Избранная лирика - Вордсворт Уильям - Страница 28

28

From "LYRICAL BALLADS, AND OTHER POEMS"

Из "ЛИРИЧЕСКИХ БАЛЛАД И ДРУГИХ СТИХОТВОРЕНИЙ"

THERE WAS A BOY

                There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs                 And islands of Winander! — many a time,                 At evening, when the earliest stars began                 To move along the edges of the hills,                 Rising or setting, would he stand alone,                 Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;                 And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands                 Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth                 Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,                 Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,                 That they might answer him. - And they would shout                 Across the watery vale, and shout again,                 Responsive to his call, — with quivering peals;                 And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud                 Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild                 Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause                 Of silence such as baffled his best skill:                 Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung                 Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise                 Has carried far into his heart the voice                 Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene                 Would enter unawares into his mind                 With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,                 Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received                 Into the bosom of the steady lake.                      This boy was taken from his mates, and died                 In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.                 Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale                 Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs                 Upon a slope above the village-school;                 And, through that church-yard when my way has led                 On summer-evenings, I believe, that there                 A long half-hour together I have stood                 Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies!

МАЛЬЧИК[36]

                   Был мальчик. Вам знаком он был, утесы                    И острова Винандра! Сколько раз,                    По вечерам, лишь только над верхами                    Холмов зажгутся искры ранних звезд                    В лазури темной, он стоял, бывало,                    В тени дерев, над озером блестящим.                    И там, скрестивши пальцы и ладонь                    Сведя с ладонью наподобье трубки,                    Он подносил ее к губам и криком                    Тревожил мир в лесу дремучих сов.                    И на призыв его, со всех сторон,                    Над водною равниной раздавался                    Их дикий крик, пронзительный и резкий.                    И звонкий свист, и хохот, и в горах                    Гул перекатный эха — чудных звуков                    Волшебный хор! Когда же, вслед за тем,                    Вдруг наступала тишина, он часто                    В безмолвии природы, на скалах,                    Сам ощущал невольный в сердце трепет,                    Заслышав где-то далеко журчанье                    Ключей нагорных. Дивная картина                    Тогда в восторг в нем душу приводила                    Своей торжественной красой, своими                    Утесами, лесами, теплым небом,                    В пучине вод неясно отраженным.                         Его ж уж нет! Бедняжка умер рано,                    Лет девяти он сверстников оставил.                    О, как прекрасна тихая долина,                    Где он родился! Вся плющом увита,                    Висит со скал над сельской школой церковь.                    И если мне случится в летний вечер                    Идти через кладбище, я готов                    Там целый час стоять с глубокой думой                    Над тихою могилой, где он спит.

LUCY

      I                       Strange fits of passion have I known:                          And I will dare to tell,                       But in the Lover's ear alone,                          What once to me befell.                       When she I loved looked every day                          Fresh as a rose in June,                       I to her cottage bent my way,                          Beneath an evening-moon.                       Upon the moon I fixed my eye,                          All over the wide lea;                       With quickening pace my horse drew nigh                          Those paths so clear to me.                       And now we reached the orchard-plot;                          And, as we climbed the hill,                       The sinking moon to Lucy's cot                          Came near, and nearer still.                       In one of those sweet dreams I slept,                          Kind Nature's gentlest boon!                       And all the while my eyes I kept                          On the descending moon.                       My horse moved on; hoof after hoof                          He raised, and never stopped:                       When down behind the cottage roof,                          At once, the bright moon dropped.                       What fond and wayward thoughts will slide                          Into a Lover's head!                       "O mercy!" to myself I cried,                          "If Lucy should be dead!"       II                       She dwelt among the untrodden ways                       Beside the springs of Dove,                       A Maid whom there were none to praise                       And very few to love:                       A violet by a mossy stone                       Half hidden from the eye!                       — Fair as a star, when only one                       Is shining in the sky.                       She lived unknown, and few could know                       When Lucy ceased to be;                       But she is in her grave, and, oh,                       The difference to me!       III                       I travelled among unknown men,                       In lands beyond the sea;                       Nor, England! did I know till then                       What love I bore to thee.                       Tis past, that melancholy dream!                       Nor will I quit thy shore                       A second time; for still I seem                       To love thee more and more.                       Among thy mountains did I feel                       The joy of my desire;                       And she I cherished turned her wheel                       Beside an English fire.                       Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed                       The bowers where Lucy played;                       And thine too is the last green field                       That Lucy's eyes surveyed.       V                       A slumber did my spirit seal;                       I had no human fears:                       She seemed a thing that could not feel                       The touch of earthly years.                       No motion has she now, no force;                       She neither hears nor sees;                       Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,                       With rocks, and stones, and trees.