Erika, Гугл - великая вещь! ^ А вообще не скажу. А то все просто оттуда все скачают, и тема затухнет. А так хоть интерес какой-то подогреваю...

Silence

There are some qualities- some incorporate things,
        That have a double life, which thus is made
      A type of that twin entity which springs
        From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
      There is a two-fold Silence- sea and shore-
        Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
        Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
      Some human memories and tearful lore,
      Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
      He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
        No power hath he of evil in himself;
      But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
        Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
      That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
      No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

The Bells

I

          Hear the sledges with the bells-
                   Silver bells!
   What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
          How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
              In the icy air of night!
          While the stars that oversprinkle
          All the heavens, seem to twinkle
             With a crystalline delight;
                Keeping time, time, time,
             In a sort of Runic rhyme,
   To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
             From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
                   Bells, bells, bells-
   From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

                        II

          Hear the mellow wedding bells,
                   Golden bells!
   What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
          Through the balmy air of night
          How they ring out their delight!
            From the molten-golden notes,
                   And an in tune,
            What a liquid ditty floats
   To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
                   On the moon!
          Oh, from out the sounding cells,
   What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
                   How it swells!
                   How it dwells
            On the Future! how it tells
            Of the rapture that impels
          To the swinging and the ringing
            Of the bells, bells, bells,
          Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
                   Bells, bells, bells-
   To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

                        III

          Hear the loud alarum bells-
                   Brazen bells!
   What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
          In the startled ear of night
        How they scream out their affright!
          Too much horrified to speak,
          They can only shriek, shriek,
                   Out of tune,
   In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
   In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
          Leaping higher, higher, higher,
            With a desperate desire,
          And a resolute endeavor,
          Now- now to sit or never,
        By the side of the pale-faced moon.
           Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
           What a tale their terror tells
                   Of Despair!
         How they clang, and clash, and roar!
         What a horror they outpour
       On the bosom of the palpitating air!
           Yet the ear it fully knows,
                   By the twanging,
                   And the clanging,
           How the danger ebbs and flows:
           Yet the ear distinctly tells,
                   In the jangling,
                   And the wrangling,
           How the danger sinks and swells,
   By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
                   Of the bells-
           Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
                 Bells, bells, bells-
      In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

                        IV

          Hear the tolling of the bells-
                   Iron Bells!
   What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
          In the silence of the night,
          How we shiver with affright
     At the melancholy menace of their tone!
          For every sound that floats
          From the rust within their throats
                    Is a groan.
          And the people- ah, the people-
          They that dwell up in the steeple,
                   All Alone
          And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
            In that muffled monotone,
          Feel a glory in so rolling
            On the human heart a stone-
          They are neither man nor woman-
          They are neither brute nor human-
                   They are Ghouls:
            And their king it is who tolls;
            And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
                   Rolls
              A paean from the bells!
          And his merry bosom swells
            With the paean of the bells!
          And he dances, and he yells;
          Keeping time, time, time,
          In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the paean of the bells-
                   Of the bells:
          Keeping time, time, time,
          In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the throbbing of the bells-
          Of the bells, bells, bells-
            To the sobbing of the bells;
          Keeping time, time, time,
            As he knells, knells, knells,
          In a happy Runic rhyme,
            To the rolling of the bells-
          Of the bells, bells, bells:
            To the tolling of the bells,
          Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
            Bells, bells, bells-
    To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Erika, ну что Вы) Помогать другим - в радость))

Eldorado

Gaily bedight,
                   A gallant knight,
               In sunshine and in shadow,
                   Had journeyed long,
                   Singing a song,
               In search of Eldorado.

                   But he grew old-
                   This knight so bold-
               And o'er his heart a shadow
                   Fell as he found
                   No spot of ground
               That looked like Eldorado.

                   And, as his strength
                   Failed him at length,
               He met a pilgrim shadow-
                   "Shadow," said he,
                   "Where can it be-
               This land of Eldorado?"

                   "Over the Mountains
                   Of the Moon,
               Down the Valley of the Shadow,
                   Ride, boldly ride,"
                   The shade replied-
               "If you seek for Eldorado!"

хороший подарок))) я в переводе хочу его выучить. Одно из любимых его стихотворений.

Красиво действительно. Его стихи похожи на сны, странные и не всегда понятные, но тем не менее завораживающие своей красотой. Особенно его стихотворение "Страна снов".

нет просто мне это стихотворение больше всего нравится))))

Sonnet - to Science

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
      Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
    Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
      Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
    How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
      Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
    To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
      Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
    Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
      And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
    To seek a shelter in some happier star?
      Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
    The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
    The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

Т_Т Знаю-знаю... но у меня правда были дела! Возвращаю долг - последний стих.

The City in the Sea

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
      In a strange city lying alone
      Far down within the dim West,
      Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
      Have gone to their eternal rest.
      There shrines and palaces and towers
      (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
      Resemble nothing that is ours.
      Around, by lifting winds forgot,
      Resignedly beneath the sky
      The melancholy waters lie.

      No rays from the holy heaven come down
      On the long night-time of that town;
      But light from out the lurid sea
      Streams up the turrets silently-
      Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
      Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls-
      Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls-
      Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
      Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-
      Up many and many a marvellous shrine
      Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
      The viol, the violet, and the vine.
      Resignedly beneath the sky
      The melancholy waters lie.
      So blend the turrets and shadows there
      That all seem pendulous in air,
      While from a proud tower in the town
      Death looks gigantically down.

      There open fanes and gaping graves
      Yawn level with the luminous waves;
      But not the riches there that lie
      In each idol's diamond eye-
      Not the gaily-jewelled dead
      Tempt the waters from their bed;
      For no ripples curl, alas!
      Along that wilderness of glass-
      No swellings tell that winds may be
      Upon some far-off happier sea-
      No heavings hint that winds have been
      On seas less hideously serene.

      But lo, a stir is in the air!
      The wave- there is a movement there!
      As if the towers had thrust aside,
      In slightly sinking, the dull tide-
      As if their tops had feebly given
      A void within the filmy Heaven.
      The waves have now a redder glow-
      The hours are breathing faint and low-
      And when, amid no earthly moans,
      Down, down that town shall settle hence,
      Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
      Shall do it reverence.

Конец... а может быть, и нет.
*загадочно улыбнувшись, исчезает из темки*

Отредактировано *Hikari* (2008-03-17 17:27:40)

А вот и я! С новыми стихами, переводов которых у меня нет. Буду выкладывать по алфавиту. Первый переводится как "Аль Аарааф".

Саммари:
"О! ничто земное не спасет луча
Очей Красы (что создали цветы),
Но те сады лишь, там, где дни
Весны - из самоцветов Циркасси..."

Al Aaraaf

O! nothing earthly save the ray
      (Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
      As in those gardens where the day
      Springs from the gems of Circassy-
      O! nothing earthly save the thrill
      Of melody in woodland rill-
      Or (music of the passion-hearted)
      Joy's voice so peacefully departed
      That like the murmur in the shell,
      Its echo dwelleth and will dwell-
      Oh, nothing of the dross of ours-
      Yet all the beauty- all the flowers
      That list our Love, and deck our bowers-
      Adorn yon world afar, afar-
      The wandering star.

      'Twas a sweet time for Nesace- for there
      Her world lay lolling on the golden air,
      Near four bright suns- a temporary rest-
      An oasis in desert of the blest.
      Away- away- 'mid seas of rays that roll
      Empyrean splendor o'er th' unchained soul-
      The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense)
      Can struggle to its destin'd eminence,-
      To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode
      And late to ours, the favor'd one of God-
      But, now, the ruler of an anchor'd realm,
      She throws aside the sceptre- leaves the helm,
      And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns,
      Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.

      Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth,
      Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth,
      (Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star,
      Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar,
      It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt)
      She looked into Infinity- and knelt.
      Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled-
      Fit emblems of the model of her world-
      Seen but in beauty- not impeding sight
      Of other beauty glittering thro' the light-
      A wreath that twined each starry form around,
      And all the opal'd air in color bound.

        All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed
      Of flowers: of lilies such as rear'd the head
      On the fair Capo Deucato, and sprang
      So eagerly around about to hang
      Upon the flying footsteps of- deep pride-
      Of her who lov'd a mortal- and so died.
      The Sephalica, budding with young bees,
      Upreared its purple stem around her knees:-
      And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam'd-
      Inmate of highest stars, where erst it sham'd
      All other loveliness:- its honied dew
      (The fabled nectar that the heathen knew)
      Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from Heaven,
      And fell on gardens of the unforgiven
      In Trebizond- and on a sunny flower
      So like its own above that, to this hour,
      It still remaineth, torturing the bee
      With madness, and unwonted reverie:
      In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf
      And blossom of the fairy plant in grief
      Disconsolate linger- grief that hangs her head,
      Repenting follies that full long have Red,
      Heaving her white breast to the balmy air,
      Like guilty beauty, chasten'd and more fair:
      Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light
      She fears to perfume, perfuming the night:
      And Clytia, pondering between many a sun,
      While pettish tears adown her petals run:
      And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth,
      And died, ere scarce exalted into birth,
      Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing
      Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king:
      And Valisnerian lotus, thither flown"
      From struggling with the waters of the Rhone:
      And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante!
      Isola d'oro!- Fior di Levante!
      And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever
      With Indian Cupid down the holy river-
      Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given
      To bear the Goddess' song, in odors, up to Heaven:

           "Spirit! that dwellest where,
             In the deep sky,
           The terrible and fair,
             In beauty vie!
           Beyond the line of blue-
             The boundary of the star
           Which turneth at the view
             Of thy barrier and thy bar-
           Of the barrier overgone
             By the comets who were cast
           From their pride and from their throne
             To be drudges till the last-
           To be carriers of fire
             (The red fire of their heart)
           With speed that may not tire
             And with pain that shall not part-
           Who livest- that we know-
             In Eternity- we feel-
           But the shadow of whose brow
             What spirit shall reveal?
           Tho' the beings whom thy Nesace,
             Thy messenger hath known
           Have dream'd for thy Infinity
             A model of their own-
           Thy will is done, O God!
             The star hath ridden high
           Thro' many a tempest, but she rode
             Beneath thy burning eye;
           And here, in thought, to thee-
             In thought that can alone
           Ascend thy empire and so be
             A partner of thy throne-
           By winged Fantasy,
           My embassy is given,
           Till secrecy shall knowledge be
             In the environs of Heaven."

      She ceas'd- and buried then her burning cheek
      Abash'd, amid the lilies there, to seek
      A shelter from the fervor of His eye;
      For the stars trembled at the Deity.
      She stirr'd not- breath'd not- for a voice was there
      How solemnly pervading the calm air!
      A sound of silence on the startled ear
      Which dreamy poets name "the music of the sphere."
      Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call
      "Silence"- which is the merest word of all.
      All Nature speaks, and ev'n ideal things
      Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings-
      But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high
      The eternal voice of God is passing by,
      And the red winds are withering in the sky:-

        "What tho 'in worlds which sightless cycles run,
      Linked to a little system, and one sun-
      Where all my love is folly and the crowd
      Still think my terrors but the thunder cloud,
      The storm, the earthquake, and the ocean-wrath-
      (Ah! will they cross me in my angrier path?)
      What tho' in worlds which own a single sun
      The sands of Time grow dimmer as they run,
      Yet thine is my resplendency, so given
      To bear my secrets thro' the upper Heaven!

      Leave tenantless thy crystal home, and fly,
      With all thy train, athwart the moony sky-
      Apart- like fire-flies in Sicilian night,
      And wing to other worlds another light!
      Divulge the secrets of thy embassy
      To the proud orbs that twinkle- and so be
      To ev'ry heart a barrier and a ban
      Lest the stars totter in the guilt of man!"

        Up rose the maiden in the yellow night,
      The single-mooned eve!- on Earth we plight
      Our faith to one love- and one moon adore-
      The birth-place of young Beauty had no more.
      As sprang that yellow star from downy hours
      Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers,
      And bent o'er sheeny mountains and dim plain
      Her way, but left not yet her Therasaean reign.

                    PART II

      High on a mountain of enamell'd head-
      Such as the drowsy shepherd on his bed
      Of giant pasturage lying at his ease,
      Raising his heavy eyelid, starts and sees
      With many a mutter'd "hope to be forgiven"
      What time the moon is quadrated in Heaven-
      Of rosy head that, towering far away
      Into the sunlit ether, caught the ray
      Of sunken suns at eve- at noon of night,
      While the moon danc'd with the fair stranger light-
      Uprear'd upon such height arose a pile
      Of gorgeous columns on th' unburthen'd air,
      Flashing from Parian marble that twin smile
      Far down upon the wave that sparkled there,
      And nursled the young mountain in its lair.
      Of molten stars their pavement, such as fall
      Thro' the ebon air, besilvering the pall
      Of their own dissolution, while they die-
      Adorning then the dwellings of the sky.
      A dome, by linked light from Heaven let down,
      Sat gently on these columns as a crown-
      A window of one circular diamond, there,
      Look'd out above into the purple air,
      And rays from God shot down that meteor chain
      And hallow'd all the beauty twice again,
      Save, when, between th' empyrean and that ring,
      Some eager spirit Flapp'd his dusky wing.
      But on the pillars Seraph eyes have seen
      The dimness of this world: that greyish green
      That Nature loves the best Beauty's grave
      Lurk'd in each cornice, round each architrave-
      And every sculptur'd cherub thereabout
      That from his marble dwelling peered out,
      Seem'd earthly in the shadow of his niche-
      Achaian statues in a world so rich!
      Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis-
      From Balbec, and the stilly, clear abyss
      Of beautiful Gomorrah! O, the wave
      Is now upon thee- but too late to save!

        Sound loves to revel in a summer night:
      Witness the murmur of the grey twilight
      That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco,
      Of many a wild star-gazer long ago-
      That stealeth ever on the ear of him
      Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim,
      And sees the darkness coming as a cloud-
      Is not its form- its voice- most palpable and loud?

        But what is this?- it cometh, and it brings
      A music with it- 'tis the rush of wings-
      A pause- and then a sweeping, falling strain
      And Nesace is in her halls again.
      From the wild energy of wanton haste
        Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart;
      And zone that clung around her gentle waist
        Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart.
      Within the centre of that hall to breathe,
      She paused and panted, Zanthe! all beneath,
      The fairy light that kiss'd her golden hair
      And long'd to rest, yet could but sparkle there.

        Young flowers were whispering in melody
      To happy flowers that night- and tree to tree;
      Fountains were gushing music as they fell
      In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell;
      Yet silence came upon material things-
      Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings-
      And sound alone that from the spirit sprang
      Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang:

             "'Neath the blue-bell or streamer-
             Or tufted wild spray
           That keeps, from the dreamer,
             The moonbeam away-
           Bright beings! that ponder,
             With half closing eyes,
           On the stars which your wonder
             Hath drawn from the skies,
           Till they glance thro' the shade, and
             Come down to your brow
           Like- eyes of the maiden
             Who calls on you now-
           Arise! from your dreaming
             In violet bowers,
           To duty beseeming
             These star-litten hours-
           And shake from your tresses
             Encumber'd with dew
           The breath of those kisses
             That cumber them too-
           (O! how, without you, Love!
             Could angels be blest?)
           Those kisses of true Love
             That lull'd ye to rest!
           Up!- shake from your wing
             Each hindering thing:
           The dew of the night-
             It would weigh down your flight
           And true love caresses-
             O, leave them apart!
           They are light on the tresses,
             But lead on the heart.

           Ligeia! Ligeia!
             My beautiful one!
           Whose harshest idea
             Will to melody run,
           O! is it thy will
             On the breezes to toss?
           Or, capriciously still,
             Like the lone Albatros,
           Incumbent on night
             (As she on the air)
           To keep watch with delight
             On the harmony there?

           Ligeia! wherever
             Thy image may be,
           No magic shall sever
             Thy music from thee.
           Thou hast bound many eyes
             In a dreamy sleep-
           But the strains still arise
             Which thy vigilance keep-
           The sound of the rain,
             Which leaps down to the flower-
           And dances again
             In the rhythm of the shower-
           The murmur that springs
             From the growing of grass
           Are the music of things-
             But are modell'd, alas!-
           Away, then, my dearest,
             Oh! hie thee away
           To the springs that lie clearest
             Beneath the moon-ray-
           To lone lake that smiles,
             In its dream of deep rest,
           At the many star-isles
             That enjewel its breast-
           Where wild flowers, creeping,
             Have mingled their shade,
           On its margin is sleeping
             Full many a maid-
           Some have left the cool glade, and
             Have slept with the bee-
           Arouse them, my maiden,
             On moorland and lea-
           Go! breathe on their slumber,
             All softly in ear,
           Thy musical number
             They slumbered to hear-
           For what can awaken
             An angel so soon,
           Whose sleep hath been taken
             Beneath the cold moon,
           As the spell which no slumber
             Of witchery may test,
           The rhythmical number
             Which lull'd him to rest?"

      Spirits in wing, and angels to the view,
      A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean thro',
      Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight-
      Seraphs in all but "Knowledge," the keen light
      That fell, refracted, thro' thy bounds, afar,
      O Death! from eye of God upon that star:
      Sweet was that error- sweeter still that death-
      Sweet was that error- even with us the breath
      Of Science dims the mirror of our joy-
      To them 'twere the Simoom, and would destroy-
      For what (to them) availeth it to know
      That Truth is Falsehood- or that Bliss is Woe?
      Sweet was their death- with them to die was rife
      With the last ecstasy of satiate life-
      Beyond that death no immortality-
      But sleep that pondereth and is not "to be'!-
      And there- oh! may my weary spirit dwell-
      Apart from Heaven's Eternity- and yet how far from Hell!
      What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim,
      Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn?
      But two: they fell: for Heaven no grace imparts
      To those who hear not for their beating hearts.
      A maiden-angel and her seraph-lover-
      O! where (and ye may seek the wide skies over)
      Was Love, the blind, near sober Duty known?
      Unguided Love hath fallen- 'mid "tears of perfect moan."
      He was a goodly spirit- he who fell:
      A wanderer by moss-y-mantled well-
      A gazer on the lights that shine above-
      A dreamer in the moonbeam by his love:
      What wonder? for each star is eye-like there,
      And looks so sweetly down on Beauty's hair-
      And they, and ev'ry mossy spring were holy
      To his love-haunted heart and melancholy.
      The night had found (to him a night of woe)
      Upon a mountain crag, young Angelo-
      Beetling it bends athwart the solemn sky,
      And scowls on starry worlds that down beneath it lie.
      Here sat he with his love- his dark eye bent
      With eagle gaze along the firmament:
      Now turn'd it upon her- but ever then
      It trembled to the orb of EARTH again.

      "Ianthe, dearest, see- how dim that ray!
      How lovely 'tis to look so far away!
      She seem'd not thus upon that autumn eve
      I left her gorgeous halls- nor mourn'd to leave.
      That eve- that eve- I should remember well-
      The sun-ray dropp'd in Lemnos, with a spell
      On th' arabesque carving of a gilded hall
      Wherein I sate, and on the draperied wall-
      And on my eyelids- O the heavy light!
      How drowsily it weigh'd them into night!
      On flowers, before, and mist, and love they ran
      With Persian Saadi in his Gulistan:
      But O that light!- I slumber'd- Death, the while,
      Stole o'er my senses in that lovely isle
      So softly that no single silken hair
      Awoke that slept- or knew that he was there.

      "The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon
      Was a proud temple call'd the Parthenon;
      More beauty clung around her column'd wall
      Than ev'n thy glowing bosom beats withal,
      And when old Time my wing did disenthral
      Thence sprang I- as the eagle from his tower,
      And years I left behind me in an hour.
      What time upon her airy bounds I hung,
      One half the garden of her globe was flung
      Unrolling as a chart unto my view-
      Tenantless cities of the desert too!
      Ianthe, beauty crowded on me then,
      And half I wish'd to be again of men."

      "My Angelo! and why of them to be?
      A brighter dwelling-place is here for thee-
      And greener fields than in yon world above,
      And woman's loveliness- and passionate love."

      "But, list, Ianthe! when the air so soft
      Fail'd, as my pennon'd spirit leapt aloft,
      Perhaps my brain grew dizzy- but the world
      I left so late was into chaos hurl'd-
      Sprang from her station, on the winds apart.
      And roll'd, a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart.
      Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar
      And fell- not swiftly as I rose before,
      But with a downward, tremulous motion thro'
      Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto!
      Nor long the measure of my falling hours,
      For nearest of all stars was thine to ours-
      Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth,
      A red Daedalion on the timid Earth."

      "We came- and to thy Earth- but not to us
      Be given our lady's bidding to discuss:
      We came, my love; around, above, below,
      Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go,
      Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod
      She grants to us, as granted by her God-
      But, Angelo, than thine grey Time unfurl'd
      Never his fairy wing O'er fairier world!
      Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes
      Alone could see the phantom in the skies,
      When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be
      Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea-
      But when its glory swell'd upon the sky,
      As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye,
      We paused before the heritage of men,
      And thy star trembled- as doth Beauty then!"

      Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away
      The night that waned and waned and brought no day.
      They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts
      Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.

Отредактировано *Hikari* (2008-03-22 19:16:19)

Где ты их откапываешь? Я в шоке...

А теперь - стихотворение "Колизей".

Саммари:
"Античный Рим! Ты - древняя святыня
Высоких зрелищ, ты во тьме Времен,
В годах ушедших пышности, расцвета..."

The Coliseum

Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
       Of lofty contemplation left to Time
       By buried centuries of pomp and power!
       At length- at length- after so many days
       Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
       (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
       I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
       Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
       My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

       Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!
       Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!
       I feel ye now- I feel ye in your strength-
       O spells more sure than e'er Judaean king
       Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!
       O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
       Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

       Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!
       Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
       A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!
       Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
       Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!
       Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
       Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
       Lit by the wan light of the horned moon,
       The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

       But stay! these walls- these ivy-clad arcades-
       These moldering plinths- these sad and blackened shafts-
       These vague entablatures- this crumbling frieze-
       These shattered cornices- this wreck- this ruin-
       These stones- alas! these grey stones- are they all-
       All of the famed, and the colossal left
       By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

       "Not all"- the Echoes answer me- "not all!
       Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever
       From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,
       As melody from Memnon to the Sun.
       We rule the hearts of mightiest men- we rule
       With a despotic sway all giant minds.
       We are not impotent- we pallid stones.
       Not all our power is gone- not all our fame-
       Not all the magic of our high renown-
       Not all the wonder that encircles us-
       Not all the mysteries that in us lie-
       Not all the memories that hang upon
       And cling around about us as a garment,
       Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

Erika, большое спасибо за перевод))
Ну а теперь - стихотворение "Червь-Победитель" (из рассказа "Лигейя").

Саммари:
"Спектакль-гала! Чу, срок настал,
Печалью лет повит..."

The Conqueror Worm

   Lo! 'tis a gala night
         Within the lonesome latter years!
       An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
         In veils, and drowned in tears,
       Sit in a theatre, to see
         A play of hopes and fears,
       While the orchestra breathes fitfully
         The music of the spheres.

       Mimes, in the form of God on high,
         Mutter and mumble low,
       And hither and thither fly-
         Mere puppets they, who come and go
       At bidding of vast formless things
         That shift the scenery to and fro,
       Flapping from out their Condor wings
         Invisible Woe!

       That motley drama- oh, be sure
         It shall not be forgot!
       With its Phantom chased for evermore,
         By a crowd that seize it not,
       Through a circle that ever returneth in
         To the self-same spot,
       And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
         And Horror the soul of the plot.

       But see, amid the mimic rout
         A crawling shape intrude!
       A blood-red thing that writhes from out
         The scenic solitude!
       It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
         The mimes become its food,
       And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
         In human gore imbued.

       Out- out are the lights- out all!
         And, over each quivering form,
       The curtain, a funeral pall,
         Comes down with the rush of a storm,
       While the angels, all pallid and wan,
         Uprising, unveiling, affirm
       That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
         And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

Отредактировано *Hikari* (2008-03-24 17:13:17)

Итак, следующее стихотворение - "Сны".

Саммари:
"О! если б жизнь моя была лишь вечным сном!
Мой дух бы спал, и Вечности лишь луч
День следующий мог бы возвестить..."

Dreams

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
    My spirit not awakening, till the beam
    Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
    Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
    'Twere better than the cold reality
    Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
    And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
    A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
    But should it be- that dream eternally
    Continuing- as dreams have been to me
    In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
    'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
    For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
    I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
    And loveliness,- have left my very heart
    In climes of my imagining, apart
    From mine own home, with beings that have been
    Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
    'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
    From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
    Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
    Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
    Its image on my spirit- or the moon
    Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
    Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was
    That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.

    I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
    I have been happy- and I love the theme:
    Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
    As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
    Of semblance with reality, which brings
    To the delirious eye, more lovely things
    Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
    Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.