– 37-
НА МОТИВ «ПРОЩАНИЯ СЛАВЯНКИ»
(По В. Лазареву)
Наступает минута прощания.
Покидая отеческий край,
Весь в слезах я шепчу: «До свидания!»,
Про себя повторяя: «Прощай!»
На чужбину меня провожая,
Провожая меня в целый мир,
Собралася толпа небольшая
Тех, кого я тогда зафрендил.
Элизиум, прощай,
Меня не забывай,
Прощай, АСП!
Прости-прощай! Прости-прощай!
Летят-летят года,
Но песня со мною всегда!
И так прекрасно
В лазури ясной
Горит-горит одна звезда!
В лазури ясной,
Многотиражной
Горит-горит одна звезда!
Отечество, прощай,
Меня воспоминай,
Прощай, ГРД!
Прости-прощай! Прости-прощай!
Никогда не предам я злословию,
Никогда, ни за что не предам,
Присягнувши такому сословию,
Присягнувши таким вот френдам!
И —
Рам-пам-пам-пам,
Рам-па-па-ру-рам!
– XXXVIII-
The winds out of the west land blow,
My friends have breathed them there;
Warm with the blood of lads I know
Comes east the sighing air.
It fanned their temples, filled their lungs,
Scattered their forelocks free;
My friends made words of it with tongues
That talk no more to me.
Their voices, dying as they fly,
Thick on the wind are sown;
The names of men blow soundless by,
My fellows' and my own.
Oh lads, at home I heard you plain,
But here your speech is still,
And down the sighing wind in vain
You hollo from the hill.
The wind and I, we both were there,
But neither long abode;
Now through the friendless world we fare
And sigh upon the road.
– 38-
ГЕТЕРОСЕКСУАЛЬНАЯ АПРОПРИАЦИЯ
The winds out of the west land blow,
My girl has breathed them there;
Warm with the blood of girl I know,
Comes east the sighing air.
It fanned her temples, filled her lungs,
Scattered her forelock free;
My girl made words of it with tongue
That talks no more to me.
Her sweet voice, dying as it flies,
Thick on the wind is sown;
The name of man blows soundless by,
My rival's, not my own.
Oh yesterday I heard you plain,
But now your speech is still,
And down the sighing wind in vain
I hollo from the hill.
The wind and I, we both were there,
But neither long abode;
Now through the friendless world we fare
And sigh upon the road.
– XXXIX-
'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.
Spring will not wait the loiterer's time
Who keeps so long away;
So others wear the broom and climb
The hedgerows heaped with may.
Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,
Gold that I never see;
Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge
That will not shower on me.
– 39-
… Осенней улицей пройдя,
Свернем в осенний лес.
Как странно столько лет спустя
Мне оказаться здесь.
Вот тут она шепнула: «Да!»,
Вон там сказала: «Нет!»,
А здесь вот я стоял тогда
И нес блаженный бред…
Так я пройду тропинкой сей
Когда-нибудь потом,
Без элегических затей,
Конкретным старичком.
– XL-
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
– 40-
Издалека пахнуло тем,
Что гибелью грозит:
Где ж эти вешние холмы,
Где ж та листва шумит?
Ах, это край, где вечно май,
Где вечно мы, дружок,
Сидим на склоне, расстелив
В длину мой пиджачок.
– XLI-
In my own shire, if I was sad,
Homely comforters I had:
The earth, because my heart was sore,
Sorrowed for the son she bore;
And standing hills, long to remain,
Shared their short-lived comrade's pain.
And bound for the same bourn as I,
On every road I wandered by,
Trod beside me, close and dear,
The beautiful and death-struck year:
Whether in the woodland brown
I heard the beechnut rustle down,
And saw the purple crocus pale
Flower about the autumn dale;
Or littering far the fields of May
Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay,
And like a skylit water stood
The bluebells in the azured wood.
Yonder, lightening other loads,
The seasons range the country roads,
But here in London streets I ken
No such helpmates, only men;
And these are not in plight to bear,
If they would, another's care.
They have enough as 'tis: I see
In many an eye that measures me
The mortal sickness of a mind
Too unhappy to be kind.
Undone with misery, all they can
Is to hate their fellow man;
And till they drop they needs must still
Look at you and wish you ill.