SHarlotta, |miliya i |nn Bronte. Stihi
Stihi Sest¨r Bronte. Perevodchik - Nikolaj SHOSHUN
Email: shoshunov@mail.ru
Life, believe, is not a dream
So darc as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why laments its fall ?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly !
What though Death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away ?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heawy sway ?
Yet hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair !
Pover', chto zhizn' - ne snov igra,
Ne skazok temnyj les.
Kak chasto melkij dozhd' s utra
Sulit nam den' chudes !
Puskaj u neba hmuryj vid -
Promchatsya oblaka;
A liven' rozy ozhivit,
Uvyadshie slegka.
SHal'nye, nevozvratnye,
Uhodyat zhizni dni;
Veselye, priyatnye,
Pokinut nas oni.
Nu chto s togo, chto smert' vsegda
Idet za zhizn'yu vsled ?
Ved' strashnoj kazhetsya beda,
Kogda nadezhdy net.
Nadezhda trudnostyam nazlo
Nas derzhit kazhdyj mig;
Ona - spokojstviya krylo
I svezhih sil rodnik.
Pust' mnogie i trudnye
Pregrady vstretim tut,
No slavnye i chudnye
Nas gody zhizni zhdut !
Stihi Sest¨r Bronte. Perevodchik - Nikolaj SHOSHUN
Email: shoshunov@mail.ru
* 2. STIHI |MILI BRONTE *
Riches I hold in light esteem;
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dreem
That vanished with the morn.
And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear,
And give me liberty !'
Yes, as me swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore;
In life and death, a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.
Bogatstvu vovse ya ne rad;
Kto lyubit - tot smeshon;
ZHelan'e slavy i nagrad -
Krasivyj glupyj son.
Molyus' ya ne zatem, chtob vlezt'
Svoej molitvoj v raj:
"Ostav' menya takim, kak est',
I mne svobodu daj !"
K koncu podhodyat bystro dni -
Prozhit' ih ne speshi;
CHto zhizn', chto smert' - vsegda hrani
Spokojstvie dushi.
I'll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
There's nothing lovely here;
And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
While thy heart suffers there.
I'll not weep because the summer's glory
Must allways end in gloom;
And, follow out the happiest story -
It closes with a tomb !
And I am weary of the anguish
Increasing winters bear;
Weary to watch the spirit languish
Through years of dead despair.
So, if a tear, when thou art dying,
Should haply fall from me,
It is but that my soul is sighing,
To go and rest with thee.
Ne plachu - s okonchan'em zhesta
Lyubvi prishel konec;
Net bol'she v temnom mire mesta
Dlya nashih dvuh serdec.
Ne plachu, ibo prelest' leta
Do oseni vidna;
I znachit, nasha pesnya speta -
Vse vypito do dna !
I ya ustala ot razluki,
Ot sumrachnoj zimy;
Ustala ot dushevnoj muki,
Ot beznadezhnoj t'my.
I esli plakala snachala,
Vstav na tvoem puti -
Nu chto zh, dusha moya zhelala
Vsled za toboj ujti.
Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,
And some may quite forget thy name;
But my sad heart must ever mourn
Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame !
'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago,
Even weeping o'er that weretch's woe;
One word turned back my gushing tears,
And lif my aftered eye with sneers.
Then 'Bless the friendly dust', I said,
'That hides thy unlamented head !
Vain as thou werf, and week as vain,
The slave of Falsehood, Pride and Pain, -
My heart has nought akin to thine;
Thy soul is powerless over mine.'
But these were thouhts that vanished too;
Unwise, unholy and untrue:
Do, I despise the timid deer,
Becouse his limbs are fleet with feer ?
Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl,
Becouse his form is gauht and foul ?
Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry,
Becouse it cannot bravely die ?
No ! Then above his memory
Yet Pity's heart as tender be;
Say, 'Earth, lie lightly on that breast,
And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest !'
Pust' nenavidyat vse i pust'
Speshat zabyt' tebya skorej,
No ya leleyu v serdce grust'
O zhizni slomannoj tvoej !
Ved' eto ty byl zdes' sejchas -
I gor'kih slez potok iz glaz
Edinym slovom prekratil,
Lico ulybkoj osvetil.
I obratilas' ya k sud'be -
Pust' pokayan'e dast tebe !
No chto moi slova ? Ty slab -
Gordyni, lzhi i boli rab.
I znaj - dusha tvoya slabej
Izmuchennoj dushi moej.
Za osuzhdeniya slova
Prosti menya - ya ne prava.
Dolzhna li v serdce chuyat' styd
Lan', chto ot hishchnikov bezhit ?
Volk, izdayushchij smertnyj voj,
Vinoven v tom, chto on hudoj ?
Kak zajca osuzhdat' za krik ? -
Ved' umirat' on ne privyk.
Net ! Osuzhdeniya ne zhdi -
Skazhu: pust' na tvoej grudi
Zemlya lezhit legko, kak puh,
A nebesa pust' primut duh !
Hope was but a timing friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tent,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
Are was cruel in her fear;
Trought the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away !
Like a false guard, fals watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping,
If I listened, she woould cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again !
Mne nadezhda - ne podruga:
Ravnodushna i slaba,
ZHdet, bledneya ot ispuga,
CHto reshit moya sud'ba.
Verolomnaya trusiha:
Nuzhno bylo mne pomoch' -
Pozvala ee ya tiho,
A ona sbezhala proch' !
Ne spasaet ot ugrozy,
V sporah v'etsya, kak zmeya;
Rada, esli l'yu ya slezy,
Plachet, esli rada ya.
Ej chuzhda lyubaya zhalost':
Na predele, na krayu, -
"Pozhalej menya hot' malost' !" -
Tshchetno ya ee molyu.
Net, nadezhda ne stremitsya
Bol' unyat' v moej grudi;
Uletaet vvys', kak ptica -
I nazad ee ne zhdi !
There should be not despair for you
While nightly stars are burning;
While evening pours its silent dew
And sunshine gilds the morning.
The should be not desrair - though tears
May flow down like a river:
Are not the best beloved of years
Around your heart for ever ?
They weep, you weep, if must be so;
Winds sigh as you are sighing,
And Winter sheds his grief is snow
Where Autumn's leaves are lying.
Yet, thes revive, and from their fate
Your fate cannot be parted:
Then, jorney on, if not elate,
Still, never broken-hearted !
Nadezhdy ne teryaj, poka
Vidny v nochi zarnicy,
Rumyanit vecher oblaka
I utro zolotitsya.
Nadezhdy ne teryaj - i pust'
Rekoyu l'yutsya slezy:
Ujdet iz serdca zlaya grust'
I vyrvutsya zanozy.
Ot boli stonet chelovek -
Tak veter stonet tozhe,
Osennij dozhd' i zimnij sneg
Na plach lyudej pohozhi.
No lish' pridet na zemlyu maj -
Vse ozhivet, kak prezhde.
Beda s toboj ? Ne unyvaj
I ver' svoej nadezhde !
Yes, thou art gone ! and never more
Thy sunny smile shall gladden me;
But I may pass the old church door,
And pace the floor that covers thee,
May stand upon the cold, damp stone,
And think that, frozen, lies below
The lightest heart that I have know,
The kindest I shall ever know.
Yet, though I cannot see thee more,
'Tis still a comfort to have seen;
And though I thy transient life is o'er,
'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been;
To think a soul so near divine,
Within a form, so angel fair,
United to a heart like thine,
Has gladdened once our humble sphere.
Da, ty ushel ! I net teper'
Ulybki, solnechnoj takoj.
Vojdu ya v cerkov' cherez dver',
Projdu po polu nad toboj
I budu dumat' v tishine,
CHto pod plitoj ukryto zdes'
To serdce, chto dorozhe mne,
CHem etot mir prekrasnyj ves'.
I pust' tebya ne vizhu ya,
No pomnyu vse tvoi cherty.
Pust' prekratilas' zhizn' tvoya,
No sled vo mne ostavil ty.
YA rada, chto tvoya dusha
Soedinilas' s Bogom vnov' -
Ona kak angel horosha
I pomnit pro moyu lyubov'.
I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice
That thou shouldst sorrow so;
With angel choirs I join my voice
To bless the sinner's woe.
Though friends and kindred turn away,
And laugh thy gfrief to scorn;
I hear the great Redeemer say,
'Blessed are ye that mourn.'
Hold on the course, nor deem it strange
That earthly cords are riven:
Man may lament the wondrous change,
But 'there is joy in heaven !'
YA stavlyu s radost'yu svechu -
Ty kaesh'sya, skorbya;
YA s horom angelov hochu
Blagoslovit' tebya.
Pust' govoryat, chto ty chudak,
Pust' svet tebe ne mil;
"Blazhenny plachushchie" - tak
Spasitel' govoril.
Tak vot tebe moya ruka -
I unyvat' ne nado:
Spasesh'ya ty - i "velika
Na nebesah nagrada" !
LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY
My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring
And carried aloft on the wings of the breez;
For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves, beneath them, are merrily dancing,
the white clouds are scuddind across the blue sky.
I wish I coukd see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
I wish icould see how its proud waves are dashing,
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today !
STROKI, SLOZHENNYE V LESU V VETRENYJ DENX
Dusha vstrepenulas', kak ptica zhivaya,
I v nebo vzletela, na kryl'yah parya;
Svistit vol'nyj veter, menya obduvaya,
Pronosyatsya mimo lesa i morya.
ZHelteyut pod solncem vysokie travy,
I vetvi derev'ev trepeshchut slegka,
I veter s listvoyu zavodit zabavy,
I bystro po nebu begut oblaka.
YA videt' zhelayu, kak vihryami peny
Morskuyu volnu rastrepal uragan;
YA slyshat' mogu, kak brosayas' na steny
Pribrezhnyh utesov, revet okean !
Oh, I am very weary,
Though tears no longer flow;
My eyes are tired of weeping,
My heart is sick of woe;
My life is very lonely,
My days pass heavily,
I'm weary of repining,
Wilt thou not come to me ?
Oh, didst thou know my longins
For thee, from day to day,
My hopes, so often blighted,
Thou wouldst not thus delay !
Oh, kak ya utomilas' -
Prilyagu na krovat'.
Glaza ustali plakat',
A serdce - toskovat'.
ZHizn' ochen' odinoka,
Prohodyat mimo dni.
Proshu tebya, lyubimyj -
K bednyazhke zaglyani.
O, znal by ty, kak zhdu ya
Tebya den' oto dnya;
Ne otnimaj, zhelannyj
Nadezhdu u menya !
Ellen, you were thoughtless once
Of beauty or of grace,
Simple and homely in attire,
Careless of form and face;
Then whence this change ? and wherefore now
So often smooth your hair ?
And wherefore deck your youthful form
With such unwearied care ?
Tell us - and cease to fire our ears
With that familiar strain -
Why will you play those simple tunes
So often, o'er again ?
'Indeed, dear friends, I can by say
That childhood's thoughts are gone;
Each year its own new feelings brings,
And years move swiftly on:
'And for these little simple airs -
I love to play them o'er
So much - I dare not promise, now,
To play them never more !
I answered - and it was enough;
They turned them to depart;
They could not read my secret thoughts,
Nor see my trobbing heart.
I'w noticed many a youtful form,
Upon whose changeful face
The inmost workings of the soul
The gaser well might trace;
The speaking eye, the changing lip,
The ready blushing cheek,
The smiling, or beclouded brow,
Their different feelings speak.
But, thank God ! you might gaze on mine
For hours, and never know
The secret changes of my soul
From joy to keenest woe.
Last night, as we sat round the fire
Conversing merrily,
We heard, without, approaching steps
Of on well known to me !
There was no trembling in my vois,
No blush upon my check,
No lustrous sparkle in my eyes,
Of hope, or joy, to speak;
But, oh ! my spirit burned within,
My heart beat full and fast !
He came not nigh - he went away -
And then my joy was past.
And yet my comrades marked it not:
My vois was still the same;
They saw me smile, and o'er my face
No signs of sadness came.
They little know my hidden thoughts;
And they will never know
The aching anguish of my heart,
The bitter burning woe !
- Elena, milaya - vo vsem
Drugoj byla ty prezhde:
Prostushka ty byla licom,
Figuroj i v odezhde;
A nynche chto ? Eleny toj
Uzh netu i sleda:
Ty rasproshchalas' s prostotoj,
Ty - novaya zvezda !
S chego zh v tebe proizoshla
Takaya peremena ?
Uzhel' serdechnye dela ?
Skazhi-ka nam, Elena !
- CHto ya skazhu, moi druz'ya ?
Da, v bystrom bege let
Vkus novyh chuvstv uznala ya,
I detskih myslej net.
Mne zhal', no konchena igra -
Teper' ya v novoj roli:
Uzhe mne vzrosloj byt' pora,
Ne zhenshchina ya chto li ?!
YA vam otvetila, tak vot -
Otstan'te ot menya;
Potok voprosov ne zal'et
V dushe moej ognya.
Menya ponyat' ty ne speshi:
Kak ni menyayu lica,
No tajna tajn moej dushi
Na nih ne otrazitsya;
Ulybka gub, siyan'e glaz,
Nahmurennaya brov',
Rumyanec shchek - tayat ot vas
Sekretnuyu lyubov'.
Vy na menya mogli vzirat'
CHasami, glupo sporya:
CHego v lice moem pechat' -
Vesel'ya ili gorya ?
V tu noch', kogda sideli my
Vblizi ognya, ya shag
Sud'by uslyshala iz t'my -
On mne znakom byl tak !
I to ne shepot byl togda,
Ne golos, polnyj drozhi,
Ne kraska detskogo styda,
Ne svet v glazah - a chto zhe ?
O net ! V tu plamennuyu noch'
Uznala ya lyubov' !
No on zashel - i vyshel proch',
I ya zamknulas' vnov'.
Net, ne uznat' vam nichego:
Zakryta krepko dverca
I spryatan klyuch ot moego
Izranennogo serdca;
I tajnu, chto hranitsya v nem,
Vovek vam ne ukrast';
Zachem vam znat', kakim ognem
Vo mne pylaet strast' ?!
Last-modified: Thu, 14 Aug 2003 10:30:34 GMT