Поэтический мир прерафаэлитов - Теннисон Альфред Страница 40

RIDING TOGETHER

For many, many days together       The wind blew steady from the East; For many days hot grew the weather,       About the time of our Lady’s Feast. For many days we rode together,       Yet met we neither friend nor foe; Hotter and clearer grew the weather,       Steadily did the East wind blow. We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,       Clear-cut, with shadows very black, As freely we rode on together       With helms unlaced and bridles slack. And often, as we rode together,       We, looking down the green-bank’d stream, Saw flowers in the sunny weather,       And saw the bubble-making bream. And in the night lay down together,       And hung above our heads the rood, Or watch’d night-long in the dewy weather,       The while the moon did watch the wood. Our spears stood bright and thick together,       Straight out the banners stream’d behind, As we gallop’d on in the sunny weather,       With faces turn’d towards the wind. Down sank our threescore spears together,       As thick we saw the pagans ride; His eager face in the clear fresh weather,       Shone out that last time by my side. Up the sweep of the bridge we dash’d together,       It rock’d to the crash of the meeting spears, Down rain’d the buds of the dear spring weather,       The elm-tree flowers fell like tears. There, as we roll’d and writhed together,       I threw my arms above my head, For close by my side, in the lovely weather       I saw him reel and fall back dead. I and the slayer met together,       He waited the death-stroke there in his place, With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,       Gapingly mazed at my madden’d face. Madly, I fought as we fought together;       In vain: the little Christian band The pagans drown’d, as in stormy weather       The river drowns low-lying land. They bound my blood-stain’d hands together,       They bound his corpse to nod by my side; Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,       With clash of cymbals did we ride. We ride no more, no more together;       My prison-bars are thick and strong, I take no heed of any weather,       The sweet Saints grant I live not long.

ДРУЗЬЯ

Мы долго ехали с тобою,       Дышал восток на нас теплом, И становилось той порою       Все жарче, жарче день за днем. Не попадалось нам с тобою       Ни супостатов, ни друзей, Весенней радостной порою       Восточный ветер дул сильней. Мы рощи видели порою,       Их тень была черным-черна. Мы вольно ехали с тобою,       Без шлемов, бросив стремена. Когда мы ехали с тобою,       Нам взоры тешила река, Цветы весеннею порою,       Вода лесного ручейка. Ночлег устроив, мы с тобою       Распятье клали в головах, Несли дозор ночной порою,       Когда луна вселяла страх. Сверкали копья; мы с тобою,       Под ярким знаменем, вперед Весенней ясною порою       Стремились прямо на восход. Взялись за копья мы с тобою,       Язычники сомкнули строй; Ты той весеннею порою       В последний раз стоял со мной. На мост помчались мы с тобою,       Бой становился все страшней, Листва весеннею порою,       Как слезы, сыпалась с ветвей. Ввязались в гущу мы с тобою.       Мои глаза застлала мгла — Ведь ты, той дивною порою,       Качнувшись, мертвым пал с седла. Убийца ждал, готовый к бою,       Я нанести удар был рад. Он испугался той порою,       Увидев мой безумный взгляд. Мы столько сил отдали бою,       Но тщетно: горстку христиан Смело, как бурною порою       Сметает сушу океан. Меня, изранив, взяли с бою,       И привязали рядом труп, И в путь весеннею порою       Пустились с ревом хриплых труб. Не скачем больше мы с тобою,       Над головой — тюремный свод. Мне все равно, какой порою       Господь к себе меня возьмет. Перевод В. Сергеевой

SHAMEFUL DEATH

There were four of us about that bed;          The mass-priest knelt at the side, I and his mother stood at the head,          Over his feet lay the bride; We were quite sure that he was dead,          Though his eyes were open wide. He did not die in the night,          He did not die in the day, But in the morning twilight          His spirit pass’d away; When neither sun nor moon was bright,          And the trees were merely grey. He was not slain with the sword,          Knight’s axe, or the knightly spear, Yet spoke he never a word          After he came in here; I cut away the cord          From the neck of my brother dear. He did not strike one blow,          For the recreants came behind, In a place where the hornbeams grow,          A path right hard to find; For the hornbeam boughs swing so,          That the twilight makes it blind. They lighted a great torch then,          When his arms were pinioned fast, Sir John the knight of the Fen,          Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast, With knights threescore and ten,          Hung brave Lord Hugh at last. I am threescore and ten,          And my hair is all turn’d grey, But I met Sir John of the Fen          Long ago on a summer day, And am glad to think of the moment when          I took his life away. I am threescore and ten,          And my strength is mostly pass’d, But long ago I and my men,          When the sky was overcast, And the smoke roll’d over the reeds of the fen,          Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast. And now, knights all of you, I pray you pray for Sir Hugh, A good knight and a true, And for Alice, his wife, pray too.