Стихотворения

Alas for woe! alas for woe!'
They cry, and tears for ever flow.
The one was cloth'd in flames of fire,
The other cloth'd in iron wire,
The other cloth'd in tears and sighs
Dazzling bright before my eyes.
They bore a Net of golden twine
To hang upon the branches fine.
Pitying I wept to see the woe
That Love and Beauty undergo,
To be consum'd in burning fires
And in ungratified desires,
And in tears cloth'd night and day
Melted all my soul away.
When they saw my tears, a smile
That did Heaven itself beguile,
Bore the Golden Net aloft,
As on downy pinions soft,
Over the Morning of my day.
Underneath the net I stray,
Now entreating Burning Fire
Now entreating Iron Wire,
Now entreating Tears and Sighs—
O! when will the morning rise?

Златая сеть. Перевод В. Потаповой

Три девы в предрассветный час:
«Куда ты, юноша, от нас?
О горе, горе!» Из очей
У каждой хлынул слез ручей.
Одна — огнем одела стан,
Другой — наряд железный дан.
На третьей — полное сиянья,
Из слез и вздохов одеянье.
И сеть из пряжи золотой
Несут, рыдая, в лес густой.
Заплакав с ними, я узрел
Любви и Красоты удел:
Они двойным огнем палимы.
Желанья их неутолимы.
До слез я жаждал им помочь, —
Одетым в слезы день и ночь.
Тут вызвал я у них улыбку,
Что небеса ввела б в ошибку, —
Улыбку, что златую сеть
Заставила, как пух, взлететь
И захлестнуть начало дней
Моих, чтоб я блуждал под ней.
Взываю к Ярому Огню,
Молю Железную Броню,
Слезам и Вздохам говорю:
— Когда увижу я зарю?

The Mental Traveller

The Mental Traveller

I travell'd thro' a land of men,
A land of men and women too;
And heard and saw such dreadful things
As cold earth-wanderers never knew.

For there the Babe is born in joy
That was begotten in dire woe;
Just as we reap in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did sow.

And if the Babe is born a boy
He's given to a Woman Old,
Who nails him down upon a rock,
Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.

She binds iron thorns around his head,
She pierces both his hands and feet,
She cuts his heart out at his side,
To make it feel both cold and heat.

Her fingers number every nerve,
Just as a miser counts his gold;
She lives upon his shrieks and cries,
And she grows young as he grows old.