Стихотворения

На склонах Иды затененных,
В чертогах, что Восток воздвиг, —
В покоях, солнцем напоенных,
Где песнопений смолк язык,

Вы обретаетесь, богини,
Иль в небесах, среди миров?
Иль в тех слоях, где воздух синий
Рождает музыку ветров?

Или под лоном вод зеркальных
Вы, девять богоравных дев,
Средь рощ коралла, скал хрустальных
Сошлись, поэзию презрев?

Как вы могли забыть о чудной
Любви к певцам ушедших лет?
Ослабли струны, звуки скудны,
Нот мало, искренности нет!

Blind Man's Buff

Blind Man's Buff

When silver snow decks Susan's clothes,
And jewel hangs at th' shepherd's nose,
The blushing bank is all my care,
With hearth so red, and walls so fair;

'Heap the sea-coal, come, heap it higher,
The oaken log lay on the fire.'
The well-wash'd stools, a circling row,
With lad and lass, how fair the show!

The merry can of nut-brown ale,
The laughing jest, the love-sick tale,
Till, tir'd of chat, the game begins.
The lasses prick the lads with pins;

Roger from Dolly twitch'd the stool,
She, falling, kiss'd the ground, poor fool!
She blush'd so red, with side-long glance
At hob-nail Dick, who griev'd the chance.

But now for Blind man's Buff they call;
Of each encumbrance clear the hall—
Jenny her silken 'kerchief folds,
And blear-eyed Will the black lot holds.

Now laughing stops, with 'Silence! hush!'
And Peggy Pout gives Sam a push.
The Blind man's arms, extended wide,
Sam slips between:—'O woe betide

Thee, clumsy Will!'—But titt'ring Kate
Is penn'd up in the corner straight!
And now Will's eyes beheld the play;
He thought his face was t'other way.

'Now, Kitty, now! what chance hast thou,
Roger so near thee!—Trips, I vow!'
She catches him—then Roger ties
His own head up—but not his eyes;

For thro' the slender cloth he sees,
And runs at Sam, who slips with ease
His clumsy hold; and, dodging round,
Sukey is tumbled on the ground!—

'See what it is to play unfair!
Where cheating is, there's mischief there.'
But Roger still pursues the chase,—
'He sees! he sees!' cries, softly, Grace;

'o Roger, thou, unskill'd in art,
Must, surer bound, go thro' thy part!'
Now Kitty, pert, repeats the rimes,
And Roger turns him round three times,