Когда я брался за орало

Иль шел домой…

Что, мне удача изменяла?

Ни Боже мой!

От суеверий и примет

Душе идет тяжелый вред,

Все колдовство — безумный бред

Для голодранцев;

Ни здесь такому веры нет,

Ни у шотландцев!

Что ж, до свиданья, добрый зверь!

Ползи к детенышам теперь

Иль ты не избежишь потерь,

Шипастокожий, —

Сражаться с псом моим, поверь,

Себе дороже!

Перевод А. Серебренникова

John Stagg (1770–1823)

The Vampyre

“Why looks my lord so deadly pale?

Why fades the crimson from his cheek?

What can my dearest husband ail?

Thy heartfelt cares, O Herman, speak!

Why, at the silent hour of rest,

Dost thou in sleep so sadly mourn?

Has tho’ with heaviest grief oppress’d,

Griefs too distressful to be borne.

Why heaves thy breast? — why throbs thy heart?

O speak! and if there be relief

Thy Gertrude solace shall impart,

If not, at least shall share thy grief.

Wan is that cheek, which once the bloom

Of manly beauty sparkling shew’d;

Dim are those eyes, in pensive gloom,

That late with keenest lustre glow’d.

Say why, too, at the midnight hour,

You sadly pant and tug for breath,

As if some supernat’ral pow’r

Were pulling you away to death?

Restless, tho’ sleeping, still you groan,

And with convulsive horror start;

O Herman! to thy wife make known

That grief which preys upon thy heart”.

“O Gertrude! how shall I relate

Th’ uncommon anguish that I feel;

Strange as severe is this my fate, —

A fate I cannot long conceal.

In spite of all my wonted strength,

Stern destiny has seal’d my doom;

The dreadful malady at length

Wil drag me to the silent tomb!"

But say, my Herman, what’s the cause

Of this distress, and all thy care.

That, vulture-like, thy vitals gnaws,

And galls thy bosom with despair?

Sure this can be no common grief,

Sure this can be no common pain?

Speak, if this world contain relief,

That soon thy Gertrude shall obtain”.

“O Gertrude, ’tis a horrid cause,

O Gertrude, ’tis unusual care,

That, vulture-like, my vitals gnaws,

And galls my bosom with despair.

Young Sigismund, my once dear friend,

But lately he resign’d his breath;

With others I did him attend

Unto the silent house of death.

For him I wept, for him I mourn’d,

Paid all to friendship that was due;

But sadly friendship is return’d,

Thy Herman he must follow too!

Must follow to the gloomy grave,

In spite of human art or skill;

No pow’r on earth my life can save,

‘Tis fate’s unalterable will!

Young Sigismund, my once dear friend,

But now my persecutor foul,

Doth his malevolence extend

E’en to the torture of my soul.

By night, when, wrapt in soundest sleep,

All mortals share a soft repose,

My soul doth dreadful vigils keep,

More keen than which hell scarely knows.

From the drear mansion of the tomb,

From the low regions of the dead,

The ghost of Sigismund doth roam,

And dreadful haunts me in my bed!

There, vested in infernal guise,

(By means to me not understood,)

Close to my side the goblin lies,

And drinks away my vital blood!

Sucks from my veins the streaming life,

And drains the fountain of my heart!

O Gertrude, Gertrude! dearest wife!

Unutterable is my smart.

"hen surfeited, the goblin dire,

With banqueting by suckled gore,

Will to his sepulchre retire,

Till night invites him forth once more.