Лирика
Шрифт:
На пышность раскрывающейся дали,
И с трепетом встречая, вправо, влево,
И вдоль всего далекого пути,
Среди туманов, пурпуром согретых,
До самого конца - одну тебя.
(1901)
Перевод К. Бальмонта
36. ULALUME - A BALLAD
The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere
The leaves they were withering and sere:
It was night, in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year:
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir:
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriae rivers that roll
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek,
In the ultimate climes of the Pole
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek,
In the realms of the Boreal Pole.
Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere
Our memories were treacherous and sere;
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)
We noted not the dim lake of Auber,
(Though once we had journeyed down here)
We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
And now, as the night was senescent,
And star-dials pointed to morn
As the star-dials hinted of morn
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn
Astarte's bediamonded crescent,
Distinct with its duplicate horn.
And I said - "She is warmer than Dian;
She rolls through an ether of sighs
She revels in a region of sighs.
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion,
To point us the path to the skies
To the Lethean peace of the skies
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes
Come up, through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."
But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said - "Sadly this star I mistrust
Her pallor I strangely mistrust
Ah, hasten!
– ah, let us not linger!
Ah, fly!
– let us fly!
– for we must."
In terror she spoke; letting sink her
Wings till they trailed in the dust
In agony sobbed; letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
I replied - "This is nothing but dreaming.
Let us on, by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty to-night
See!
– it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming
And be sure it will lead us aright
We surely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."
Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista
But were stopped by the door of a tomb
By the door of a legended tomb:
And I said - "What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied - "Ulalume - Ulalume!
'T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"
Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere
As the leaves that were withering and sere
And I cried - "It was surely October,
On _this_ very night of last year,
That I journeyed - I journeyed down here!
That I brought a dread burden down here
On this night, of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber
This misty mid region of Weir:
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."
Said we, then - the two, then - "Ah, can it
Have been that the woodlandish ghouls
The pitiful, the merciful ghouls,
To bar up our way and to ban it
From the secret that lies in these wolds
From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds
Have drawn up the spectre of a planet
From the limbo of lunary souls
This sinfully scintillant planet
From the Hell of the planetary souls?"
(1847-1849)
36.
Скорбь и пепел был цвет небосвода,
Листья сухи и в форме секир,
Листья скрючены в форме секир.
Моего незабвенного года,
Был октябрь, и был сумрачен мир.