Ocenite etot tekst:



----------------------------------------------------------------------------
     Perevod V. YAkushkina
     Vera YAkushkina. Moi ekzersisy. Lirika XVI-XIX vekov. Vol'nye perevody  s
francuzskogo, nemeckogo i anglijskogo yazykov. M., "Moskovskij parnas", 2005
     OCR Bychkov M.N.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

                        So we'll go no more a-roving

                    So we'll go no more a-roving
                       So late into the night,
                    Though the heart still be as loving,
                       And the moon still be as bright.

                    For the sword outwears its sheath,
                       And the soul outwears the breast,
                    And the heart must pause to breathe,
                       And love itself have rest.

                    Though the night was made for loving,
                       And the day returns too soon,
                    Yet we'll go no more a-roving
                       By the light of the moon.


                          Uzh ne bezumstvovat', uvy

                         Uzh ne bezumstvovat', uvy,
                            Nam po nocham s toboj,
                         Hot' serdcu hochetsya lyubvi
                            Pod yarkoyu lunoj.

                         Kak nozhny, ostryj mech sotrut,
                            Dusha issushit grud',
                         Serdca uspokoen'ya zhdut,
                            CHtob chuvstvam otdohnut'.

                         Pust' noch' prekrasna dlya lyubvi,
                            No vnov' speshit rassvet,
                         Uzh ne bezumstvovat', uvy,
                            Pod etot lunnyj svet.


                                   Elegy

                  O, snatch'd away in beauty's bloom!
                  On thee shall press noo ponderous tomb;
                  But on thy turf shall roses rear
                  Their leaves, the earliest of the year,
                  And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom.

                  And oft by yon blue gushing stream
                  Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
                  And feed deep thought with many a dream,
                  And lingering pause and lightly tread;
                  Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

                  Away! we know that tears are vain,
                  That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:
                  Will this unteach us to complain?
                  Or make one mourner weep the less?
                  And thou, who tell'st me to forget,
                  Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.


                                   |legiya

                     O, vyrvat' krasotu eshche v rascvete!
                     Mogiloj tyazhkoj kamennoj sdavit';
                     Vosstanut rozy zemlyu ozhivit',
                     Butonami nam dushu osvetit',
                     I kiparis kachnet vo mrake chutkom veter.

                     Kak chasto o tebe potokom sinim
                     Pechal' sklonyaet golovu ustalo,
                     Mechty nesutsya v bezdnu vihrem sil'nym,
                     A vremya tyanetsya, vlacha minuty vyalo;
                     Neschasten lyubyashchij! Skorbet' emu ostalos'!

                     Ushla! I slezy tshchetno budut lit'sya,
                     Terzaniya dlya Smerti, - tonkosti pustye:
                     No kak zhe ne stradat' nam nauchit'sya?
                     Zastavit' kak ne plakat' na mogile?
                     Tebya zabyt' pytayus' ya v slezah, -
                     I kozhu blednuyu, i vlazhnye glaza.


                  The spell is broke, the charm is flown!

                  The spell is broke, the charm is flown!
                  Thus is with life's fitful fever:
                  We madly smile when we should groan;
                  Delirium is our best deceiver.

                  Each lucid interval of thought
                  Recalls the woes of Nature's charter;
                  And he that acts as wise men ought,
                  But lives, as saints have died, a martyr.


                          Minuet vremya, chary tayut!

                         Minuet vremya, chary tayut!
                         ZHizn' lihoradkoyu prohodit:
                         My ulybaemsya, stradaya,
                         V bredu spasenie nahodim.

                         I mysli probleski, mercaya,
                         Neschast'e zhizni voskreshaet,
                         I, muchenikom lish' igraya,
                         K svyatym otcam nas otpravlyaet.


                      Farewell! If ever fondest prayer

                    Farewell! If ever fondest prayer
                    For other's weal avail'd on high,
                    Mine will not all be lost in air,
                    But waft thy name beyond the sky.
                    'T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
                    Oh! More than tears of blood can tell,
                    When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
                    Are in that word - Farewell! - Farewell!

                    These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
                    But in my breast and in my brain,
                    Awake the pangs that pas not by,
                    The sought that ne'er shall sleep again.
                    My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
                    Though grief and passion there rebel;
                    I only know we loved in vain -
                    I only feel - Farewell! - Farewell!


                       Proshchajte! Mozhet byt', molitva

                       Proshchajte! Mozhet byt', molitva
                       Dostignet oblachnyh vysot,
                       Mechty ne budut pozabyty,
                       Hot' imya veter doneset.
                       Vse tshchetno, - ugovor, sleza,
                       Dusha molit, - ne pokidajte!
                       Vina, ugasshaya v glazah,
                       I slovo gor'koe: - Proshchajte!

                       Nemye guby, vzglyad pustoj,
                       No serdce vnov' gotovo zhdat',
                       Razveyat' hochet bol' s toskoj, -
                       Proshu, ne nado zasypat'.
                       No zhar dushi uzhe ne vlasten,
                       O, mysli, serdce ne pechal'te,
                       Odno ya znayu, - tshchetny strasti,
                       Odno ya chuvstvuyu: - Proshchajte!


Last-modified: Sun, 09 Apr 2006 08:51:39 GMT
Ocenite etot tekst: