They gave their lives, and I, my queen,
Have given you of my life,
Seeing your brave star burn high between
Men’s strife.
The strife that lightened round their spears
Long since fell still; so long
Hardly may hope to last in years
My song.
But still through strife of time and thought
Your light on me too felclass="underline"
Queen, in whose name we sang or fought,
Farewell.
ПРОЩАНИЕ С МАРИЕЙ СТЮАРТ
(ОТРЫВОК)
За славных Стюартов мой род
Сражался на войне.
Прощай — твой отблеск не прейдёт
Во мне.
Как дед с отцом, звезде одной
Я о́тдал жизнь мою;
Я видел свет отважный твой
В бою.
Вражды, точившей острия,
Давно уж не слыхать,
Не зазвучит и песнь моя
Опять.
Но светит мне сквозь сумрак лет
Сияние твоё.
Дух наших песен и побед,
Adieu.
AT SEA
‘Farewell and adieu’ was the burden prevailing
Long since in the chant of a home-faring crew;
And the heart in us echoes, with laughing or wailing,
Farewell and adieu.
Each year that we live shall we sing it anew,
With a water untravelled before us for sailing
And a water behind us that wrecks may bestrew.
The stars of the past and the beacons are paling,
The heavens and the waters are hoarier of hue:
But the heart in us chants not an all unavailing
Farewell and adieu.
Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal SIR PATRICK SPENS Watercolour on paper. 1856 Tate, London
Элизабет Элинор Сиддал СЭР ПАТРИК СПЕНС Бумага, акварель. 1856 Галерея Тейт, Лондон
В МОРЕ
Прости и прощай, — пелось в песне старинной, —
Пора моряку в свой покинутый край.
И вторило сердце со светлой кручиной:
Прости и прощай.
А нам всякий раз новизны подавай:
На новой воде потягаться с пучиной;
Качаются сзади обломки? Пускай!
Чуть виден маяк, и звезды ни единой;
Удары кипящей волны принимай!
Но с удалью сердце поет беспричинной:
Прости и прощай.
BEFORE THE MIRROR
(A FRAGMENT)
White rose in red rose-garden
Is not so white;
Snowdrops that plead for pardon
And pine for fright
Because the hard East blows
Over their maiden rows
Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.
Behind the veil, forbidden,
Shut up from sight,
Love, is there sorrow hidden,
Is there delight?
Is joy thy dower or grief,
White rose of weary leaf,
Late rose whose life is brief, whose loves are light?
Soft snows that hard winds harden
Till each flake bite
Fill all the flowerless garden
Whose flowers took flight
Long since when summer ceased,
And men rose up from feast,
And warm west wind grew east, and warm day night.
James Abbott McNeill Whistler SYMPHONY IN WHITE № 2: THE LITTLE WHITE GIRL Oil on canvas. 1864 Tate, London
Джеймс Эббот Макнейл Уистлер СИМФОНИЯ В БЕЛОМ № 2: МАЛЕНЬКАЯ БЕЛАЯ ДЕВУШКА Холст, масло. 1864 Галерея Тейт, Лондон
ПЕРЕД ЗЕРКАЛОМ
(ОТРЫВОК)
Средь алых роза белая
Не так бела,
И примула несмелая,
Что расцвела
Под стужею мятежной,
Дрожа красою нежной,
Не ярче белоснежного чела.
Запретная, забытая,
Сложив крыла,
Молчит любовь — где скрытая
Печаль легла?
Твой полдень скоро минет,
Восторг души остынет,
О роза, чьей любви не знать тепла!
Раздели ветры шалые
Сад догола,
И лепестки усталые
Метель смела.
Прошла пора цветений,
И светлый пир осенний
Прогнала стужа и ночная мгла.
AT PARTING
For a day and a night Love sang to us, played with us,
Folded us round from the dark and the light;
And our hearts were fulfilled of the music he made with us,
Made with our hearts and our lips while he stayed with us,
Stayed in mid passage his pinions from flight
For a day and a night.
From his foes that kept watch with his wings had he hidden us,
Covered us close from the eyes that would smite,
From the feet that had tracked and the tongues that had chidden us
Sheltering in shade of the myrtles forbidden us
Spirit and flesh growing one with delight
For a day and a night.