But orchids growing snakey green
Speckled dark with blood,
And fallen leaves that curled and shrank
And rotted in the mud,
With blistering nettles burning harsh
And blinding thorns above;
All of these, O all of these
Shall bring the pains of Love.
Shall bring the pains of Love, my Puss,
That cease not night or day,
The bitter rage, nought can assuage
Till it bleeds the heart away.
Pillycock mine, my hands are full
My pot is on the fire.
Purr, my pet, this fool shall get
Her fool’s desire.
A Sea-Shore Echo
I stand upon the wild sea-shore
I see the screaming eagle soar
I hear the hungry billows roar,
And all around
The hollow answering caves out-pour
Their stores of sound.
The wind, which moaneth on the waves,
Delights me, and the surge that raves,
Loud-talking of a thousand graves —
A watery theme!
But oh! those voices from the caves
Speak like a dream!
They seem long hoarded, — cavern-hung, —
First uttered ere the world was young,
Talking some strange eternal tongue
Old as the skies!
Their words unto all earth are flung:
Yet who replies?
Large answer when the thunders speak
Are blown from every bay and creek,
And when the fire-tongued tempests speak
The bright seas cry,
And when the seas their answer seek
The shores replay.
But Echo from the rock and stone
And seas earns back no second tone;
And Silence pale, who hears aloe
Her voice divine,
Absorbs it, like the sponge that’s thrown
On glorious wine!
— Nimph Echo, — elder than the world,
Who wast from out deep chaos hurl’d,
When beauty first her flag unfurl’d
And the bright sun
Laugh’d on her, and the blue waves curl’d
And voices run.
Like spirits on the new-born air,
Lone Nymph, whom poets though so fair,
And great Pan wooed from his green lair,
How love will flee!
Thou answeredst all; but none now care
To answer thee!
None, — none: Old age has sear’d thy brow;
No power, no shrine, no gold hast thou:
So Fame, the harlot, leaves thee now,
A frail, false friend!
And thus, like all things here below,
Thy fortunes end!
Брайан Уоллер Проктер (Барри Корнуолл) (1787–1874)
* * *
Пью за здравие Мери,
Милой Мери моей.
Тихо запер я двери
И один без гостей
Пью за здравие Мери.
Можно краше быть Мери,
Краше Мери моей,
Этой маленькой пери;
Но нельзя быть милей
Резвой, ласковой Мери.
Будь же счастлива, Мери,
Солнце жизни моей!
Ни тоски, ни потери,
Ни ненастливых дней
Пусть не ведает Мери.
Перевод А.С. Пушкина
* * *
Я здесь, Инезилья,
Я здесь под окном.
Объята Севилья
И мраком и сном.
Исполнен отвагой,
Окутан плащом,
С гитарой и шпагой
Я здесь под окном.
Ты спишь ли? Гитарой
Тебя разбужу.
Проснётся ли старый,
Мечом уложу.
Шелковые петли
К окошку привесь…
Что медлишь?.. Уж нет ли
Соперника здесь?..
Я здесь, Инезилья,
Я здесь под окном.
Объята Севилья
И мраком и сном.
Перевод А.С. Пушкина
Заклинание
Коль в этот мглиcтый час безмолвный
Духи властью пóлны,
