih v prosekah leska, Gde v gnezdyshke, kak v urne klad, YAichki pryachet mat', poka Ne priletit nazad. No esli penochki vpolne Iskusny v strojke gnezd svoih, - Vse zh v vybore im mest odne Iskusnee drugih. Takoj-to ptichkoj byl pod ten', V tom meste spryatan dom iz mha, Gde vkrug raskinul, kak olen', Dubok vetvej roga. No, vidno, bylo ej nevmoch' Svoim umom skryt' domik svoj: Ona prosila ej pomoch' Kust bukvicy lesnoj, Gde karlik-dub ponik chelom, Tam v vyshine, kak detskij rost, Vidnelos' nad gustym kustom To chudo mezhdu gnezd. Moj klad ya pokazal, gordyas', Druz'yam, sposobnym bez styda Cenit' i maloe. No raz, Vzglyanul ya - net gnezda! Pogiblo! Vidno, hishchnik zloj, Vrag pesen, pravdy i lyubvi, Svershil bezzhalostnoj rukoj Zdes' podvigi svoi! No cherez tri dnya, prohodya Pri yarkom solnce mesto to, Glyazhu - i vskriknul kak ditya - Celehon'ko gnezdo! Pred nim kust bukvicy lesnoj Podnyal listy, kak parusa, I etoj hitrost'yu prostoj Mne obmanul glaza. - Ukrytaya ot hishchnyh ruk, Tayas' i ot svoih druzej, CHtob ne meshal tebe i drug Vysizhivat' detej, - Sidi zdes', penochka! I vot, Kak deti vyletyat i pust Tvoj stanet domik, otcvetet I pokrovitel' kust. Ne zabyvaj, kak zdes' tebya V tenistoj roshche, v dozhd' i znoj, Bereg, leleya i lyubya, Kust bukvicy lesnoj. x x x If this great world of joy and pain Revolve in one sure track; If freedom, set, will rise again, And virtue, flown, come back; Woe to the purblind' crew who fill The heart with each day's care; Nor gain, from past or future, skill To bear, and to forbear! x x x Nash mir, razlichen i edin, Vershit svoj vechnyj put'. Vstaet svoboda iz ruin, CHtob pravdu nam vernut'. Tak bud' zhe proklyat, nizkij sbrod, Otstupnik slavnyh del. Dostoin schast'ya tol'ko tot, Kto zhdat' ego umel. x x x Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone. If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. VNUTRENNEE ZRENIE Blazhen idushchij, otvrativshij vzor Ot mestnosti, ch'i kraski i cherty Zovut sebya razglyadyvat' v upor, Minuyushchij prekrasnye cvety. Emu inoj zhelannee prostor: Prostranstvo grezy, nezhnyj zov mechty, - Kak by mgnovenno sotkannyj uzor Mezh bleskom i zatmen'em krasoty. Lyubov' i Mysl', nezrimye dlya glaz, Pokinut nas - i s Muzoj v svoj chered My pospeshim prostit'sya v tot zhe chas. Pokuda zh vdohnovenie zhivet - Rosu na pesnopenie prol'et Nebesnyj razum, zaklyuchennyj v nas. x x x Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air Of absence withers what was once so fair? Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant - Bound to thy service with unceasing care, The mind's least generous wish a mendicant For nought but what thy happiness could spare. Speak-through this soft warm heart, once free to hold A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, Be left more desolate, more dreary cold That a forsaken bird's nest filled with snow 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine - Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know! x x x Ty vse molchish'! Kak bystro otcvela Tvoya lyubov', ne vyderzhav dyhan'ya Razluki, rastoptav vospominan'ya, Otvergla dolg i dar svoj otnyala. No v gor'kij plen moj razum ty vzyala, Tebe sluzhit' - inogo net zhelan'ya! I hot' sozhgla ty proshloe dotla, Dusha, kak nishchij, prosit podayan'ya. Otvet'! - Pust' serdce, pylkoe togda, Kogda my strastnym predavalis' negam, Pustym, holodnym stalo navsegda, - Gnezdo v lesu, zasypannoe snegom, V gluhom lesu, gde zamer kazhdyj zvuk. Otvet', molyu, ne dli zhestokih muk! From "Sonnets" Iz knigi "Sonety" COMPOSED ON A MAY MORNING, 1838 Life with yon Lambs, like day, is just begun, Yet Nature seems to them a heavenly guide. Does joy approach? they meet the coming tide; And sullenness avoid, as now they shun Pale twilight's lingering glooms, - and in the sun Couch near their dams, with quiet satisfied; Or gambol-each with his shadow at his side, Varying its shape wherever he may run. As they from turf yet hoar with sleepy dew All turn, and court the shining and the green, Where herbs look up, and opening flowers are seen; Why to God's goodness cannot We be true, And so, His gifts and promises between, Feed to the last on pleasures ever new? SOCHINENO MAJSKIM UTROM, 1838 Lish' nachinayut zhit' yagnyata eti. Poka priroda voshishchaet ih. YAgnyata zhdut lish' radostej zemnyh, Ih storonitsya grust', a sami deti Begut ot temnyh kushch, lezhat pri svete Zlatogo solnca vozle mam svoih Il' skachut vmeste s ten'yu za dvoih, Menyaya ee formu v piruete. A kak letyat po travam, gde chisty Visyat rosinki, gde cvety v tumane! Kak po zelenoj nosyatsya polyane! CHto zh nam-to malo Bozh'ej dobroty? CHto zh sred' ego darov i obeshchanij Vse novoj ishchem sladkoj suety? From "Poems" (1845) Iz sbornika "Stihotvoreniya" (1845) THE SIMPLON PASS -----Brook and road Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass, And with them did we journey several hours At a slow step. The immeasurable height