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     Sostavlenie, predislovie i kommentarii A. M. Zvereva
     Blejk U. Izbrannye stihi. Sbornik. Sost.  A.  M.  Zverev.  Na  angl.  i
russk. yaz. - M.: Progress. - 1982.
     OCR Bychkov M.N.
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     Uil'yamu Blejku (1757-1827) vypalo zhit' v  epohu,  kogda  kruto  menyalsya
privychnyj poryadok veshchej.
     On byl sovremennikom dvuh velikih revolyucij: Amerikanskoj 1776 goda i -
spustya  trinadcat'  let  -  Francuzskoj.  Bushevali   napoleonovskie   vojny.
Volnovalas' Irlandiya. Dovedennye do otchayaniya rabochie lomali stanki,  i  lord
Bajron proiznes v parlamente rech', zashchishchaya ludditov.
     Bol'shie sobytiya istorii i  vyzvannye  imi  bitvy  bol'shih  idej  prochno
vpleteny v biografiyu Blejka. Vneshne ona monotonna,  ot  nachala  i  do  konca
zapolnena tyazhkim povsednevnym trudom za groshi. Neudachi, nepriznanie, neuyut -
vot ego zhizn' god za godom. Vse eto tak ne pohozhe na  tipichnyj  literaturnyj
byt togo vremeni, chto mnogie pisavshie o Blejke porazhalis', kakim obrazom  on
smog podnyat'sya nad surovoj budnichnost'yu, stav velikim hudozhnikom  i  poetom.
CHitaya posvyashchennye Blejku  knigi,  podchas  trudno  osoznat'  intensivnost'  i
glubinu proishodivshej v nem  duhovnoj  raboty.  O  nej  govoryat  ne  stol'ko
biograficheskie fakty, skol'ko  proizvedeniya,  ostavshiesya  po  bol'shej  chasti
neizvestnymi sovremennikam, hotya imenno  v  tvorchestve  Blejka  nashel,  byt'
mozhet,  svoe  samoe  celostnoe  i  samoe  svoeobraznoe  otrazhenie  ves'  tot
istoricheskij period, perelomnyj dlya sudeb Evropy.
     Pered nami ne stol' uzh chastyj sluchaj, kogda hudozhnik  uhodit  v  polnoj
bezvestnosti, i eshche dolgo vremya lish' zametaet o nem  vsyakuyu  pamyat',  no  uzh
zato posle posmertnogo "otkrytiya" slava nakatyvaet takimi moguchimi  volnami,
chto potomkam kazhetsya nepostizhimoj vypavshaya geniyu gor'kaya, zhestokaya sud'ba.
     Syn chulochnika,  s  desyati  let  otdannyj  v  uchenie  graveru  i  dal'she
zarabatyvavshij sebe na hleb etim remeslom, on s  detstva  uznal,  chto  takoe
social'naya otverzhennost'.  London  v  tu  poru  stremitel'no  ros,  toropyas'
zastroit'  nedavnie  okrainy  korpusami  manufaktur,  verfyami,  prizemistymi
gryaznovatymi domami, gde obitalo proletarskoe naselenie  vsemirnoj  stolicy.
Blejk prinadlezhal etomu miru. V sushchnosti, on byl samym nastoyashchim rabochim,  v
periody vynuzhdennyh prostoev sushchestvovavshim isklyuchitel'no za  schet  shchedrosti
nemnogih druzej.
     Na vsyu ego zhizn' vydalos' tol'ko tri bolee ili menee blagopoluchnyh goda
(1800-1803), kogda mecenat  Uil'yam  Hejli  uvez  Blejka  v  svoe  primorskoe
pomest'e, zakazav portrety vydayushchihsya  pisatelej,  k  sonmu  kotoryh  vtajne
prichislyal i samogo sebya, -  ot  bezdel'ya  on  sochinyal  nazidatel'nye  virshi.
Otlichayas' dobroserdechiem, Hejli iskrenne hotel  pomoch'  svoemu  protezhe,  no
rovnym schetom nichego ne ponimal ni v  ideyah  Blejka,  ni  v  ego  iskusstve.
Beskonechnye poucheniya, kotorymi soprovozhdalis' ego  milosti,  dokuchali  poetu
nastol'ko, chto on  predpochel  vernut'sya  v  London  k  svoemu  polugolodnomu
neustroennomu zhit'yu. Poslednie dvadcat' chetyre goda Blejk prozhil  v  stolice
bezvyezdno. Zdes' on i umer. I byl pogreben na sredstva fonda  obshchestvennogo
prizreniya - v bezymyannoj yame dlya nishchih.
     Prohodit dvadcat' let. Vesennim dnem molodoj  hudozhnik  Dante  Gabriel'
Rossetti (Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1828-1882), royas' v  bogatejshej  kollekcii
gravyur, sobrannoj v Britanskom muzee, obnaruzhivaet na stole hranitelya  pachku
sshityh listov, kotorye pokryty risunkami i stihami "neschastnogo  vizionera",
etogo "zhalkogo  bezumca",  kak  otzyvalis'  o  Blejke  ego  nemnogochislennye
znakomye   po    artisticheskomu    miru.    Voobrazhenie    budushchego    glavy
"Prerafaelitskogo bratstva"  (Pre-Raphaelite  Brotherhood)  porazheno,  on  s
gotovnost'yu vyplachivaet trebuemye hranitelem  desyat'  shillingov.  I  s  etoj
rukopisi, imenuemoj teper' v katalogah "Manuskriptom  Rossetti",  nachinaetsya
vozrozhdenie Blejka. Nachinaetsya, chtoby uzhe ne zavershit'sya - vplot'  do  nashih
dnej, kogda  imya  Blejka  nazyvayut  odnim  iz  pervyh,  govorya  o  predtechah
sovremennoj angloyazychnoj poezii.
     Strannyj zhrebij! |ti strannosti  budut  dolgo  zanimat'  issledovatelej
Blejka, dazhe segodnyashnih, ne govorya uzhe o rannih  (v  ih  chisle  eshche  odnogo
prerafaelita  Aleksandra   Gilkrista   (Alexander   Gilchrist,   1828-1861),
otdavshego mnogie  gody  svoej  dvuhtomnoj  rabote  o  Blejke,  i  Aldzhernona
Suinberna  (Algernon  Swinburne,  1837-1909),  v   1868   g.   napechatavshego
vostorzhennuyu knigu o poete). Vossozdavaya stranicy ego tvorcheskoj  biografii,
vse  oni  skazhut  o   porazitel'noj   slepote   togdashnih   literaturnyh   i
hudozhestvennyh  avtoritetov  i  zadnim  chislom  primutsya  ih   uprekat'   za
dogmaticheskuyu priverzhennost' kanonam, v kotorye ne ukladyvalos'  blejkovskoe
esteticheskoe videnie.
     Vspomnyat oni i o beznadezhnoj bor'be, kotoruyu Blejk  vel  s  Korolevskoj
akademiej,  vozglavlyaemoj  serom  Dzhoshua   Rejnol'dsom   (Joshua   Reynolds,
1723-1792), velikolepnym portretistom, ne terpevshim,  vprochem,  ni  malejshih
otstuplenij ot prinyatyh pravil risunka i kompozicii. Akademiya raz  za  razom
otklonyala blejkovskie raboty, nahodya ih diletantskimi. V  ee  zaly  ne  byli
propushcheny ego illyustracii k Dante, kak i gravyury po  motivam  "Knigi  Iova",
nyne priznannye odnoj iz  vershin  romanticheskogo  iskusstva.  Bylo  ot  chego
prijti v otchayanie.
     V 1809 godu sostoyalas' edinstvennaya personal'naya  vystavka  Blejka.  On
ustroil   ee   na   vtorom   etazhe   doma,   gde   pomeshchalas'   lavka    ego
brata-galanterejshchika.  |ksponirovalis'   glavnym   obrazom   illyustracii   k
"Kenterberijskim rasskazam"  (Canterbury  Tales)  Dzheffri  CHosera  (Geoffrey
Chaucer, 13407-1400). Blejk otpechatal katalog, soderzhavshij  glubokij  razbor
etogo  proizvedeniya  i  izlozhenie  sobstvennogo  hudozhestvennogo  kredo.  No
pokupatelej ne nashlos'. Da i  posetitelej  tozhe.  A  edinstvennaya  recenziya,
napechatannaya v "|kzeminere", izobilovala kolkostyami po  adresu  hudozhnika  i
uvenchivalas' utverzhdeniem, chto ego sledovalo by "upryatat' v zheltyj  dom,  ne
bud' on stol' bezobiden v bytu".
     CHerez shestnadcat' let etot katalog popal  v  ruki  Vordsvorta  (William
Wordsworth, 1770-1850). Pochtennyj metr sudil snishoditel'nee,  chem  gazetnyj
borzopisec. Stihov Blejka on ne znal i ne pozhelal s nimi poznakomit'sya, a ob
ego ideyah tozhe otozvalsya kak o svidetel'stve "bezumiya",  no  pribavil:  "Ono
dlya menya interesnee, chem zdravyj smysl Val'tera  Skotta  i  lorda  Bajrona".
Vordsvort i zdes' svodil  davnie  literaturnye  schety  -  pod  starost'  eto
sdelalos' dlya nego chut' li ne osnovnym zanyatiem, - no  tem  ne  menee  iskru
sil'nogo  darovaniya  on  sumel  pochuvstvovat'  pri  vsej   svoej   zavedomoj
predvzyatosti. Odnako v "bezumii" etogo talanta  ne  usomnilsya  i  Vordsvort.
Svoego roda mif, slozhivshijsya eshche na zare tvorchestva Blejka, soputstvoval emu
do konca.
     CHto  zhe  pobuzhdalo  sovremennikov  s  takoj  uverennost'yu  govorit'   o
"bezumii", o "bol'nom", pust' i sil'nom, voobrazhenii, o nezdorovyh grezah  i
vospalennoj  fantazii?  Otchego  tak  dramatichno  slozhilas'  sud'ba   Blejka,
okazavshegosya molchalivo, no neprobivaemo izolirovannym ot anglijskoj kul'tury
rubezha dvuh stoletij, ot vozmozhnogo chitatelya, vozmozhnogo zritelya?
     Otvet, kazhetsya, naprashivaetsya sam  soboj:  ego  hudozhestvennoe  videnie
bylo slishkom novatorskim, chtoby  najti  ponimanie  i  otklik  u  lyudej  togo
vremeni. Byli,  konechno,  isklyucheniya,  no  uzh  ochen'  redkie.  Tomas  Batts,
ministerskij chinovnik, plenennyj darovaniem Blejka i plativshij emu po  ginee
za list, dostavlyaya  osnovnoj  zarabotok.  Ili  -  uzhe  v  poslednie  gody  -
nachinayushchij hudozhnik Dzhon Linell, ch'e imya sohranilos' v istorii  zhivopisi  ne
tol'ko blagodarya sobstvennym rabotam, no prezhde vsego potomu, chto on zakazal
Blejku dantovskij cikl. Dlya drugih, vklyuchaya i togdashnih znamenitostej, Blejk
byl slishkom neobychen,  slishkom  ogromen  -  i  kak  hudozhnik,  i  kak  poet.
Trebovalos' vremya, chtoby yasno prostupili masshtaby i sushchnost' sdelannogo im v
iskusstve.
     Konechno, Blejk, kak mnogie velikie hudozhniki, operedil  svoyu  epohu.  V
etom smysle drama ego zhizni ne tak  uzh  neobychna,  tem  bolee  -  dlya  epohi
romantizma, ch'i geroi stol'ko raz rasplachivalis'  za  svoj  vyzov  duhovnoj,
social'noj, hudozhestvennoj kosnosti, snosya izdevki i  ponosheniya,  goneniya  i
travlyu.
     No Blejk - yavlenie rezko  specificheskoe  i  na  takom  fone.  Samo  ego
videnie, sovremennikami pochitavsheesya bezumnym,  a  potomkami  -  genial'nym,
obladaet nastol'ko svoeobraznymi istokami, chto tut vryad li umestna (i uzh  vo
vsyakom  sluchae  nedostatochna)  do  stereotipnosti  obobshchennaya  romanticheskaya
formula nepriznannosti kak svoego roda nepremennogo usloviya bytiya nastoyashchego
hudozhnika.
     Nachat' hotya by s togo, chto voleyu obstoyatel'stv Blejk  i  v  samom  dele
byl, po togdashnim merkam, diletantom. Akademiya ego ne  priznavala.  Izdateli
ne brali ego knig. V tipografii byl napechatan tol'ko samyj pervyj, eshche pochti
uchenicheskij sbornik "Poeticheskie  nabroski"  (1783),  gde  povsyudu  slyshatsya
otgoloski sentimentalizma, v chastnosti "Nochnyh  myslej"  The  Complaint;  or
Night Thoughts on the Life, Death, and Immortality, 1742-1745) |dvarda  YUnga
(Edward   Young,   1683-1765),   kotorye   Blejku   vposledstvii    dovelos'
illyustrirovat'. Sredstva dlya izdaniya ssudil priyatel'  Blejka  hudozhnik  Dzhon
Flaksmen. Svoyu leptu vnes i svyashchennik Genri Met'yu, v  ch'em  dome  sobiralis'
prihozhane, ne chuzhdye literaturnyh interesov. On bez vedoma  avtora  ispravil
neskol'ko vklyuchennyh v knigu stihotvorenij, i eto  vozmutilo  Blejka.  Avtor
zabral tirazh iz tipografii  i  unichtozhil  ego  pochti  polnost'yu.  Bol'she  on
nikogda ne obrashchalsya za pomoshch'yu  k  takogo  roda  blagodetelyam.  A  ni  odin
tipograf ne risknul by vypustit' knizhku bezvestnogo avtora za svoj schet.
     I Blejku prishlos' stat' sobstvennym izdatelem. On izobrel osobyj sposob
"illyuminovannoj pechati": graviroval listy i, vruchnuyu ih  raskrasiv,  sshival.
Tak v neskol'kih desyatkah ekzemplyarov opublikoval on svoi "Pesni Nevedeniya i
Poznaniya",  a  zatem  i  tak  nazyvaemye  "prorocheskie  knigi"  {Svod  poem,
poluchivshij  v  pozdnejshih  issledovaniyah   nazvanie   "prorocheskie   knigi",
sozdavalsya Blejkom na protyazhenii treh desyatiletij - priblizitel'no s 1789 po
1820 gg. Edinstvo etomu ciklu pridaet, glavnym obrazom, voplotivshayasya v  nem
poeticheskaya  filosofiya  i  mifologiya  Blejka.   Sovremennye   literaturovedy
vydelyayut v "prorocheskih  knigah"  neskol'ko  vnutrennih  ciklov:  1)  rannie
"prorochestva" - "Tiriel'", "Kniga  Tel'",  eshche  dostatochno  tradicionnye  po
obraznosti i hudozhestvennym motivam; 2) poemy, neposredstvenno  svyazannye  s
politicheskimi sobytiyami konca XVIII v. - "Francuzskaya revolyuciya", "Amerika",
"Evropa", otchasti "Videniya dshcherej Al'biona"; 3) tak naz. "malye  prorocheskie
knigi", soderzhashchie v sebe blejkovskoe istolkovanie  mifa  o  grehopadenii  i
kritiku kanonicheskoj hristianskoj teologii, - "Pervaya kniga Urizena", "Kniga
Ahanii", "Kniga Losa"; 4) filosofskie poemy, predstavlyayushchie soboj  izlozhenie
vazhnejshih kosmogonicheskih, teologicheskih, nravstvennyh i hudozhestvennyh idej
Blejka, - "Brakosochetanie  Raya  i  Ada",  "Mil'ton",  "Ierusalim"  (podobnuyu
klassifikaciyu sm., napr., v kn.:  Martin  K.  Nurmi.  Villiam  Blake.  Lnd.,
1975].}. Ottiski prodavalis' v ego masterskoj. Tochnee skazat',  pylilis'  na
polke. Sprosa ne bylo, i posle smerti Blejka bol'shinstvo knig  propalo.  Te,
chto chudom uceleli, teper' stoyat celoe sostoyanie.
     S distancii v poltora veka, byt' mozhet, pokazhetsya,  chto  eta  neobychnaya
situaciya v kakom-to smysle byla dlya  Blejka  blagom:  ona  izbavila  ego  ot
kabaly togdashnih izdatelej, a v tom, chto slovo ego  rano  ili  pozdno  budet
uslyshano, poet-providec, kakim on sebya schital, somnevat'sya  ne  mog.  Odnako
Blejk perezhival  sozdavsheesya  polozhenie  dostatochno  tyazhelo,  osypaya  gradom
epigramm svoih bolee udachlivyh - i menee shchepetil'nyh v literaturnyh delah  -
sovremennikov, a v pis'mah tem nemnogim, kto  byl  emu  blizok,  zhaluyas'  na
tupoumie torgovcev kartinami i tipografov, kak i  na  ih  rabolepstvo  pered
avtoritetami vrode Rejnol'dsa.
     Da i dolzhna li udivlyat' gorech'  i  yarost'  etih  ego  strok?  S  yunosti
blizkij k radikalam - takim, kak Dzhozef Dzhonson (Joseph Johnson,  1743-1811)
ili Tomas Pejn (Thomas Paine, 1737-1809), - podobno im vpryamuyu otklikavshijsya
na zlobu dnya i zhivshij politicheskimi strastyami svoej epohi,. Blejk,  konechno,
pisal ne dlya istorii, a dlya sovremennosti i, kak  kazhdyj  poet,  hotel  byt'
uslyshan. A ego auditoriyu obychno sostavlyalo vsego neskol'ko chelovek.  I  dazhe
oni  cenili  v  Blejke,  kak  pravilo,  lish'  talant  hudozhnika,   ostavayas'
ravnodushnymi k ego ideyam.
     Sohranilos' svidetel'stvo sovremennika, chto edinstvennym, kto  sorok  s
lishnim  let  podderzhival  Blejka,  polnost'yu  razdelyaya  ego  obshchestvennye  i
nravstvennye ubezhdeniya, byla zhena poeta Ketrin Vaucher. Nado dumat',  chto  eyu
neredko i ogranichivalsya krug chitatelej ego proizvedenij. Vo  vsyakom  sluchae,
net nikakih faktov, ukazyvayushchih, chto  kto-nibud'  pri  zhizni  Blejka  prochel
stihi, ostavshiesya v rukopisyah, - a ved' sredi nih est'  veshchi,  pervostepenno
vazhnye dlya nego: "Stranstvie", "Hrustal'naya shkatulka"...
     Pryamym sledstviem etoj izolyacii byla zhitejskaya neustroennost', nishcheta i
obida na sovremennikov. Kosvennym - specificheskaya tvorcheskaya poziciya Blejka,
v nemaloj mere predopredelivshaya i svoeobrazie sozdannogo im  hudozhestvennogo
mira. Dlya istorii iskusstva 'eto, konechno, samoe glavnoe. No nel'zya zabyvat'
i o toj cene, kotoroj bylo oplacheno eto svoeobrazie.
     Neobychnost' blejkovskogo mira pochuvstvuet kazhdyj, kto otkroet  tom  ego
stihov,  illyustrirovannyj  gravyurami.  Stihi  i  risunok  s  samogo   nachala
sostavlyali edinyj hudozhestvennyj  kompleks  -  eto  mnogoe  ob®yasnyaet  v  ih
obraznosti. Eshche sushchestvennee sam  fakt,  chto  Blejk  vynuzhdenno  okazalsya  v
storone ot literaturnyh batalij  svoego  veka,  ot  ego  vkusov,  uvlechenij,
sporov. Ot ego rashozhih ponyatij. Dazhe ot ego obihodnogo poeticheskogo yazyka.
     On ne zhdal uspeha i ne stremilsya k nemu. V samom  pryamom  smysle  slova
poeziya byla dlya nego duhovnoj potrebnost'yu, i tol'ko. On ne  oglyadyvalsya  ni
na prinyatye kanony, ni na proverennye chitatel'skim priznaniem obrazcy. Idei,
vyrazivshiesya v ego knigah, metafory i simvoly, v  kotoryh  oni  zapechatleny,
ves' poeticheskij mir Blejka menee vsego orientirovan na sushchestvuyushchuyu  normu,
imet' li v vidu estetiku konca XVIII veka ili romanticheskie ustremleniya.
     Pri vseh yavnyh i skrytyh pereklichkah s harakternymi motivami literatury
togo vremeni, poeziya Blejka  oshchutimo  vydelyaetsya  na  obshchem  fone,  pobuzhdaya
nekotoryh issledovatelej govorit' o tom, chto eto yavlenie voobshche  neorganichno
dlya anglijskoj  poeticheskoj  tradicii,  kakoj  ona  skladyvalas'  vplot'  do
romantikov i dazhe posle nih - do XX veka. Ochevidnoe preuvelichenie, no tem ne
menee zdes' est' dolya istiny. Soderzhanie,  kotoroe  raskrylos'  v  stihah  i
"prorocheskih knigah"  Blejka,  i  v  samom  dele  ne  imeet  analogij  ni  v
predshestvuyushchej,  ni  v  sovremennoj  Blejku  anglijskoj  literature.  I  ono
opredelilo noviznu, samobytnost' ego poetiki.
     Prerafaelity videli v nem geniya, obitavshego v sfere chistoj  duhovnosti.
A na dele ego nel'zya ponyat', ne oceniv v ego  stihah  obraznosti,  naveyannoj
toj gruboj povsednevnost'yu trushchobnyh kvartalov, kotoraya emu byla privychna  s
detstva. Ona voshla v poeziyu Blejka, soobshchiv ej nebyvaluyu rezkost' social'nyh
shtrihov, grafichnost' obrazov i takoj vsepronikayushchij urbanizm kolorita, budto
ego stihi byli napisany ne v konce XVIII veka, a po men'shej  mere  stoletiem
pozzhe.
     Duhovnye korni Blejka uhodyat v tu zhe pochvu. Ta sreda, gde vyros  Blejk,
prodolzhala hranit', peredavaya iz pokoleniya v pokolenie,  slozhivshiesya  eshche  v
srednevekov'e   ereticheskie   i   sektantskie   doktriny,   v   kotoryh   za
vethozavetnymi ponyatiyami, kategoriyami i obrazami polyhaet edva  sderzhivaemoe
plamya plebejskoj revolyucionnosti, a ideya Raya krepitsya trebovaniyami dostojnoj
zhizni na zemle. Presledovavshiesya eshche bolee zhestoko, chem neverie, eti  ucheniya
- antinomiancev,  familistov,  "beshenyh",  ioahimitov  -  vyderzhivali  samye
besposhchadnye goneniya oficial'noj cerkvi i  gosudarstva,  a  taivsheesya  v  nih
plamya  na  protyazhenii  istorii  ne   raz   vyryvalos'   naruzhu,   trebovaniya
vyskazyvalis' otkryto - vspomnit' hotya by  o  Tomase  Myuncere,  anabaptiste,
vozhde Krest'yanskoj vojny  v  Germanii,  kaznennom,  kak  i  bol'shinstvo  ego
storonnikov.
     Po sobstvennomu svidetel'stvu Blejka, on priobshchilsya k etoj oblechennoj v
religioznye simvoly plebejskoj ideologii eshche s  yunosti.  Mal'chikom  ego  uzhe
poseshchali misticheskie videniya. V 1788 godu byl prochitan trud  |.  Svedenborga
(1688-1772) "Mudrost' angelov", a zatem "Nebo  i  Ad"  -  odno  iz  osnovnyh
sochinenij shvedskogo mistika. V "prorocheskih knigah" povsyudu popadayutsya sledy
etogo  chteniya.  Ne  raz   pytalis'   predstavit'   Blejka   posledovatel'nym
storonnikom  etogo  teologa,  nahodya  nechto  znamenatel'noe   v   tom,   chto
svedenborgianskaya "Novaya cerkov'" byla osnovana v god rozhdeniya poeta (1757).
Vliyanie nel'zya nedoocenivat', no nel'zya  ne  videt'  i  otkrytogo  spora  so
Svedenborgom,  razvernutogo  vo  mnogih  blejkovskih  proizvedeniyah.  Blejku
ostalsya  sovershenno  chuzhd   svedenborgovskij   ploskij   moralizm,   kak   i
metafizichnost' kartiny mira, sozdannoj v "Nebe i Ade", gde  duhovnoe  prochno
otdeleno ot material'nogo, a sub®ektivnoe ot sushchego.
     Ne mogut udivit' ni samo eto vozdejstvie, ni posleduyushchaya polemika. Idei
Svedenborga dali tolchok  moshchnomu  oppozicionnomu  dvizheniyu  sektantstva,  no
vskore ono daleko pereroslo ramki svedenborgovskoj teologii. A  Blejku  byla
vazhna, konechno, ne sama po sebe teologiya, emu bylo vazhno  vyrazhennoe  na  ee
yazyke stremlenie k spravedlivosti i podlinnoj duhovnosti bytiya. On vosprinyal
pronesennyj  cherez  stoletiya  buntarskij  duh,  eto  ereticheskoe  tolkovanie
hristianstva kak zemnoj spravedlivosti, etu nravstvennuyu  rigoristichnost'  i
osobyj duhovnyj nastroj, pri kotorom surovoj meroj bozheskogo i  sataninskogo
izmeryaetsya lyuboj, dazhe melkij lyudskoj postupok, i sobytiya segodnyashnej  zhizni
vidyatsya kak organicheskoe  prodolzhenie  sobytij  evangel'skoj  istorii  v  ih
vysokom eticheskom smysle, i ves' put' chelovechestva predstaet  kak  ristalishche
Dobra i Zla,  boryushchihsya  so  dnej  tvoreniya.  On  vosprinyal  osnovnuyu  mysl'
ereticheskoj teologii - mysl' o chelovechnosti Hrista, sformulirovannuyu  eshche  v
XII veke  ital'yanskim  mistikom  Ioahimom  Florskim  (ok.  1132-1202),  ideyu
Vechnosushchego  evangeliya,  soglasno  kotoroj  bog  est'  ne  sila  vneshnyaya  po
otnosheniyu k cheloveku, no vpervye vyyavlennaya  v  Iisuse  vnutrennyaya  duhovnaya
sila   kazhdogo,   vysvobozhdenie   kotoroj    oznamenuet    gryadushchuyu    epohu
bescerkovnosti,  lyubvi,  bratstva  i  svobody.  On  vosprinyal  i  simvoliku,
voznikayushchuyu  uzhe  v  samyh  rannih  sektantskih  propovedyah,   -   simvoliku
razrusheniya do  kamnej  Vavilona  -  porochnogo  mira  social'noj  ierarhii  i
cerkovnoj lzhi, i postroeniya Ierusalima - carstva chelovecheskogo  ravenstva  i
osushchestvlennoj  hristianskoj  normy,  gosudarstva-utopii,  togo  Ierusalima,
kotoryj u Blejka "svobodoyu zovetsya sred' Al'biona synovej".
     Ponyatiya, v kotoryh on myslil,  davno  utratili  svoyu  soderzhatel'nost',
odnako i cherez dva stoletiya ne potusknel  demokratizm  idej,  vyrazhennyh  na
etom  trudnom  dlya  sovremennogo  chitatelya  yazyke.   |to   byl   organichnyj,
estestvennyj demokratizm, i, sobstvenno, on i  pobuzhdal  Blejka  vstupat'  v
polemiku so vsemi filosofskimi  vozzreniyami  svoej  epohi  i  otvergat'  vse
prinyatye  formy  obshchestvennoj  organizacii  kak  lozhnye  v  svete  principov
Vechnosushchego evangeliya.
     Emu byl gluboko chuzhd bekonovskij i lokkovskij  racionalizm,  v  kotorom
Blejk videl utilitarnuyu,  bezduhovnuyu  filosofiyu,  lish'  skovyvayushchuyu  vysshuyu
chelovecheskuyu sposobnost' - Voobrazhenie, tu  sokrytuyu  v  kazhdom  duhovnuyu  i
nravstvennuyu energiyu, kotoroj dolzhny byt' sokrusheny temnicy Vavilona,  chtoby
vozdvignut' na ih meste  gorod  spravedlivosti.  Osnovnym  opponentom  Lokka
(John Locke, 1632-1704) byl episkop Berkli (George Berkeley, 1685-1753),  no
ego idealizm, opravdyvavshij  polozhenie  veshchej  v  obshchestve  providencial'noj
volej, u Blejka nahodil tol'ko odnu harakteristiku - "koshchunstvo". Cerkov' na
yazyke Blejka zvalas' Bludnicej, a na polyah  broshyury  berklianca  R.  Uotsona
(Richard  Watson,  1737-1816)  on  napisal:   "Gospod'   sotvoril   cheloveka
schastlivym i bogatym, i lish' hitroumie rasporyadilos' tak, chto neobrazovannye
bedny. Omerzitel'naya kniga".
     Uotson napadal v svoem pamflete  na  Tomasa  Pejna.  Blejk  byl  horosho
znakom s etim vydayushchimsya deyatelem  molodoj  Ameriki  po  londonskomu  kruzhku
deistov, kotoryj v yunosti ne raz poseshchal; v 1792 godu on  dazhe  pomog  Pejnu
uskol'znut' ot ohotivshejsya za nim  britanskoj  policii.  Godom  ran'she  byla
napisana "Francuzskaya revolyuciya", nabrannaya v tipografii rukovoditelya kruzhka
Dzh. Dzhonsona, no iz-za cenzurnyh strogostej ne napechatannaya i sohranivshayasya,
byt' mozhet, daleko ne  polnost'yu.  V  nej  Blejk  eshche  polon  revolyucionnogo
entuziazma, poverzhennaya Bastiliya dlya nego - odin iz  vavilonskih  bastionov,
nakonec-to  ruhnuvshij.  Razvitie  sobytij  vo  Francii  vskore  umerilo  ego
vostorzhennye ozhidaniya; deizm, kotoryj  ispovedovali  radikal'no  nastroennye
druz'ya Blejka, ostalsya emu chuzhd - on ne prinyal obychnogo u deistov razdeleniya
bozhestvennogo i chelovecheskogo nachal, v "Brakosochetanii Raya i  Ada"  ob®yaviv,
chto "vse  zhivoe  Svyashchenno";  on  ne  razdelyal  s  deistami  predstavleniya  o
sovremennom   obshchestve   kak    skoplenii    izolirovannyh,    fragmentarnyh
sushchestvovanij,  svyazannyh  chisto  mehanicheskimi  otnosheniyami  prichinnosti  i
zavisimosti, on, v otlichie ot  nih,  ne  primiryalsya  i  nikogda  ne  mog  by
primirit'sya s takim poryadkom veshchej.
     Vse  eto  kak  budto  davno  otshumevshie  spory,  no  porazitel'no,  chto
argumenty Blejka - konechno, prezhde vsego te, kotorye zaklyuchaet  v  sebe  ego
poeziya, ego iskusstvo, - napolnyayutsya novoj i novoj aktual'nost'yu. Prichina  v
tom, chto so svoimi protivnikami Blejk sporil ne  tol'ko  kak  myslitel'.  On
sporil s nimi eshche i kak hudozhnik, slovno  by  samoj  istoriej  vyzvannyj  iz
sredy lyudej, kotorym vsego vidnee byla oborotnaya  storona  "progressa",  dlya
togo, chtoby v gigantskih  kosmogonicheskih  simvolah  i  tyazhelom  semiudarnom
belom  stihe,  v  kosnoyazychii  nelovko  postroennyh  fraz   zapechatlet'   ee
napryazhennyj,  zadyhayushchijsya  hod  na  odnom  iz   samyh   krutyh   perevalov.
Zapechatlet' slom epoh, rozhdenie novyh  protivorechij  i  novogo  samosoznaniya
cheloveka v mire "sataninskih mel'nic", dymyashchihsya den'  i  noch'  naprolet.  I
potryaseniya dvuh pronesshihsya nad mirom revolyucij. I nesbyvshuyusya nadezhdu,  chto
iz ih gornila yavitsya celostnaya, istinno svobodnaya i duhovnaya lichnost'.
     Poeziya  Blejka  byla  vyzvana  k  zhizni  svoim  vremenem  i  pochti  bez
isklyuchenij yavlyalas' neposredstvennym otklikom na ego sobytiya. No ona  daleko
pererosla znachenie svidetel'stva ob etom  vremeni.  V  nej-to,  byt'  mozhet,
vpervye i vyrazilas' ta  zhazhda  celostnosti  i  polnocennosti  chelovecheskogo
opyta i ta toska po nedostizhimoj svobode  duhovnogo  bytiya,  kotorye  stanut
nastojchivym, edva li ne central'nym motivom  u  evropejskih  i  amerikanskih
poetov uzhe v XX stoletii. Arhaichnaya po simvolike i yazyku dazhe  i  dlya  svoej
epohi, ona napolnilas' soderzhaniem,  v  polnoj  mere  ponyatym  tol'ko  mnogo
desyatiletij spustya. Nuzhno bylo, chtoby obshcheznachimymi, zhguche aktual'nymi stali
yavleniya,  tak  trevozhivshie  Blejka,  kotoryj  obnaruzhil  ih  eshche  na  ishode
blistatel'nogo   i   radostnogo   prosvetitel'skogo   veka,    -    rastushchaya
mehanistichnost'  soznaniya,   obretayushchegosya   v   sovremennom   Vavilone,   i
nasil'stvennoe ogranichenie svobodnoj chelovecheskoj voli, i  zasil'e  ploskogo
racionalizma  i  utilitarizma,  povsemestno  tesnyashchego  Poeticheskij   Genij,
Voobrazhenie,  etu  velichajshuyu  i  nezamenimuyu  tvorcheskuyu  sposobnost',  bez
kotoroj net CHeloveka.
     Ego tvorchestvo kazhetsya segodnya neobhodimym zvenom, soedinivshim duhovnye
i  hudozhestvennye  tradicii  samyh  rannih  epoh   evropejskoj   istorii   s
problematikoj,   blizkoj   kul'ture   nashego   vremeni.    Postupatel'nost',
nepreryvnost' v dvizhenii iskusstva, da i  vsej  gumanisticheskoj  mysli,  bez
Blejka tak zhe nevozmozhny, kak bez ego lyubimyh poetov Dante i Mil'tona.
     Voobrazhenie - verhovnoe bozhestvo Blejka, kotoromu posvyashcheny  ego  samye
vostorzhennye gimny, - okazyvaetsya klyuchevym ponyatiem  blejkovskoj  filosofii,
istoki kotoroj sleduet iskat' v ereticheskih i sektantskih vozzreniyah srednih
vekov, a otkliki i prodolzheniya - uzhe u romantikov, shedshih,  togo  ne  vedaya,
protorennymi Blejkom putyami. Voobrazheniyu protivostoit Svoekorystie  -  Razum
racionalistov, zakovannyj v kruge  zemnyh,  tol'ko  zemnyh,  interesov,  ili
abstraktnye al'ternativy  Dobra  i  Zla,  iz  kotoryh  ishodit  kanonicheskaya
hristianskaya teologiya. Vrazhdebnye drug drugu, eti  dve  formy  soznaniya  dlya
Blejka identichny v svoem stremlenii zatrudnit', sdelat' vovse neosushchestvimym
neposredstvennoe obshchenie lichnosti s zaklyuchennym v nej samoj bogom,  poznanie
sokrytoj v lyubom cheloveke duhovnoj substancii i ee svobodnoe  razvitie.  Sam
bog dlya Blejka ne bolee chem kosmicheskoe voobrazhenie, vol'no tvoryashchee  mir  v
soglasii  so  stremleniem  lyudej  k  organicheskomu,  celostnomu  bytiyu  i  s
neobhodimost'yu esteticheskoj garmonii i krasoty.
     Bor'ba Voobrazheniya i  Svoekorystiya  -  motiv,  glavenstvuyushchij  vo  vsej
blejkovskoj kosmogonii, vo vsej slozhnejshej obraznoj  simvolike  "prorocheskih
knig", i eto bor'ba za celostnogo cheloveka, priznavshego, vopreki  konkretnym
obstoyatel'stvam svoego sushchestvovaniya, edinstvennoj  i  neprerekaemoj  normoj
Poeticheskij Genij i sozdayushchego carstvo spravedlivosti iz kamnej razrushennogo
im Vavilona. Imenno iz toj pervomaterii, kotoroj napolnena  ego  segodnyashnyaya
zhizn' (eto vazhnaya osobennost' blejkovskogo myshleniya, rezko ego otlichayushchaya ot
utopistov, risovavshih nekij trudnodostizhimyj ideal dalekogo  budushchego).  Dlya
Blejka postroenie takogo carstva - zadacha dnya, zadacha  kazhdogo  pokoleniya  i
dazhe kazhdogo cheloveka, obyazannogo vozdvigat' ego dlya sebya, a tem samym i dlya
chelovechestva.



     Blejka  tradicionno  schitayut  pervym  po  vremeni  poetom   anglijskogo
romantizma. Takoj vzglyad otnyud' ne bezosnovatelen. Vmeste s tem on ne vpolne
tochen.
     Sdelat' etu ogovorku pobuzhdaet ne tol'ko sam  fakt  nevol'noj  izolyacii
Blejka  ot  hudozhestvennoj  zhizni  toj  perelomnoj  epohi,  kogda   uverenno
prokladyval sebe dorogu romantizm,  vidnejshie  predstaviteli  kotorogo  libo
vovse ne znali  o  genial'nom  gravere,  libo  otnosilis'  k  nemu  s  yavnoj
predvzyatost'yu. Tak, Kol'ridzh (Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1772-1834),  prochitav
"Pesni Nevedeniya", vyrazilsya v tom duhe, chto avtor ploho  predstavlyaet  sebe
psihologiyu rebenka, - svidetel'stvo yavnogo neponimaniya blejkovskogo zamysla.
Ni Bajron, ni SHelli (Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792-1822), ni Kits (John  Keats,
1795-1821) ni razu ne upomyanuli o Blejke,  -  veroyatno,  dlya  nih  eto  bylo
neznakomoe imya.
     Sut' dela, vprochem, ne v etom.  Sushchestvovali  bolee  glubokie,  uzhe  ne
svodimye  k  literaturnym  razmezhevaniyam  prichiny,  kotorye   predopredelili
konflikt Blejka kak s pokidavshim istoricheskuyu scenu Prosveshcheniem,  tak  i  s
romanticheskoj filosofiej lichnosti i iskusstva, budorazhivshej molodye umy.
     Strogo govorya, on ne podderzhal ni  odnogo  iz  vazhnejshih  obshchestvennyh,
filosofskih, esteticheskih ustremlenij toj pory. Osoznav 1789 god kak velikij
rubezh v istorii chelovechestva, on ne menee ostro perezhival zatem  i  krushenie
idej, nachertannyh na znameni  Francuzskoj  revolyucii,  ne  prinimaya  ni  toj
epohi, kotoroj ona polozhila konec, ni toj, chto rodilas' vmeste s neyu. V etom
smysle Blejk, konechno, prinadlezhit romantizmu. I  tem  udivitel'nee  kazhetsya
rezkost' ego napadok na  svojstvennyj  romantikam  kul't  individual'nogo  v
ushcherb  vseobshchemu  i  na  ih  stremlenie  stavit'  v   primer   sovremennikam
netronutogo civilizaciej "estestvennogo" cheloveka.
     Na samom dele eta polemika byla po-svoemu neizbezhnoj. Dlya Blejka s  ego
radikal'nym     demokratizmom     i     gluboko     ukorenennymi     chertami
narodno-utopicheskogo mirosozercaniya po-inomu opredelyalas' i privodila k inym
zaklyucheniyam ta  neobhodimost'  vybora  mezhdu  nahodyashchimsya  v  stanovlenii  i
otoshedshim, s kotoroj  v  pervye  desyatiletiya  nachavshegosya  "zheleznogo  veka"
stolknulos' vse romanticheskoe pokolenie. Skazalos' i  to,  chto  Blejk  etomu
pokoleniyu predshestvoval i skoree predugadyval  ego  iskaniya,  chem  myslil  v
kategoriyah romantizma.
     Ko vremeni vyhoda v svet "Liricheskih ballad"  (Lyrical  Ballads,  1798)
Vordsvorta  i  Kol'ridzha,  vozvestivshih  prihod  novoj  shkoly,  on  byl  uzhe
slozhivshimsya masterom, tesno svyazannym  s  krugom  idej  XVIII  stoletiya,  no
osoznavshim i voplotivshim ih krizisnost'. Uzhe byli napisany "Pesni  Nevedeniya
i Poznaniya". I hotya romantikam eto ostalos' neizvestno,  istoriya  literatury
imenno ot  etogo  proizvedeniya  proslezhivaet  vazhnejshuyu  romanticheskuyu  temu
pereloma epoh i otkryvshegosya na  takom  istoricheskom  styke  novogo  videniya
dushevnoj  zhizni:  ne  razdelennost',  a  sovmeshchennost',  sliyanie,   edinstvo
"protivopolozhnyh sostoyanij chelovecheskoj dushi".
     Da i mnogie drugie motivy i  hudozhestvennye  otkrytiya  romantikov  byli
predvoshishcheny Blejkom. Byt' mozhet, pervym v Evrope on ne tol'ko  esteticheski
obosnoval, no voplotil v zhivom tvorchestve stol' sushchestvennoe dlya  romantizma
vospriyatie  vsego  universuma  kak   absolyutnogo   proizvedeniya   iskusstva.
Blejkovskaya kosmogoniya nosit besprimesno hudozhestvennyj harakter, kak by  ni
byli vazhny dlya nee opory, vozdvignutye filosofiej Svedenborga.  "Prorocheskie
knigi" v svoej sovokupnosti obrazuyut  samyj  rannij  romanticheskij  epos,  v
osnovanii  kotorogo  lezhit  mif,  ohvatyvayushchij  vsyu  istoriyu   chelovechestva.
Bajronovskie misterii, poemy SHelli ob®ektivno voznikli  na  toj  poeticheskoj
pochve, kotoraya uzhe byla vzryhlena Blejkom.
     On byl i  pervootkryvatelem  togo  zakona  romanticheskogo  mifologizma,
kotoryj vposledstvii tak yarko prostupil u Bajrona i SHelli, a na yazyke teorii
byl eshche v samom nachale XIX veka sformulirovan SHellingom (1775-1854), v svoih
ienskih chteniyah govorivshim o "mifologicheskom ob®yasnenii konkretnogo mira kak
smesheniya beskonechnogo  i  konechnogo  nachal  v  chuvstvennyh  veshchah"  {Fr.  V.
SHelling. Filosofiya iskusstva. M.,  1966.  s.  139.}.  I  bolee  togo.  Poety
romanticheskogo pokoleniya opiralis' na nekie ustojchivye,  obladavshie  bol'shoj
hudozhestvennoj istoriej mifologicheskie "syuzhety" (Kain,  Prometej),  a  Blejk
dazhe polnee, chem oni, osushchestvil princip, kotoryj v  shellingovoj  "Filosofii
iskusstva" - etoj esteticheskoj biblii romantizma - vydelen kak  opredelyayushchij
dlya istinnogo iskusstva: "Vsyakij velikij poet  prizvan  prevratit'  v  nechto
celoe otkryvshuyusya emu chast' mira i  iz  ego  materiala  sozdat'  sobstvennuyu
mifologiyu;  mir  etot  (mifologicheskij  mir)  nahoditsya  v  stanovlenii,   i
sovremennaya poetu epoha mozhet otkryt' emu lish' chast' etogo mira;  tak  budet
vplot' do toj lezhashchej v neopredelennoj dali tochki,  kogda  mirovoj  duh  sam
zakonchit im samim zadumannuyu velikuyu poemu  i  prevratit  v  odnovremennost'
posledovatel'nuyu smenu yavlenij novogo mira" {Tam zhe, s. 147-148.}.
     SHelling podkreplyaet svoyu mysl' otsylkoj k Dante. On mog by soslat'sya na
Blejka - edinstvennogo iz ego sovremennikov, kto v polnoj mere sledoval etoj
hudozhestvennoj  programme,  vyrazhayushchej  vysshie  ustremleniya   romanticheskogo
iskusstva.
     Odnako  dazhe  takaya  glubokaya  rodstvennost'  blejkovskogo   tvorchestva
romantizmu ne priglushila ser'eznyh rashozhdenij,  dayushchih  sebya  pochuvstvovat'
prezhde vsego v social'nyh ideyah i eticheskoj koncepcii.
     Govorya v samoj obshchej forme,  rashozhdeniya  opredelyalis'  otkazom  Blejka
priznat' primat  ideal'nogo  nad  material'nym  -  dlya  romantikov  edva  li
podlezhashchij somneniyu. Dialekticheskoe videnie Blejka trebovalo priznaniya  etih
dvuh nachal ravnopravnymi.  V  ego  hudozhestvennoj  vselennoj  oni  ediny  do
nerazlichimosti.
     Zdes' naglyadno proyavilos' duhovnoe  vospitanie  XVIII  stoletiya  i  eshche
oshchutimee skazalis' razmyshleniya nad stranicami Svedenborga  i  spory  s  nim.
Osobenno  sushchestvennuyu  rol'   sygrala   shkola   YAkoba   Beme   (1575-1624),
proshtudirovannogo v gody, reshayushchie dlya formirovaniya Blejka. Ob etom nemeckom
mistike, zhivshem za poltora veka do Blejka, Gercen otozvalsya kak  o  cheloveke
"genial'noj intuicii", kotoryj "podnyalsya do velichajshih istin",  hotya  i  byl
zaklyuchen v misticheskuyu terminologiyu: on "imel tverdost'  ne  ostanavlivat'sya
na bukve... on dejstvoval razumom, i misticizm okrylyal  ego  razum"  {A.  I.
Gercen. Sobr. soch. v 9-ti tt., t. 9, M., 1958, s. 118, 119.}.
     Harakteristika, vpolne umestnaya i dlya Blejka.  Ego  misticizm  ne  imel
nichego obshchego ni  s  poeziej  tajn  i  uzhasov,  ni  s  tem  harakternym  dlya
romantikov tomleniem po nedostizhimomu carstvu  chistoj  ideal'nosti,  kotoroe
pobuzhdalo k nastroeniyam begstva ot real'nogo  mira  v  oblast'  zapredel'nyh
otkrovenij i grez.  Podobno  Beme,  Blejk  byl  po  skladu  svoego  myshleniya
dialektikom, neizmenno ishodivshim iz vpechatlenij real'noj  dejstvitel'nosti,
kak by ee ni  preobrazhala  ego  tvorcheskaya  fantaziya.  I  etot  svoeobraznyj
"korrektiv real'nosti" - edva li ne samaya primechatel'naya  osobennost'  vsego
videniya Blejka.
     Ona proslezhivaetsya i v ego lirike, i v "prorocheskih knigah". Kak  lirik
Blejk poluchil  priznanie  eshche  u  prerafaelitov,  i  dolgoe  vremya  istoriki
literatury rassmatrivali ego tvorchestvo tak, slovno by ono celikom svodilos'
k "Pesnyam Nevedeniya i Poznaniya" i stiham iz rukopisej. "Prorocheskie knigi" -
nachinaya s  "Brakosochetaniya  Raya  i  Ada"  do  "Ierusalima"  -  byli  vser'ez
prochitany lish' v samye poslednie desyatiletiya. Osobenno veliki zdes'  zaslugi
vidnogo kanadskogo literaturoveda Nortropa Fraya (Northrop  Frye,  b.  1910),
ch'e issledovanie "Pugayushchaya simmetriya" (The  Fearful  Symmetry:  A  Study  of
William Blake, 1947) yavilos' podlinnoj vehoj v blejkiane,  kak,  vprochem,  i
kniga amerikanskogo literaturoveda Devida |rdmana (David  Erdman,  b.  1904)
"Prorok  v  bitve  s  imperiej"  (Blake:  Prophet  against  Empire,   1954),
razveyavshaya predstavlenie o Blejke kak o vizionere, kotoromu  ne  mogli  byt'
interesny strasti svoego vremeni i kipevshaya vokrug  bor'ba  idej  {Sovetskoe
literaturovedenie  vsegda  rassmatrivalo  Blejka  v   social'no-istoricheskom
kontekste ego epohi (sm. raboty A. A. Elistratovoj, V. M. ZHirmunskogo, E. A.
Nekrasovoj i dr.).}.
     Segodnya  Blejk  vosprinimaetsya  prezhde  vsego  kak  filosofskij   poet,
nadelennyj neoslabevayushchim interesom k  social'noj  konkretnosti  okruzhayushchego
mira, k etoj ego pervomaterii, pitayushchej tvorcheskuyu fantaziyu hudozhnika.
     |ta konkretika vhodit uzhe v ego "pesni" rannego perioda, soobshchaya mnogim
iz  nih  ostruyu  zlobodnevnost',  kotoruyu  dolzhny  byli  horosho  chuvstvovat'
togdashnie chitateli Blejka,  skol'  ni  uzok  byl  ih  krug.  V  "prorocheskih
knigah",  poeticheskimi  sredstvami  mifa  vossozdayushchih  byloe,  nastoyashchee  i
budushchee Al'biona - simvola chelovechestva, fragmenty hristianskoj,  indijskoj,
antichnoj  mifologii  dopolnyayutsya  specificheski   blejkovskimi   motivami   i
personazhami, i voznikaet celostnyj obraz epohi  s  ee  nadezhdami,  zabotami,
protivorechiyami.
     Aktual'nyj dlya togo vremeni "syuzhet" vsegda okazyvalsya u Blejka otzvukom
vechnoj  dramy,  v  kotoroj  stalkivayutsya  bogoravnyj  svobodnyj  chelovek   i
prostertyj nic pered altarem prihozhanin,  Poeticheskij  Genij  i  utilitarnyj
Razum, Voobrazhenie i Svoekorystie. I sama drama napolnyaetsya soderzhaniem  tem
bolee glubokim, chto ona razvertyvaetsya v konkretnom istoricheskom  kontekste,
osoznaetsya  i  perezhivaetsya  real'no,  oshchutimo   vossozdannoj   istoricheskoj
lichnost'yu, kakoj v "prorocheskih knigah" predstaet povestvuyushchee "ya". I kazhdaya
detal'  podobnogo  "syuzheta"  stanovilas'  komponentom  blejkovskogo  mifa  o
cheloveke, vzyskuyushchem celostnosti i istinnoj duhovnosti  bytiya  v  mire,  uzhe
podchinennom   utilitaristskomu   zhizneponimaniyu   so   vsemi   neischislimymi
bedstviyami, kotorye ono za soboj vlechet.
     Aktual'nejshim "syuzhetom" teh let byla revolyuciya v koloniyah Novogo Sveta,
i  "Amerika"  (1793)  donosit  zhivye   otgoloski   umonastroeniya   togdashnih
londonskih radikalov, verivshih, chto skoro zarya  novoj,  istinno  razumnoj  i
chelovechnoj civilizacii perekinetsya cherez okean. V poeme upomyanuto o reshayushchih
epizodah vojny myatezhnyh territorij protiv metropolii, nazvany gremevshie v tu
poru amerikanskie imena. |mocional'naya tonal'nost' "Ameriki",  perepolnyayushchee
ee radostnoe chuvstvo zavoevannoj vol'nosti, lishnij raz svidetel'stvuet,  chto
Blejk vo mnogom ostavalsya  chelovekom  XVIII  stoletiya,  kotoromu  nenavisten
monarhicheskij despotizm i kotorogo p'yanit samo slovo Respublika.
     No Blejk vosprinimal revolyuciyu, kak i vse na svete, prezhde vsego  v  ee
nravstvennom i esteticheskom smysle -  kak  shag  na  dolgom  puti  k  carstvu
Poeticheskogo Geniya, vysvobodivshegosya iz okov.
     I  "Amerika"  napisana  ne   dlya   proslavleniya   uspehov   pobezhdayushchej
demokratii,  hotya   Blejk,   nesomnenno,   sochuvstvoval   im   vsej   dushoj.
Glavenstvuyushchaya rol' prinadlezhit v poeme vpervye zdes' poyavlyayushchemusya  Orku  -
blejkovskomu Prometeyu i Adonisu, odnomu iz central'nyh personazhej  mifologii
"prorocheskih knig". V spore s angelom  Al'biona,  olicetvoryayushchim  pokornost'
zavedennomu  poryadku  veshchej,  on  ne  tol'ko  oblichaet  anglijskuyu  tiraniyu,
meshayushchuyu osushchestvit'sya amerikanskoj svobode; Blejku vazhnee vlozhennaya v  usta
Orka mysl' o neobhodimosti revolyucij kak brodila duhovnoj energii cheloveka -
revolyucij,   otnyud'   ne    zavershayushchihsya    provozglasheniem    politicheskoj
nezavisimosti, ibo rech'  idet  o  razrushenii  temnic  Svoekorystiya  v  samom
chelovecheskom soznanii.
     "Amerika" - eto gimn Svobode, i vyzov carstvu  Nochi,  carstvu  Urizena,
kotoroe u Blejka simvoliziruet poryadok veshchej v sovremennom mire, i eshche  odno
podtverzhdenie vernosti poeta svoemu idealu bogoravnoj  lichnosti,  nadelennoj
tvorcheskim, sozidayushchim Voobrazheniem. Kak i mnogie drugie blejkovskie  poemy,
"Amerika" nazvana "prorochestvom" ne ottogo, chto avtor  pytaetsya  predskazat'
budushchee, - u Blejka  prorok  tot,  kto  v  siyuminutnom  razlichaet  vechnoe  i
neprehodyashchee. Ob istinnom smysle bor'by, razvernuvshejsya  v  koloniyah  Novogo
Sveta, spor Orka i Urizena govorit chitatelyu Blejka bol'she, chem citiruemye  v
poeme rechi Vashingtona i dostatochno dostovernye  v  celom  kartiny  podlinnyh
sobytij.
     Kazhdaya  podrobnost'   napolnyaetsya   znacheniem   simvola,   istoricheskaya
real'nost'  stanovitsya  mifologicheskoj,  a  pobeda  revolyucii   v   koloniyah
osoznaetsya Blejkom prezhde vsego kak torzhestvo svobodnogo Geniya nad  ploskim,
utilitarnym Razumom, oborachivayushchimsya politicheskoj tiraniej i  "svoekorystnoj
svyatost'yu", kotoraya ochen'  daleka  ot  istinnoj  chelovechnosti.  Blejk  videl
ostree mnogih vol'nodumcev  ego  epohi,  kotorym  kruzhili  golovy  vesti  iz
Francii i iz Ameriki. Dazhe "Francuzskaya revolyuciya" pri vsem ee  vostorzhennom
pafose soderzhit  nemalo  napominanij  o  tom,  v  kakih  mukah  rozhdayutsya  i
prinimayut harakter zakona gumannye normy obshchestvennoj zhizni. A  v  "Evrope",
kotoraya poyavilas' vsego tri goda spustya, postoyanno slyshitsya trevoga,  i  ona
vnushena ne tol'ko zagovorom monarhij protiv revolyucionnoj Francii, ne tol'ko
raspravoj nad chlenami londonskogo Korrespondentskogo  obshchestva,  zastavivshej
umolknut' anglijskih radikalov i respublikancev. Blejka trevozhit passivnost'
"obitatelya  temnicy"  -  dushevnoj  temnicy,  v  kotoroj  obretaetsya  ryadovoj
chelovek, ne probuzhdennyj k podlinnoj, vysokoj zhizni ni 4 iyulya 1776 goda,  ni
shturmom Bastilii.
     Poema vpervye vyrazila somneniya Blejka v tom, chto  sobytiya  vo  Francii
dejstvitel'no znamenuyut soboj  nachalo  novoj  ery  dlya  vsego  chelovechestva.
Projdet eshche neskol'ko let, i Blejk,  izbavivshis'  ot  mnogih  illyuzij  svoej
molodosti, rezko osudit bonapartizm. Vprochem, uzhe  i  Ork  "Evropy"  zametno
otlichaetsya ot Orka "Ameriki" - teper'  eto  podavlennyj  duh,  bluzhdayushchij  v
chashchobah smerti.
     Svoeobraznaya trilogiya, kotoruyu kak by obrazuyut "Francuzskaya revolyuciya",
"Amerika" i "Evropa", otrazila i protivorechiya epohi,  i  menyavshuyusya  idejnuyu
orientaciyu Blejka v te burnye gody,  kogda  sozdavalis'  eti  "prorochestva".
Menyalos'  i  soderzhanie,  vyrazhennoe  vazhnejshimi   personazhami   blejkovskoj
mifologii: ottogo Ork i nadelen raznymi, poroj nesochetayushchimisya kachestvami  i
funkciyami v otdel'nyh poemah cikla.
     No vmeste s tem Blejk ne izmenil ni svoim  demokraticheskim  verovaniyam,
ni vazhnejshej dlya "prorocheskih knig" mysli o neoslabevayushchej  bor'be  polyarnyh
nachal, pridayushchej bytiyu dinamizm i nezavershennost'.  V  "Amerike"  eta  mysl'
vyrazhena vsego otchetlivee: mir stremitel'no dvizhetsya, dognivaet dolgaya  Noch'
chelovechestva, i uzhe vidny pervye luchi Utra. Obraz, sozdannyj v finale poemy,
- grandioznyj, kosmicheskij obraz  ognya,  boryushchegosya  s  vodami  Atlantiki  i
bushuyushchego nad dvumya kontinentami, - zaklyuchaet v sebe mysl' ob  ochistitel'nom
nravstvennom  plameni  revolyucii,  kotoraya   prizvana   sokrushit'   Vavilon,
vozdvignutyj v serdcah lyudej. Ne prosto politicheskij perevorot, a  revolyuciya
duha yavlyaetsya dlya  Blejka  ruchatel'stvom,  chto  vody  Atlantiki  ne  zatopyat
novosozdannyj materik Voobrazheniya, kak v svoe vremya zatopili oni  anglijskij
ostrov, obrashchennyj v vavilonskuyu temnicu. Dlya Blejka naznachenie revolyucii  -
priblizit' den', kogda ischeznut vse suhoputnye i vodnye granicy, razdelivshie
brat'ev po krovi, i lyudi snova stanut sem'ej, zhivushchej  po  zakonam,  kotorye
zapisany v Vechnosushchem evangelii.
     Tak blejkovskoe myshlenie preobrazhalo zlobodnevnye temy ego epohi. V nih
vkladyvalos'  soderzhanie,   tol'ko   s   nakopleniem   istoricheskogo   opyta
osoznavavsheesya v ego nastoyashchej znachimosti  i  priobretavshee  svoyu  podlinnuyu
aktual'nost', kogda tema, v blejkovskie vremena  diskutirovavshayasya  na  vseh
uglah, uspevala davno uzhe sdelat'sya  dostoyaniem  professorov.  "Bezumie"  na
poverku  okazyvalos'  provideniem,  i  v  etom  smysle  poemy  dejstvitel'no
priobretali "prorocheskoe" znachenie.
     Aktual'nym syuzhetom byla v te dni i bor'ba za zapreshchenie rabotorgovli; v
1787 godu bylo osnovano abolicionistskoe obshchestvo, shli parlamentskie preniya,
na  kotorye  v   "Pesnyah   Nevedeniya"   Blejk   otkliknulsya   stihotvoreniem
"Negritenok". |to - redkie u nego "stihi na sluchaj", ih antirasistskij pafos
ocheviden. Odnako imi ne ischerpyvaetsya v blejkovskom tvorchestve sam  "syuzhet".
Napisannye v 1793 godu "Videniya dshcherej Al'biona" posvyashcheny kak budto  drugoj
teme; tol'ko otdel'nye stihi, - naprimer, o tirane Teotormone, u  ch'ih  nog,
"kak volny na pustynnom beregu, vskipayut golosa  rabov",  -  neposredstvenno
vveli v poemu yavlenie, smushchavshee sovest' luchshih lyudej  epohi.  Oni  i  stali
zernom, iz kotorogo vyroslo vse "videnie". Rabstvo  geroini  poemy  Utuny  -
rabstvo  "bezuteshnoj  dushi  Ameriki",  duhovnoe  rabstvo  vseh,  porozhdennoe
institutom rabovladeniya. Takogo instituta ne znaet Al'bion, no i ego  docheri
"rydayut v rabstve", kotoroe dlya Blejka -  universal'noe  sostoyanie  lyudskogo
roda: v Vavilone ideya ravenstva podmenena otnosheniyami raba  i  vladel'ca,  a
princip svobody - sistemoj zakabaleniya, social'nogo i nravstvennogo.
     Porazitelen etot yarko vyrazhennyj u Blejka  dar  osoznavat',  kak  pryamo
prichastny k anglijskim sud'bam i  k  sobstvennoj  sud'be  sobytiya,  yavleniya,
kollizii dalekih stran i dalekih epoh, osoznavat'  celostnost',  nedelimost'
chelovechestva, vzaimosvyaz' beschislennyh yavlenij fizicheskogo i duhovnogo mira,
ih perehodnost', ih dvizhushcheesya edinstvo. Sobstvenno,  Blejku  i  prinadlezhit
otkrytie   dialekticheskogo   vzglyada    na    real'nost',    dialekticheskogo
hudozhestvennogo videniya.
     Vsego posledovatel'nee ono voplotilos' v luchshem  ego  liricheskom  cikle
"Pesni Nevedeniya i Poznaniya",  a  naibolee  otkryto  dialekticheskij  princip
mirovospriyatiya   byl   sformulirovan   v   programmnoj   dlya   nego    poeme
"Brakosochetanie Raya i Ada". Po pervomu vpechatleniyu ona kazhetsya  prelyudiej  k
romanticheskoj "d'yavoliade" s harakternym  dlya  nee  proslavleniem  Satany  -
vol'nogo duha, brosayushchego vyzov samomu nebu. I kazhetsya ne bez prichiny.  Odno
tol'ko zamechanie o Mil'tone, kotoryj "byl prirozhdennym Poetom i, sam ne znaya
togo, storonnikom  D'yavola",  kogda  hotel  vosslavit'  Boga,  -  eto  celaya
filosofiya,   aforisticheski    vyrazhennoe    kredo    vsego    romanticheskogo
miroponimaniya.  Da  i  postroenie  poemy,  tridcat'yu  godami  predshestvuyushchej
"Prometeyu" (Prometheus Unbound, 1820) SHelli i  bajronovskim  misteriyam,  uzhe
polnost'yu  otvechaet  estetike  romantizma.   V   epohu   YUnga   dazhe   samyj
svobodomyslyashchij kritik ne mog by opravdat' etoj neobychnoj  kompozicii  s  ee
prichudlivymi videniyami, s ee aforizmami, fragmentami ritmizirovannoj  prozy,
filosofskim disputom poeta i prorokov, a zatem Angela i D'yavola.
     Ne udostaivaya ni malejshim vnimaniem  pravila  shkol'noj  poetiki,  Blejk
sozdaet  formu  na  glazah  chitatelya,  da  i   vazhna   emu   ne   formal'naya
zavershennost', a vyrazhennaya do konca mysl'. I hotya po svoej suti  eto  mysl'
romanticheskaya, ponyat' ee mozhno, tol'ko okunuvshis'  v  atmosferu  dozhivayushchego
svoj vek XVIII stoletiya. "Brakosochetanie Raya  i  Ada"  -  predel'noe  usilie
Blejka v ego bor'be kak s utilitarnym Razumom, tak i  s  porabotivshej  lyudej
Cerkov'yu-Bludnicej.  Apogej  ego   titanicheskoj   bor'by   za   osvobozhdenie
Poeticheskogo Geniya. Deklaraciya okonchatel'nogo razryva  s  ispoveduemymi  ego
epohoj ponyatiyami moral'nogo dobra i zla, poskol'ku mir okazalsya na perelome,
na poroge velikogo sdviga, pered licom Apokalipsisa, i  lish'  raskreposhchennoe
Voobrazhenie, vysshij duhovnyj  impul's,  tayashchijsya  v  samom  cheloveke,  a  ne
uslovnoe "dobro" i "zlo" obvetshalyh doktrin  ukazyvaet  vernyj  put'  v  eti
grozovye gody.
     Vsyakij odnostoronnij, zamknutyj v bytuyushchih  ponyatiyah  vzglyad  na  zhizn'
lish' obrekaet lichnost' na bezyshodnoe sushchestvovanie v tesnom  pryamougol'nike
vavilonskih  sten.  Ved'  zhizn'  -  eto  Dvizhenie,  a  ono   "voznikaet   iz
Protivopolozhnostej. Vlechenie  i  Otvrashchenie,  Mysl'  i  Dejstvie,  Lyubov'  i
Nenavist' neobhodimy dlya bytiya CHeloveka" - eto velikoe organicheskoe edinstvo
i otkrylos' Blejku "sredi adskih ognej", v besede s Isajej i  Iezekiilem,  v
ispytaniyah, kotorym podverg duhovnyj razum  poeta  soshedshij  k  nemu  Angel.
Otkrylsya "bezmernyj mir vostorga, nedostupnyj vashim  chuvstvam",  -  chuvstvam
uznikov Urizena, personazha, kotoryj  v  blejkovskoj  mifologii  olicetvoryaet
nesvobodnoe soznanie sovremennogo Al'biona. |to plen duha,  plen  mysli;  no
"ZHizn' - eto Dejstvie", mysl' zhe tol'ko sluzhit Dejstviyu obolochkoj. "Dejstvie
- Vechnyj Vostorg".
     Zdes' - sut' filosofskoj i poeticheskoj koncepcii, lezhashchej v  fundamente
"Pesen Nevedeniya i Poznaniya".
     Vprochem, nachatki dialekticheskogo postizheniya real'nosti mozhno obnaruzhit'
uzhe v "Poeticheskih nabroskah".  Dazhe  i  za  naibolee  svetlymi,  radostnymi
stihami etoj yunosheskoj knigi  ugadyvaetsya  ne  vyrazhennoe  otkryto,  no  uzhe
posetivshee  Blejka  chuvstvo  protivorechivosti   mira,   ego   neizbezhnoj   i
neobhodimoj disgarmonii, neodnoznachnosti ego yavlenij. Bezumie  u  Blejka  ne
anomaliya i ne vosslavlennoe vposledstvii  romantikami  sredstvo  vozvysit'sya
nad  prozaizmom  zhizni,  a  "normal'noe"  bytie   priverzhenca   obshcheprinyatyh
moral'nyh predstavlenij, nesposobnogo sovladat' s dialekticheskoj  slozhnost'yu
i "vzryvchatost'yu" istinnoj, ne illyuzornoj  dejstvitel'nosti.  Plen  lyubvi  v
togdashnej poezii - nepremenno sladkij plen, vozvyshenie i  ochishchenie  dushi,  u
Blejka zhe vysokoe schast'e sosedstvuet s rabstvom, i "lyubvi prekrasnyj knyaz'"
teshitsya bespomoshchnost'yu zhertv, oputannyh ego setyami (Song). Blejk napisal eti
stihi  chetyrnadcatiletnim  podrostkom;  edva  li  dlya   nih   byl   kakoj-to
biograficheskij povod -  pered  nami  ne  itog  perezhitogo,  a  svidetel'stvo
formiruyushchejsya mysli.
     V  "Pesnyah  Nevedeniya  i  Poznaniya"   dialekticheskoe   videnie   Blejka
priobretaet glubinu i vseob®emlyushchuyu znachimost',  dostupnuyu  tol'ko  velikomu
iskusstvu. Posle togo kak byli zaversheny "Pesni Poznaniya", Blejk nikogda  ne
graviroval otpechatannyj im pyat'yu godami ran'she cikl o Nevedenii otdel'no. Da
eto edva li i bylo by vozmozhno, potomu chto smysl knigi, ee sushchestvo -  mysl'
o nerazryvnosti duhovnogo opyta cheloveka, o ego  celostnosti,  obnimayushchej  i
ob®edinyayushchej v nekoem vysshem  sinteze  zalozhennuyu  v  lichnosti  ot  rozhdeniya
"nevinnost'", chistotu - i vsyu neizbezhnuyu  umudrennost'  kazhdogo  dalekim  ot
ideala  bytiem.  |ta  mysl'  o  neozhidannyh,  dazhe   paradoksal'nyh,   poroyu
tragicheskih,   no   krepchajshih   svyazyah,   kotorymi   skrepleny   mechta    i
dejstvitel'nost', detstvo i vzroslyj vozrast chelovechestva, ego  Nevedenie  i
Poznanie, sostavlyayushchie dva protivopolozhnyh,  odnako,  strogo  sorazmernyh  i
drug bez druga odinakovo nezavershennyh sostoyaniya Dushi.
     Poetomu pochti kazhdomu stihotvoreniyu iz cikla o Nevedenii nahoditsya svoe
sootvetstvie v  cikle  o  Poznanii,  prichem  otnosheniya  vnutri  etih  par  -
otnosheniya  kontrasta,  principial'noj  raznonapravlennosti,   no   takzhe   i
organicheskoj vzaimosvyazi, kotoruyu neobhodimo ponyat' i prinyat'.  Zdes'-to,  v
etoj idee tesnejshej sootnesennosti  "sostoyanij",  i  voplotilsya  blejkovskij
dialekticheskij vzglyad na real'nost', shvachennuyu v ee podvizhnosti, bor'be,  v
rezkih perehodah ot sveta k teni i ot tragizma k vysokoj duhovnoj radosti, v
ee dinamike, v zhiznenosnom Dvizhenii, sokrushayushchem lyubuyu sholasticheskuyu  Mysl'
i lyubuyu  pretenziyu  na  absolyutnost'  nravstvennyh  kvalifikacij.  Tam,  gde
usmatrivayut lish' torzhestvuyushchee "Dobro", Blejk obnaruzhivaet i  ushcherbnost';  v
tom, chto imenuyut "Zlom", - svoyu krasotu. I vsya kniga okazyvaetsya  eshche  odnoj
popytkoj oprovergnut' verovaniya veka, malo togo -  izmenit'  sam  stroj  ego
myshleniya.
     Odnako hudozhestvennoe soderzhanie  "Pesen"  neizmerimo  znachitel'nee  ih
konkretnoj polemicheskoj zadachi. |to poeziya, gde mir osmyslen  v  sblizheniyah,
dlya blejkovskogo vremeni sovershenno neozhidannyh, v vysshej garmonii vechnogo i
neperenosimoj  raschlenennosti  social'nogo,   tekushchego   svoego   bytiya,   v
peresecheniyah polyarnostej: yagnenok, krotkij  Agnec,  -  i  sozdannyj  tem  zhe
Masterom v toj zhe kuzne oslepitel'no  prekrasnyj  tigr,  voploshchenie  velikoj
energii zhizni, ee neissyakaemogo ognya i  yarosti,  besposhchadnosti  ee  zakonov;
prozrevshij v carstve Nevedeniya, obretayushchij rech' cvetok -  i  drugoj  cvetok,
bol'naya roza, zachahshaya pri soprikosnovenii s Poznaniem; siyayushchie  lica  detej
na svetlom prazdnike v hrame - i, v tot zhe samyj  Svyatoj  CHetverg,  golodnye
detskie lica na ulicah s ih nikogda ne konchayushchejsya t'moj.
     V takih protivostoyaniyah, v skvoznom kontraste vozdushnyh,  legkih  tonov
cikla o Nevedenii, gde vse na svete eshche dyshit radost'yu i schast'em,  tochno  v
dni tvoren'ya, i lakonichnoj, zhestkoj  po  shtrihu  grafiki  "Pesen  Poznaniya",
izobrazhayushchih polnyj gorya makrokosm  blejkovskogo  Segodnya,  v  samih  rezkih
pereklyucheniyah emocional'nogo i obraznogo  ryada  ulovlena  tragichnost'  sloma
epoh i vyrazheno chuvstvo, kotoroe ostavalos' nevedomo XVIII veku. |to chuvstvo
oborvavshejsya  postupatel'nosti,  edinonapravlennosti  chelovecheskoj  istorii,
chuvstvo diskretnosti i razorvannosti  kazhdogo  sushchestvovaniya,  prishedshee  na
smenu bylomu oshchushcheniyu ego polnoty i organichnosti, stol'  blizkoe  romantikam
(i eshche  bol'she  -  poetam  nashego  stoletiya)  chuvstvo  poteryannosti  v  mire
raz®edinennyh   lozh'yu   cerkovnyh   doktrin   i   poterpevshego   bankrotstvo
obozhestvlennogo Razuma, sredi lyudej, kotorye  podobny  podsolnuhu,  den'  za
dnem tyanushchemusya k nebosklonu, no lish' utomlenno provozhayushchemu svetilo  v  ego
dvizhenii k inym, ozarennym krayam.
     Pervootkryvateli Blejka - prerafaelity - vosprinimali "Pesni  Nevedeniya
i Poznaniya" kak besprimesno romanticheskoe  proizvedenie.  I  v  samom  dele,
mozhet pokazat'sya,  chto  osnovnoj  motiv  cikla  -  tragicheskoe  nesovpadenie
ideal'nogo i real'nogo, estestvennogo sostoyaniya mira, kakim my ego  vidim  v
"Pesnyah Nevedeniya", i togo beschelovechnogo, duhovno steril'nogo  miroporyadka,
kotoryj otkryvaetsya v "Pesnyah Poznaniya". |to chisto romanticheskij  motiv.  On
organichen dlya zamysla  Blejka,  no  ne  ischerpyvaet  poeticheskuyu  koncepciyu,
voploshchennuyu v ego shedevre.
     Estestvennyj mir nikogda ne kazalsya Blejku  idealom,  nedostizhimym  dlya
sovremennogo cheloveka. |to pobudilo ego kriticheski otnestis' k  russoistskoj
doktrine "estestvennosti", stol' vazhnoj dlya romantizma.  Romantiki  doveryali
prirode, poryvayas' k  begstvu  ot  civilizacii,  i  iskali  panaceyu  ot  zla
dejstvitel'nosti v podrazhanii "estestvennomu" dobru, "estestvennoj" krasote.
Blejk govoril ne o podrazhanii, a o preobrazhenii mira  tvorcheskoj  fantaziej.
Odin zakazchik pozhalovalsya, chto fantaziya uvela Blejka  slishkom  daleko.  I  v
otvet Blejk napisal:  "|tot  Mir  est'  Mir  Voobrazheniya  i  Videniya...  dlya
cheloveka, nadelennogo Voobrazheniem, sama Priroda - tozhe Voobrazhenie".
     Garmoniya prirody,  na  ego  vzglyad,  byla  lish'  predvoshishcheniem  bolee
vysokoj  garmonii,  kotoruyu  dolzhna  sozdat'  celostnaya   i   oduhotvorennaya
lichnost'. |to ubezhdenie  predopredelilo  i  tvorcheskie  principy  Blejka.  U
romantikov priroda - zerkalo dushi, u Blejka - skoree kniga simvolov.  On  ne
dorozhit ni krasochnost'yu pejzazha, ni ego dostovernost'yu,  kak  ne  dorozhit  i
psihologizmom. Vse okruzhayushchee vosprinimaetsya im v svete duhovnyh konfliktov,
i prezhde vsego cherez prizmu vechnogo konflikta mehanisticheskogo i  svobodnogo
videniya. V prirode on obnaruzhivaet tu zhe passivnost' i mehanistichnost',  chto
i v social'noj zhizni.
     Poetomu i nevedenie, neporochnost', duhovnaya chistota,  estestvennost'  -
vse to, chto opredelyaet emocional'nuyu i obraznuyu gammu pervoj chasti cikla,  -
dlya Blejka otnyud' ne yavlyaetsya lish' nekim utrachennym Raem. Ego mysl' slozhnee,
- byt'  mozhet,  naibolee  polno  ona  peredana  v  obraze  zabludivshegosya  i
najdennogo  rebenka,  voznikayushchem  i  v  "Pesnyah  Nevedeniya"  i  v   "Pesnyah
Poznaniya".
     Rebenok olicetvoryaet soboj tip mirooshchushcheniya,  obladayushchego  organikoj  i
celostnost'yu, kotorye uzhe nedostupny  vzroslomu.  V  mire  vzroslyh  rebenok
vsegda  odinok  i  neschasten.  On  slovno  zabludivshayasya   "istinnaya   dusha"
chelovechestva. Dlya Blejka eta istinnost' - dar zhizni po zakonam  voobrazheniya.
No  i  v  carstve  Nevedeniya  podobnaya  zhizn'  ne  mozhet   byt'   polnocenno
osushchestvlena. Poznanie - neizbezhnost' dlya kazhdogo, i ono vtorgaetsya  dazhe  v
svetlyj  mir  rebenka.  Mal'chik  teryaet  v  nochi   otca,   i   potrebovalos'
vmeshatel'stvo Neba, chtoby najti obratnuyu dorogu. Predchuvstviem bluzhdanij  po
tupikovym putyam Poznaniya otravlena radost' bytiya v Nevedenii.
     Zdes'  tozhe  vystupaet  chelovecheskaya  razdelennost'  i   nesvoboda   ot
zhestokogo real'nogo mira. Blejk otverg to oblegchennoe i  illyuzornoe  reshenie
muchivshego ego konflikta, kotoroe podskazyvali idei  vozvrata  k  prirode,  k
nravstvennomu i  emocional'nomu  nevedeniyu  kak  sredstvu  preodoleniya  etoj
nesvobody. Ona mogla byt' preodolena lish' posle togo, kak dusha vberet v sebya
ves' gor'kij opyt Poznaniya i preobrazit ego v soglasii s idealami duhovnosti
i krasoty, hranimymi kazhdym do toj pory, poka ne issyakla  prisushchaya  cheloveku
tvorcheskaya sposobnost' - Voobrazhenie, Videnie. Tol'ko togda "istinnaya  dusha"
budet dejstvitel'no najdena - i chelovekom i chelovechestvom.
     V mire Blejka polyarnosti Nevedeniya i Poznaniya, peresekayas', ne otricayut
drug druga. I  v  etom  priznanii  "protivopolozhnyh  sostoyanij"  neobhodimym
usloviem bytiya lichnosti, v etom otkaze ot soblaznov begstva  v  garmonichnyj,
bestrevozhnyj mir, ibo otdel'no ot Poznaniya ego prosto ne  sushchestvuet,  Blejk
reshitel'no rashoditsya s romanticheskoj filosofiej zhizni, slovno  by  operezhaya
ee i stanovyas' pryamym predshestvennikom poezii novejshego vremeni,  vpervye  o
sebe zayavivshej uitmenovskimi "List'yami travy" i lirikoj Bodlera.
     Ego Nevedenie - ne idilliya, okrashivayushchaya detskie predstavleniya o  mire,
i ne carstvo osushchestvlennoj mechty, prigrezivsheesya poetu v  minuty  nichem  ne
omrachennoj dushevnoj yasnosti. |to dazhe i  ne  simvol  s  godami  utrachivaemoj
poeticheskoj nastroennosti cheloveka, kogda emu nevozmozhnoj kazhetsya sama mysl'
o razrushenii, nesoglasovannosti, zhestokosti - v prirode li,  v  obshchestvennom
li ego sushchestvovanii.
     Skoree eto nekoe duhovnoe kachestvo, podspudno hranyashchayasya pamyat' o  tom,
kakim yavlyaetsya v mir - "vzroslyj" mir, neizbezhnyj dlya nego, kak i dlya  vseh,
mir Poznaniya, dvizhushchijsya, polnyj protivorechij, prityagivayushchij i ottalkivayushchij


                                 SODERZHANIE

     From "Poetical Sketches"
     Iz knigi "Poeticheskie nabroski"

     1. Song
     1. Pesnya. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     Perevod A. V. Parina
     2. To Spring
     2. K vesne. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     3. To Summer
     3. K letu. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     4. To Autumn
     4. K oseni. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     5. To Winter
     5. K zime. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     6. Mad Song
     6. Bezumnaya pesnya. Perevod A. V. Parina
     7. To the Muses
     7. K muzam. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     8. Blind Man's Buff
     8. Igra v zhmurki. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     9. Gwin, King of Norway
     9. Korol' Gvin. Ballada. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     10. From "King Edward the Third"
     10. Pesnya menestrelya. Perevod A. SHarapovoj

     From "An Island in the Moon"
     Stihi iz "Ostrova na lune"

     11. To be or not to be
     11. Byt' il' ne byt', vot v chem... Perevod V. L. Toporova
     12. Leave, O leave me to my sorrows
     12. Predostav' menya pechali... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj

     Songs of Innocence and of Experience Shewing the Two Contrary States of
the Human Soul
     Pesni Nevedeniya i Poznaniya, pokazyvayushchie dva protivopolozhnyh  sostoyaniya
chelovecheskoj dushi

     Songs of Innocence
     Pesni Nevedeniya

     13. Introduction
     13. Vstuplenie. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     Perevod V. L. Toporova
     14. The Shepherd
     14. Pastuh. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     15. The Echoing Green
     15. Zelenoe ay. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     16. The Lamb
     16* YAgnenok. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     17. The Little Black Boy
     17. Negritenok. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     18. The Blossom
     18. Cvetok. Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha
     19. The Chimney Sweeper
     19/ Malen'kij trubochist. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     20. The Little Boy Lost
     20.* Zabludivshijsya mal'chik. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     21. The Little Boy Found
     21.* Mal'chik najdennyj. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     22. Laughing Song
     22. Smeyushchayasya pesnya. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     23. A Cradle Song
     23. Kolybel'naya pesnya. Perevod K. D. Bal'monta
     24. The Divine Image
     24. Po obrazu i podobiyu. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     25. Holy Thursday
     25. Svyatoj chetverg. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     26. Night
     26. Noch'. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     * Perevod V. L. Toporova
     27. Spring
     27. Vesna. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     28. Nurse's Song
     28. Nyanyushkina pesnya. Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha
     29. Infant Joy
     29. Ditya-radost'. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     30. A Dream
     30. Son. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     31. On Another's Sorrow
     31. O skorbi blizhnego. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

     Songs of Experience
     Pesni Poznaniya

     32. Introduction
     32. Vstuplenie. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     33. Earth's Answer
     33. Otvet Zemli. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     34. The Clod and the Pebble
     34. Kom Zemli i Kamen'. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     35. Holy Thursday
     35.* Svyatoj chetverg. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     36. The Little Girl Lost
     36. Zabludshaya doch'. Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha
     37. The Little Girl Found
     37. Obretennaya doch'. Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha
     38. The Chimney Sweeper
     38. Malen'kij trubochist. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     39. Nurse's Song
     39. Nyanyushkina pesnya. Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha
     40. The Sick' Rose
     40. Bol'naya roza. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     Perevod A. V. Parina
     41. The Fly
     41.* Motylek. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     42. The Angel
     42. Angel. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     43. The Tyger
     43. Tigr. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod K. D. Bal'monta
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     44. My Pretty Rose-Tree
     44. Moj rozovyj kust. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     45. Ah! Sun-flower! weary of time
     45. Ah! Podsolnuh! chto za zhrebij... Perevod V. L. Toporova .
     46. The Lily
     46. Lileya. Perevod A. V. Parina
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     47. The Garden of Love
     47.* Sad lyubvi. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     48. The Little Vagabond
     48. Malen'kij brodyazhka. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     * Perevod V. L. Toporova
     49. London
     49. London. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     * Perevod V. L. Toporova
     50. The Human Abstract
     50. CHelovecheskaya abstrakciya. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     51. Infant Sorrow
     51. Ditya-gore. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     52. A Poison Tree
     52. Drevo yada. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     53. A Little Boy Lost
     53. Zabludivshijsya mal'chik. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     54. A Little Girl Lost
     54. Zabludshaya devochka. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     55. To Tirzah
     55. K Tirze. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     56. The Schoolboy
     56. SHkol'nik. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     57. The Voice of the Ancient Bard
     57. Golos drevnego barda. Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha

     From "The Rossetti Manuscript"
     Iz "Manuskripta Rossetti"

                                 (1789-1793)

     58. Never seek to tell thy love
     58. Slovom vyskazat' nel'zya... Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     * Perevod V. L. Toporova
     59. I saw a Chapel all of gold
     59.* Predstal mne Zlatoglavyj Hram
     Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     60. I asked a thief to steal me a peach
     60. Vora prosil ya persik ukrast'... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     61. I heard an Angel singing
     61. YA slyshal angela pen'e... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     62. A Cradle Song
     62.* Kolybel'naya. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     63. I fear'd the fury of my wind
     63. Strashilsya ya: moj vihr' ub'et... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     64. Infant Sorrow
     64. Ditya-gore. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     65. Thou hast a lap full of seed
     65. Zerna u tebya v podole... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     66. In a Mirtle Shade
     66. Pod mirtovym drevom. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     67. To Nobodaddy
     67.* Otcu, ne porodivshemu syna. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     68. The Wild Flower's Song
     68. Pesnya dikogo cvetka. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     69. O lapwing! thou fliest around the heath
     69. O chibis! Ty vidish' vnizu pustopol'e... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     70. Soft Snow
     70. Myagkij sneg. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     71. Merlin's Prophecy
     71. Prorochestvo Merlina. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     72. Day
     72. Den'. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     73. Why should I care for the men of Thames
     73. Temza i Ogajo. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     74. Abstinence sows sand all over
     74. Plamen' volos i rumyanuyu plot'... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     75. If you trap the moment before it's ripe
     75. Shvativ za vihor prezhde vremeni sluchaj... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     76. Ne who bends to himself a Joy
     76. Letuchaya radost'. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     77. Riches
     77. Bogatstvo. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     78. An Answer to the Parson
     78. Razgovor duhovnogo otca s prihozhaninom. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     79. Soft deceit & idleness
     79. Lenost' i obman blazhennyj... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     80. Let the Brothels of Paris be opened
     80. Dveri nastezh', parizhskie bordeli!.. Perevod V. L. Toporova

                                 (1800-1803)

     81. My Spectre around me night and day
     81.* Spektr i emanaciya. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     82. When Klopstock England defied
     82.* Klopshtok Angliyu hulil kak hotel... Perevod V. L. Toporova
     83. Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau
     83. ZHivej, Vol'ter! Smelej, Russo!.. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     84. When a man has married a wife
     84. Poka ne zhenimsya... Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     85. On the Virginity of the Virgin Mary and Johanna Southcott
     85. O devstvennosti devy  Marii  i  Dzhoanny  Sauskott.  Perevod  V.  A.
Potapovoj
     86. Morning
     86. Utro. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     87. Now Art has lost its mental charms
     87.* Utratilo iskusstvo svoj... Perevod V. L. Toporova

                                 (1808-1811)

     88. To F[laxman]
     88. Moemu hulitelyu. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     89. Here lies John Trot, the friend of all mankind
     89. Ni odnogo vraga vseobshchij drug, Dzhon Trot... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     90. I was buried near this dyke
     90. |pitafiya. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     91. My title as a genius thus is prov'd
     91. Teper' poprobujte skazat', chto  ya  ne  genialen...  Perevod  V.  A.
Potapovoj
     92. Grown old in Love
     92. Vsyu zhizn' lyubov'yu plamennoj sgoraya... Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     93. All pictures that's panted with sense and with thought
     93. CHuvstva i mysli v kartine nashedshij... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     94. Why was Cupid a boy
     94. Kupidon. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     95. I asked my dear friend Orator Prig
     95. CHto oratoru nuzhno?.. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     96. Having given great offence by writing in prose
     96. Blejk v zashchitu svoego Kataloga. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     97. Some people admire the work of a fool
     97. Tvoren'e duraka po vkusu mnogim lyudyam... Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     98. Since all the riches of this world
     98. O blagodarnosti. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     99. I rose up at the dawn of day
     99. YA vstal, kogda redela noch'... Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

     The Pickering Manuscript
     Manuskript Pikeringa

                                 (1800-1803)

     100. The Smile
     100. Ulybka. Perevod A. V. Parina
     * Perevod V. L. Toporova
     101. The Golden Net
     101. Zlataya set'. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj
     102. The Mental Traveller
     102. Stranstvie. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     103. The Land of Dreams
     103. YUdol' grez. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     104. Mary
     104. Meri. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     105. The Crystal Cabinet
     105.* Hrustal'naya shkatulka. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     106. The Grey Monk
     106. Seryj monah. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     107. Auguries of Innocence
     107.* Izrecheniya nevinnosti. Perevod V. L. Toporova
     108. Long John Brown and Little Mary Bell
     108. Dlinnyj Dzhon Braun i malyutka Meri Bell. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka
     109. William Bond
     109. Vil'yam Bond. Perevod V. L. Toporova

     The Book of Thel
     Kniga Tel'. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

     The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
     Brakosochetanie Raya i Ada. Perevod A. YA. Sergeeva

     Visions of the Daughters of Albion
     Videniya dshcherej Al'biona. Perevod A. YA. Sergeeva

     The French Revolution
     * Francuzskaya revolyuciya. Perevod V. L. Toporova

     America
     * Amerika. Perevod V. L. Toporova

     Europe
     * Evropa. Perevod V. L. Toporova

     From "Milton
     Iz poemy "Mil'ton". Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

     Kommentarii
     Daty zhizni i tvorchestva Blejka


                               Selected verse
                                   Stihi


                      IZ KNIGI "PO|TICHESKIE NABROSKI"



                   How sweet I roam'd from field to field
                   And tasted all the summer's pride,
                   Till I the Prince of Love beheld
                   Who in the sunny beams did glide!

                   He show'd me lilies for my hair,
                   And blushing roses for my brow;
                   He led me through his gardens fair
                   Where all his golden pleasures grow.

                   With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
                   And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage;
                   He caught me in his silken net,
                   And shut me in his golden cage.

                   He loves to sit and hear me sing,
                   Then, laughing, sports and plays with me -
                   Then stretches out my golden wing,
                   And mocks my loss of liberty.



                        V polyah porhaya i kruzhas',
                        Kak byl ya schastliv v bleske dnya,
                        Poka lyubvi prekrasnyj knyaz'
                        Ne kinul vzora na menya.

                        Mne v kudri lilii on vplel,
                        Ukrasil rozami chelo,
                        V svoi sady menya povel,
                        Gde stol'ko tajnyh neg cvelo.

                        Vostorg moj Feb vosplamenil,
                        I, upoennyj, stal ya pet'...
                        A on mezh tem menya plenil,
                        Raskinuv shelkovuyu set'.

                        Moj knyaz' so mnoj igraet zlo.
                        Kogda poyu ya pered nim,
                        On raspravlyaet mne krylo
                        I rabstvom teshitsya moim.

                        Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
                Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
                Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
                Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

                The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
                Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
                Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
                And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

                Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
                Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
                Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
                Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

                O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
                Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
                Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
                Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.



                    O svetlyj Genij s vlazhnymi kudryami,
                    Glyadyashchij iz promytyh okon utra!
                    Ty vzorom angel'skih ochej okin'
                    Nash ostrov zapadnyj: on zhdet Vesny!

                    Pereklikayutsya holmy i doly;
                    Glaza na tvoj blistayushchij shater
                    Ustremleny: v nash kraj stopoj svyatoj
                    SHagni cherez vostochnuyu gryadu!

                    Nam utrennim dyhan'em i vechernim
                    Upit'sya daj! Puskaj celuyut vetry
                    Tvoyu blagouhannuyu odezhdu.
                    Zemlya polna istomy. ZHemchugami

                    Ukras' i poceluyami osyp'
                    Ej grud', perstami chudnymi naden'
                    Zlatoj venec na golovu, ch'i kosy
                    Stydlivo dlya tebya raspleteny.

                    Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                O thou who passest thro' our valleys in
                Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
                That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
                Oft pitched'st here thy golden tent, and oft
                Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
                With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

                Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
                Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
                Rode o'er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
                Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on
                Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
                Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
                Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.

                Our bards are fam'd who strike the silver wire:
                Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
                Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
                We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
                Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
                Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.



                     S tvoim vtorzhen'em k nam v doliny, Leto,
                     Ty zharom pyshushchih konej sderzhi,
                     Umer' iz nozdrej letyashchij plamen'!
                     Kogda v zlatyh shatrah, sredi dubov,
                     Tebya klonilo v son, cvetushchim telom
                     I roskosh'yu kudrej my lyubovalis'.

                     My slushali tvoj golos v gushche lesa,
                     Kogda po nebu v znojnoj kolesnice
                     Katilsya polden'. U ruch'ya prisyad'
                     Il' u reki, v doline mshistoj, sbros'
                     Odezhdy myagkij shelk i prygni v vodu
                     Prozrachnuyu. Vo vsem velikolep'e,
                     Tebya doliny nashi lyubyat, Leto!

                     Iz serebra u nashih bardov struny.
                     YUzhan otvazhnej nashi hrabrecy.
                     Nikto ne plyashet luchshe nashih dev.
                     U nas est' pesni, sladostnoe eho,
                     I reki, svetlye kak nebesa,
                     I lavrolistvennyh venkov prohlada.

                     Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




               O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
               With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
               Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
               And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
               And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
               Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

               'The narrow bud opens her beauties to
               The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
               Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
               Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
               Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
               And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.

               "The spirits of the air live on the smells
               Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
               The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'
               Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
               Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
               Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.



                      Zapyatnannaya krov'yu vinograda,
                      Otyagoshchennaya plodami Osen',
                      Moj krov ukromnyj ne minuj, nastroj
                      Svoj golos v lad moej svireli svezhej,
                      CHtob goda luchshim docheryam plyasat'!
                      Spoj pesnyu o cvetah, plodah i zlakah.

                      "Tugoj buton raskryl svetilu poldnya
                      Svoi krasy; po vsem prozhilkam s drozh'yu
                      Tekla lyubov'! Cvety venkov svisali
                      Nad lbom rassveta i zari vechernej
                      Stydlivymi shchekami. Razrazilos'
                      Pod peristymi oblakami Leto.

                      Vozdushnyh duhov kormit sladkij zapah
                      Plodov; snuet na legkih kryl'yah radost'
                      Po sadu, zalivayas' mezh vetvej".
                      Tak pela Osen' u menya v gostyah,
                      No molcha za ugryumye holmy
                      Ushla, zlatuyu noshu sbrosiv s plech.

                      Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                 'O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
                 The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
                 Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
                 Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.'

                 He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
                 Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathed
                 In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes,
                 For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.

                 Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
                 To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks:
                 He withers all in silence, and in his hand
                 Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.

                 He takes his seat upon the cliffs, - the mariner
                 Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st
                 With storms! - till heaven smiles, and the monster
                 Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.



                       Zima, zamkni almaznye vrata!
                       Na Severe uhodit v glub' zemli
                       Tvoj mrachnyj krov. Ne sotryasaj ego,
                       Ne gni podpor zheleznoj kolesnicej.

                       Ne slyshit! Nad ziyayushchej bezdnoj
                       Nesetsya tyazhelo, svoj groznyj skipter
                       Vozdev i stayu bur' spustiv s cepi.
                       Okovany oni rebristoj stal'yu.

                       No chu! Strashilishche shagaet - kozha
                       Da kosti, - a pod nim utesy stonut.
                       Vot-vot razdenet zemlyu, chtob morozom
                       Dyhan'e zhizni hrupkoj umertvit'.

                       Ono saditsya na skalu. Zloschastnyj,
                       So shtormom b'etsya morehod, poka
                       Ulybka nebo ozarit i ruhnet
                       CHudovishche v provaly Gekly s voem.

                       Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                          The wild winds weep,
                          And the night is a-cold;
                          Come hither, Sleep,
                          And my griefs unfold:
                          But lo! the morning peeps
                          Over the eastern steeps,
                          And the rustling beds of dawn
                          The earth do scorn.

                          Lo! to the vault
                          Of paved heaven,
                          With sorrow fraught
                          My notes are driven:
                          They strike the ear of night,
                          Make weep the eyes of day;
                          They make mad the roaring winds,
                          And with tempests play.

                          Like a fiend in a cloud,
                          With howling woe
                          After night I do crowd,
                          And with night will go;
                          I turn my back to the east
                          From whence comforts have increas'd;
                          For light doth seize my brain
                          With frantic pain.



                           V klokah nebosklon,
                              Studenyj i lyutyj.
                           Kosnis' menya, Son,
                              Pechali rasputaj!
                           No shchuritsya zarya,
                              Vostok zhivotvorya.
                           SHCHebetanie utrennih ptah
                           Zanyalos' v nebesah.

                           I v polog ugryumyj,
                              V shater neboskata
                           Letyat moi dumy,
                              Pechal'yu chrevaty,
                           Smushchaya nochi sluh
                              I vzory solncu zastya,
                           I vselyayut bezumnuyu yarost'
                           V bushevan'e nenast'ya.

                           Kak morok, plyvu
                              I v tuche rydayu.
                           YA noch'yu zhivu -
                              Nautro istayu.
                           K vostoku spinoj povernus',
                           Primankoj ego ne prel'shchus',
                           Ibo svet obzhigaet moj mozg,
                           Kak rasplavlennyj vosk.

                           Perevod A. V. Parina




                      Whether on Ida's shady brow,
                      Or in the chambers of the East,
                      The chambers of the sun, that now
                      From ancient melody have ceas'd;

                      Whether in Heaven ye wander fair,
                      Or the green corners of the earth,
                      Or the blue regions of the air
                      Where the melodious winds have birth;

                      Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,
                      Beneath the bosom of the sea
                      Wand'ring in many a coral grove,
                      Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry!

                      How have you left the ancient love
                      That bards of old enjoy'd in you!
                      The languid strings do scarcely move!
                      The sound is forc'd, the notes are few!



                        Na sklonah Idy zatenennyh,
                        V chertogah, chto Vostok vozdvig, -
                        V pokoyah, solncem napoennyh,
                        Gde pesnopenij smolk yazyk,

                        Vy obretaetes', bogini,
                        Il' v nebesah, sredi mirov?
                        Il' v teh sloyah, gde vozduh sinij
                        Rozhdaet muzyku vetrov?

                        Ili pod lonom vod zerkal'nyh
                        Vy, devyat' bogoravnyh dev,
                        Sred' roshch koralla, skal hrustal'nyh
                        Soshlis', poeziyu prezrev?

                        Kak vy mogli zabyt' o chudnoj
                        Lyubvi k pevcam ushedshih let?
                        Oslabli struny, zvuki skudny,
                        Not malo, iskrennosti net!

                        Perevod V. A. Potapovoj


                            8. 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,
                  Then pauses ere he starts-but Dick
                  Was mischief bent upon a trick;
                  Down on his hands and knees he lay
                  Directly in the Blind man's way,
                  Then cries out 'Hem!' Hodge heard, and ran
                  With hood-wink'd chance - sure of his man;
                  But down he came. - Alas, how frail
                  Our best of hopes, how soon they fail!

                  With crimson drops he stains the ground;
                  Confusion startles all around.

                  Poor piteous Dick supports his head,
                  And fain would cure the hurt he made;
                  But Kitty hasted with a key,
                  And down his back they straight convey
                  The cold relief; the blood is stay'd
                  And Hodge again holds up his head.
                  Such are the fortunes of the game,
                  And those who play should stop the same
                  By wholesome laws; such as all those
                  Who on the blinded man impose
                  Stand in his stead; as, long a-gone,
                  When men were first a nation grown,
                  Lawless they liv'd, till wantonness
                  And liberty began t' increase,
                  And one man lay in another's way:
                  Then laws were made to keep fair play.




                        Tol'ko sneg razodenet Susannu v meha
                        I povisnet almaz na nosu pastuha,
                        Dorog_a_ mne skam'ya pred bol'shim ochagom
                        Da ognem ozarennye steny krugom.

                                   -----

                        Goroyu ugol' gromozdite,
                        A poperek brevno kladite.
                        I taburetki stav'te v krug
                        Dlya nashih parnej i podrug.

                        V bochonke el' temnej oreha,
                        Lyubovnyj shepot. Vzryvy smeha,
                        Kogda zh naskuchit boltovnya,
                        Zateem igry u ognya.

                        Devchonki shustrye rebyat
                        Kol'nut' bulavkoj norovyat.
                        No ne v dolgu u nih rebyata -
                        Grozit prokaznicam rasplata.

                        Vot Rodzher brov'yu podmignul
                        I utashchil u Dolli stul.
                        I vot, ne zhdavshaya podvoha,
                        Pocelovala pol dureha!
                        Potom opravila naryad,
                        Na Dzhona brosiv tomnyj vzglyad.

                        Dzhon posochuvstvoval devchurke.
                        Mezh tem igrat' reshili v zhmurki
                        I stali bystro ubirat'
                        Vse, chto meshalo im igrat'.

                        Platok slozhila Meg dva raza
                        I zavyazala oba glaza
                        Kosomu Villu dlya togo,
                        CHtob on ne videl nichego.

                        CHut' ne shvatil on Meg za plat'e,
                        A Meg, smeyas', k nemu v ob®yat'ya
                        Tolknula Rodzhera, no Vill
                        Iz ruk dobychu upustil.

                        Devchonki draznyat rotozeya:
                        "Lovi menya! Lovi skoree!"
                        I vot, izmayavshis' vkonec,
                        Bednyazhku Ket nastig slepec.
                        On po pyatam bezhal vdogonku
                        I v ugolok zagnal devchonku.

                        - Popalas', Ketti? Tvoj chered
                        Lovit' togo, kto popadet!
                        Smotri, vot Rodzher, Rodzher blizko!.. -
                        I Ketti bystro, slovno kiska,
                        V pogonyu kinulas' za nim.
                        (Emu podstavil nozhku Dzhim.)

                        Nadev platok, on protiv pravil
                        Glaza svobodnymi ostavil.
                        I, glyadya skvoz' prozrachnyj shelk,
                        Napal na Dzhima on, kak volk,
                        No Dzhim emu ne dalsya v ruki
                        I s nog svalil malyutku S'yuki.
                        Tak ne dovodit do dobra
                        Lyudej beschestnaya igra!..

                        No tut razdalsya druzhnyj krik:
                        "On vidit, vidit!" - kriknul Dik.
                        "Aj da slepec!" - krichat rebyata.
                        Ne sporit Rodzher vinovatyj.

                        I vot, kak trebuet ustav,
                        Na Rodzhera nalozhen shtraf:
                        Surovyj sud zastavil pluta
                        Perevernut'sya trizhdy kruto.
                        I, otpustiv emu grehi,
                        Vertushka Ket prochla stihi,
                        CHtoby igru nachat' snachala.
                        "Lovi!" - vertushka zakrichala.

                        Slepec pomchalsya napryamik,
                        No on ne znal, chto hitryj Dik
                        Kovarno zhdet ego v zasade
                        Na chetveren'kah - shutki radi.

                        On tak i grohnulsya... Uvy!
                        Vse nashi plany takovy.
                        Ne znaet tot, kto schast'e lovit,
                        Kakoj syurpriz sud'ba gotovit...

                        Edva v sebya slepec prishel
                        I vidit: krov'yu zalit pol.
                        Lico oshchupal on rukoyu -
                        Krov' iz nozdrej bezhit rekoyu.
                        Emu raskayavshijsya Dik
                        Rasstegivaet vorotnik,
                        A Sem neset vody holodnoj.
                        No vse staran'ya ih besplodny.
                        Krov' tak i l'et, kak dozhd' iz tuch,
                        Poka ne prilozhili klyuch
                        K zatylku ranenogo. (S detstva
                        Nam vsem znakomo eto sredstvo!)

                        Vot chto sluchaetsya poroj,
                        Kogda plutuyut za igroj.
                        Sozdat' dlya plutovstva prepony
                        Dolzhny razumnye zakony.
                        Nu, naprimer, takoj zakon
                        Byt' dolzhen strogo soblyuden:
                        Pust' lyudi, chto drugih obmanut,
                        Na mesto poterpevshih stanut.

                        Davnym-davno - v te vremena,
                        Kogda lyudskie plemena
                        Na vole zhili, -nashim dedam
                        Byl ni odin zakon nevedom.
                        Tak prodolzhalos' do teh por,
                        Pokuda ne voznik razdor,
                        I lozh', i prochie poroki, -
                        Stal lyudyam tesen mir shirokij.
                        Togda skazat' prishla pora:
                        - Pust' budet chestnaya igra!

                        Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                    Come, kings, and listen to my song:
                    When Gwin, the son of Nore,
                    Over the nations of the North
                    His cruel sceptre bore;

                    The nobles of the land did feed
                    Upon the hungry poor;
                    They tear the poor man's lamb, and drive
                    The needy from their door.

                    'The land is desolate; our wives
                    And children cry for bread;
                    Arise, and pull the tyrant down!
                    Let Gwin be humbled!'

                    Gordred the giant rous'd himself
                    From sleeping in his cave;
                    He shook the hills, and in the clouds
                    The troubl'd banners wave.

                    Beneath them roll'd, like tempests black,
                    The num'rous sons of blood;
                    Like lions' whelps, roaring abroad,
                    Seeking their nightly food.

                    Down Bleron's hills they dreadful rush,
                    Their cry ascends the clouds;
                    The trampling horse and clanging arms
                    Like rushing mighty floods!

                    Their wives and children, weeping loud,
                    Follow in wild array,
                    Howling like ghosts, furious as wolves
                    In the bleak wintry day.

                    'Pull down the tyrant to the dust,
                    Let Gwin be humbled,'
                    They cry, 'and let ten thousand lives
                    Pay for the tyrant's head.'

                    From tow'r to tow'r the watchmen cry,
                    'O Gwin, the son of Nore,
                    Arouse thyself! the nations, black
                    Like clouds, come rolling o'er!'

                    Gwin rear'd his shield, his palace shakes,
                    His chiefs come rushing round;
                    Each, like an awful thunder cloud,
                    With voice of solemn sound:

                    Like reared stones around a grave
                    They stand around the King!
                    Then suddenly each seiz'd his spear,
                    And clashing steel does ring.

                    The husbandman does leave his plough
                    To wade thro' fields of gore;
                    The merchant binds his brows in steel,
                    And leaves the trading shore;

                    The shepherd leaves his mellow pipe,
                    And sounds the trumpet shrill;
                    The workman throws his hammer down
                    To heave the bloody bill.

                    Like the tall ghost of Barraton
                    Who sports in stormy sky,
                    Gwin leads his host, as black as night
                    When pestilence does fly,

                    With horses and with chariots -
                    And all his spearmen bold
                    March to the sound of mournful song,
                    Like clouds around him roll'd.

                    Gwin lifts his hand-the nations halt,
                    'Prepare for war!' he cries -
                    Gordred appears! - his frowning brow
                    Troubles our northern skies.

                    The armies stand, like balances
                    Held in th' Almighty's hand; -
                    'Gwin, thou hast fill'd thy measure up:
                    Thou'rt swept from out the land.'

                    And now the raging armies rush'd
                    Like warring mighty seas;
                    The heav'ns are shook with roaring war,
                    The dust ascends the skies!

                    Earth smokes with blood, and groans and shakes
                    To drink her children's gore,
                    A sea of blood; nor can the eye
                    See to the trembling shore!

                    And on the verge of this wild sea
                    Famine and death doth cry;
                    The cries of women and of babes
                    Over the field doth fly.

                    The King is seen raging afar,
                    With all his men of might;
                    Like blazing comets scattering death
                    Thro' the red fev'rous night.

                    Beneath his arm like sheep they die,
                    And groan upon the plain;
                    The battle faints, and bloody men
                    Fight upon hills of slain.

                    Now death is sick, and riven men
                    Labour and toil for life;
                    Steed rolls on steed, and shield on shield,
                    Sunk in this sea of strife!

                    The god of war is drunk with blood;
                    The earth doth faint and fail;
                    The stench of blood makes sick the heav'ns;
                    Ghosts glut the throat of hell!

                    O what have kings to answer for
                    Before that awful throne;
                    When thousand deaths for vengeance cry,
                    And ghosts accusing groan!

                    Like blazing comets in the sky
                    That shake the stars of light,
                    Which drop like fruit unto the earth
                    Thro' the fierce burning night;

                    Like these did Gwin and Gordred meet,
                    And the first blow decides;
                    Down from the brow unto the breast
                    Gordred his head divides!

                    Gwin fell: the sons of Norway fled,
                    All that remain'd alive;
                    The rest did fill the vale of death,
                    For them the eagles strive.

                    The river Dorman roll'd their blood
                    Into the northern sea;
                    Who mourn'd his sons, and overwhelm'd
                    The pleasant south country.




                                  Ballada

                          Vnemlite pesne, koroli!
                          Kogda norvezhec Gvin
                          Narodov severnoj zemli
                          Byl groznyj vlastelin,

                          V ego vladen'yah nishchetu
                          Obkradyvala znat'.
                          Ovcu poslednyuyu - i tu
                          Staralis' otobrat'.

                          "Ne kormit nishchaya zemlya
                          Bol'nyh detej i zhen.
                          Doloj tirana-korolya,
                          Puskaj pokinet tron!"

                          Prosnulsya Gordred mezhdu skal,
                          Tirana lyutyj vrag,
                          I nad zemlej zatrepetal
                          Ego myatezhnyj styag.

                          Za nim idut syny vojny
                          Lavinoyu sploshnoj,
                          Kak l'vy, sil'ny i golodny,
                          Na promysel nochnoj.

                          CHerez holmy ih put' lezhit,
                          Ih klich nesetsya vvys'.
                          Oruzh'ya lyazg i drob' kopyt
                          V edinyj gul slilis'.

                          Idet tolpa detej i zhen
                          Iz sel i dereven',
                          I yarostno zvuchit ih ston
                          V zheleznyj zimnij den'.

                          Zvuchit ih ston kak volchij voj.
                          V otvet gudit zemlya.
                          Narod idet za golovoj
                          Tirana-korolya.

                          Ot bashni k bashne mchitsya vest'
                          Po vsej bol'shoj strane:
                          "Tvoih protivnikov ne schest'.
                          Gotov'sya, Gvin, k vojne!"

                          Norvezhec shchit pod®emlet svoj
                          I vityazej zovet,
                          Podobnyh tuche grozovoj,
                          V kotoroj grom zhivet.

                          Kak plity, chto stojmya stoyat
                          Na kladbishche nemom,
                          Stoit bojcov bezmolvnyj ryad
                          Pred groznym korolem.

                          Oni stoyat pred korolem,
                          Nedvizhny, kak granit,
                          No vot odin vzmahnul kop'em,
                          I stal' o stal' zvenit.

                          Ostavil zemledelec plug,
                          Rabochij - molotok,
                          Smenil svirel' svoyu pastuh
                          Na boevoj rozhok.

                          Korol' vojska svoi vedet,
                          Kak groznyj prizrak t'my,
                          Kak noch', kotoraya neset
                          Dyhanie chumy.

                          I kolesnicy i vojska
                          Idut za korolem,
                          Kak grozovye oblaka,
                          Skryvayushchie grom.

                          - Ostanovites'! - molvil Gvin
                          I ukazal vpered. -
                          Smotrite, Gordred-ispolin
                          Navstrechu nam idet!..

                          Stoyat dva vojska, kak vesy,
                          Poslushnye sud'be.
                          Korol', poslednie chasy
                          Otpushcheny tebe.

                          Nastalo vremya - i soshlis'
                          Zaklyatyh dva vraga,
                          I konnica vzmetaet vvys'
                          Sypuchie snega.

                          Vsya sodrogaetsya zemlya
                          Ot grohota shagov.
                          Lyudskaya krov' poit polya -
                          I net ej beregov.

                          Letayut golod i nuzhda
                          Nad grudoj mertvyh tel.
                          Kak mnogo gorya i truda
                          Dlya teh, kto ucelel!

                          Korol' polki brosaet v boj.
                          Sverkayut ih mechi
                          Luchom komety ognevoj,
                          Bluzhdayushchej v nochi.

                          ZHivye padayut vo prah,
                          Kak pod serpom zhnecov.
                          Drugie b'yutsya na kostyah
                          Besschetnyh mertvecov.

                          Vot kon' pod vsadnikom ubit.
                          I padayut, zvenya,
                          Kon' na konya, i shchit na shchit,
                          I na bronyu bronya.

                          Ustal krovavyj bog vojny.
                          On sam ot krovi p'yan.
                          Smerdyashchij par s polej strany
                          Voshodit, kak tuman.

                          O, chto otvetyat koroli,
                          Predstav na Strashnyj sud,
                          Za dushi teh, chto iz zemli
                          O mesti vopiyut!

                          Ne dve hvostatye zvezdy
                          Stolknulis' mezh soboj,
                          Rassypav zvezdy, kak plody
                          Iz chashi goluboj.

                          To Gordred, gornyj ispolin,
                          SHagaya po telam,
                          Nastig vraga - i ruhnul Gvin,
                          Razrublen popolam.

                          Ischezlo voinstvo ego.
                          Kto mog, zhivym ushel.
                          A kto ostalsya, na togo
                          Kosmatyj sel orel.

                          A reki krov' i sneg s polej
                          Umchali v okean,
                          CHtoby oplakal synovej
                          Burlivyj velikan.

                          Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                O sons of Trojan Brutus, cloth'd in war,
                Whose voices are the thunder of the field,
                Rolling dark clouds o'er France, muffling the sun
                In sickly darkness like a dim eclipse,
                Threatening as the red brow of storms, as fire
                Burning up nations in your wrath and fury!

                Your ancestors came from the fires of Troy,
                (Like lions rous'd by light'ning from their dens,
                Whose eyes do glare against the stormy fires),
                Heated with war, fill'd with the blood of Greeks,
                With helmets hewn, and shields covered with gore,
                In navies black, broken with wind and'tide:

                They landed in firm array upon the rocks
                Of Albion; they kiss'd the rocky shore;
                'Be thou our mother and our nurse,' they said;
                'Our children's mother, and thou shalt be our grave,
                The sepulchre of ancient Troy, from whence
                Shall rise cities, and thrones, and arms, and awful pow'rs.'

                Our fathers swarm from the ships. Giant voices
                Are heard from the hills, the enormous sons
                Of Ocean run from rocks and caves, wild men,
                Naked and roaring like lions, hurling rocks,
                And wielding knotty clubs, like oaks entangled
                Thick as a forest, ready for the axe.

                Our fathers move in firm array to battle;
                The savage monsters rush like roaring fire,
                Like as a forest roars with crackling flames,
                When the red lightning, borne by furious storms,
                Lights on some woody shore; the parched heavens
                Rain fire into the molten raging sea.

                The smoking trees are strewn upon the shore,
                Spoil'd of their verdure. O how oft have they
                Defy'd the storm that howled o'er their heads!
                Our fathers, sweating, lean on their spears, and view
                The mighty dead: giant bodies streaming blood.
                Dread visages frowning in silent death.

                Then Brutus spoke, inspir'd; our fathers sit
                Attentive on the melancholy shore:
                Hear ye the voice of Brutus-'The flowing waves
                Of time come rolling o'er my breast,' he said;
                'And my heart labours with futurity:
                Our sons shall rule the empire of the sea.

                'Their mighty wings shall stretch from east to west.
                Their nest is in the sea, but they shall roam
                Like eagles for the prey; nor shall the young
                Crave or be heard; for plenty shall bring forth,
                Cities shall sing, and vales in rich array
                Shall laugh, whose fruitful laps bend down with fulness.

                'Our sons shall rise from thrones in joy,
                Each one buckling on his armour; Morning
                Shall be prevented by their swords gleaming,
                And Evening hear their song of victory:
                Their towers shall be built upon the rocks,
                Their daughters shall sing, surrounded with shining spears.

                'Liberty shall stand upon the cliffs of Albion,
                Casting her blue eyes over the green ocean;
                Or, tow'ring, stand upon the roaring waves,
                Stretching her mighty spear o'er distant lands;
                While, with her eagle wings, she covereth
                Fair Albion's shore, and all her families.'




                     O synov'ya troyanskih beglecov,
                     Ot vashih golosov gromopodobnyh
                     Na gall'skom nebe oblaka sgustilis'
                     I v sumrake uzhasnogo zatmen'ya
                     YAvilsya alyj disk, predvestnik bur',
                     CHrevatyh pogrebeniem narodov.

                     Iz Iliona vyshli vashi predki
                     (Oni, kak l'vy peshcher, na svet rychali,
                     Metali vzory molniyam navstrechu,
                     I grecheskaya krov' igrala v zhilah)
                     V tyazhelyh shlemah, v boevyh dospehah,
                     Na utlyh korablyah, razbityh vetrom.

                     Oni brosali yakorya u skal,
                     I celovali bereg Al'biona,
                     I prichitali: "Mater'yu nam bud',
                     Vskormi, vspoi nas i primi ostanki,
                     I stan' grobnicej sokrushennoj Troi,
                     I daj v nasledstvo goroda i trony".
                     Oni pustilis' vplav' ot korablej.
                     Togda so storony donessya shum:
                     CHudovishchnye deti okeana
                     Neslis' navstrechu ot peshcher i skal,
                     Reveli, slovno l'vy, - no vdrug zastyli,
                     Kak les gustoj, gotovyj k toporu.
                     V dospehah mednyh v bitvu shli otcy.
                     CHudovishcha rvanulis' naprolom,
                     Kak plamya, provozhaemoe vetrom,
                     Kak molnii, rozhdennye razdorom,
                     Kak nispaden'e raskalennyh zvezd
                     Na ledyanuyu penu okeana.

                     I ruhnuli derev'ya s ploskogor'ya,
                     I kapli krovi drognuli na list'yah.
                     O, skol'ko bur' im otrazit' prishlos'!
                     I vashi predki hmuro sozercali
                     Velich'e smerti, muki velikanov,
                     Ispug v glazah, smertel'nyj vzlet brovej.

                     I vyshel Brut. Otcy, emu vnimaya,
                     Na bregah melanholii sideli.
                     I molvil Brut: "Neprochnaya volna,
                     Volna vremen igraet nado mnoj,
                     No s budushchim sotrudnichaet serdce:
                     Moim synam pokorno budet more.

                     Oni protyanut moshchnye kryla
                     S vostoka na zakat i budut zhit',
                     Ne zhaluyas' i zhalobam ne vnemlya.
                     Oni potomkam schast'e prinesut:
                     Zdes' vstanut goroda, i vetvi yablon'
                     Nadlomyatsya pod tyazhest'yu plodov.

                     I yunoshi podnimutsya na tronah,
                     I kazhdyj obvenchaetsya s lyubimoj.
                     Oni prosnutsya pod bryacan'e kopij,
                     Pobednyj marsh im budet kolybel'noj,
                     Oni postroyat zamki na vershinah
                     I docherej oruzh'em ogradyat.

                     I na sedye gory Al'biona
                     Pridet goluboglazaya svoboda,
                     Vozvyshennaya, vstanet nad volnami,
                     I moshchnoe kop'e napravit vdal',
                     I kryl'yami ogromnymi nakroet
                     I poddannyh svoih, i etu zemlyu".

                     Perevod A. SHarapovoj






                     11. To be or not to be
                         Of great capacity,
                         Like Sir Isaac Newton,
                         Or Locke, or Doctor South,
                         Or Sherlock upon Death -
                         I'd rather be Sutton!

                         For he did build a house
                         For aged men and youth,
                         With walls of brick and stone;
                         He furnish'd it within
                         With whatever he could win,
                         And all his own.

                         He drew out of the Stocks
                         His money in a box,
                         And sent his servant
                         To Green the Bricklayer,
                         And to the Carpenter;
                         He was so fervent.

                         The chimneys were threescore,
                         The windows many more;
                         And, for convenience,
                         He sinks and gutters made,
                         And all the way he pav'd
                         To hinder pestilence.

                         Was not this a good man -
                         Whose life was but a span,
                         Whose name was Sutton -
                         As Locke, or Doctor South,
                         Or Sherlock upon Death,
                         Or Sir Isaac Newton?






                     11. Byt' il' ne byt', vot v chem
                         Vopros, takim sychom,
                         Kak ser Jsaak N'yuton?
                         Kak doktor Sout? Kak Lokk?
                         Kak vral' i demagog?
                         - No mne milee Satton!

                         Postroil Satton dom
                         Bolezn'yu i trudom
                         Izmuchennym sozdan'yam,
                         Poetomu vozdam
                         Ego blagim trudam,
                         Ego svyatym staran'yam.

                         Plyuya na pustomel',
                         On vyvernul koshel',
                         Reshiv ne poskupit'sya,
                         CHtob druzhnaya artel'
                         V zharishchu i v metel'
                         Znaj stroila bol'nicu.

                         Tam tridcat' shest' palat,
                         A okon tam - trikrat;
                         No vse eshche zvenelo
                         V ego kazne - i vot
                         Otvod dlya nechistot
                         On vozdvigaet smelo!

                         CHto zh, razve on ne mil?
                         I razve ne zatmil
                         Vas, doktor Sout, vas, Lokk,
                         Vas, vral' i demagog, -
                         Blagotvoritel' Satton?

                         Perevod V. L. Toporova




                   12. Leave, O leave me to my sorrows;
                       Here I'll sit and fade away,
                       Till I'm nothing but a spirit,
                       And I lose this form of clay.

                       Then if chance along this forest
                       Any walk in pathless way,
                       Thro' the gloom he'll see my shadow
                       Hear my voice upon the breeze.



                    12. Predostav' menya pechali!
                        YA, istayav, ne umru.
                        Stanu duhom ya - i tol'ko! -
                        Hot' mne plot' i po nutru.

                        Bez dorog bluzhdaya, kto-to
                        Zdes', v lesah, povityh t'moj,
                        Ten' moyu primetit noch'yu
                        I uslyshit golos moj.

                        Perevod V. A. Potapovoj



             Shewing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul





                       Piping down the valleys wild,
                       Piping songs of pleasant glee,
                       On a cloud I saw a child,
                       And he laughing said to me:

                       'Pipe a song about a Lamb!'
                       So I piped with merry cheer.
                       'Piper, pipe that song again;'
                       So I piped: he wept to hear.

                       'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
                       Sing thy songs of happy cheer:'
                       So I sang the same again,
                       While he wept with joy to hear.

                       'Piper, sit thee down and write
                       In a book, that all may read.'
                       So he vanish'd from my sight,
                       And I pluck'd a hollow reed,

                       And I made a rural pen,
                       And I stain'd the water clear,
                       And I wrote my happy songs
                       Every child may joy to hear.



                 pokazyvayushchie dva protivopolozhnyh sostoyaniya
                             chelovecheskoj dushi





                          Dul ya v zvonkuyu svirel'.
                          Vdrug na tuchke v vyshine
                          YA uvidel kolybel',
                          I ditya skazalo mne:

                          - Milyj putnik, ne speshi.
                          Mozhesh' pesnyu mne sygrat'? -
                          YA sygral ot vsej dushi,
                          A potom sygral opyat'.

                          - Kin' schastlivyj svoj trostnik.
                          Tu zhe pesnyu sam propoj! -
                          Molvil mal'chik i ponik
                          Belokuroj golovoj.

                          - Zapishi dlya vseh, pevec,
                          To, chto pel ty dlya menya! -
                          Kriknul mal'chik nakonec
                          I rastayal v bleske dnya.

                          YA pero iz trostnika
                          V to zhe utro smasteril,
                          Vzyal vody iz rodnika
                          I zemleyu zamutil.

                          I, raskryv svoyu tetrad',
                          Sel pisat' ya dlya togo,
                          CHtoby detyam peredat'
                          Radost' serdca moego!

                          Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                   How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
                   From the morn to the evening he strays;
                   He shall follow his sheep all the day,
                   And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

                   For he hears the lamb's innocent call,
                   And he hears the ewe's tender reply;
                   He is watchful while they are in peace,
                   For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.




                       Kak zaviden udel tvoj, pastuh.
                       Ty vstaesh', kogda solnce vstaet,
                       Gonish' krotkoe stado na lug,
                       I svirel' tvoya slavu poet.

                       Zov yagnyat, materej ih otvet
                       Letnim utrom laskayut tvoj sluh.
                       Stado znaet: opasnosti net,
                       Ibo s nim ego chutkij pastuh.

                       Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                         The Sun does arise,
                         And make happy the skies;
                         The merry bells ring
                         To welcome the Spring;
                         The skylark and thrush,
                         The birds of the bush,
                         Sing louder around
                         To the bells' cheerful sound,
                         While our sports shall be seen
                         On the Echoing Green.

                         Old John, with white hair,
                         Does laugh away care,
                         Sitting under the oak,
                         Among the old folk.
                         They laugh at our play,
                         And soon they all say:
                         'Such, such were the joys
                         When we all, girls and boys,
                         In our youth time were seen
                         On the Echoing Green.'

                         Till the little ones, weary,
                         No more can be merry;
                         The sun does descend,
                         And our sports have an end.
                         Round the laps of their mothers
                         Many sisters and brothers,
                         Like birds in their nest,
                         Are ready for rest,
                         And sport no more seen
                         On the darkening Green.




                             CHu! solnce vstaet,
                             I chist nebosvod.
                             CHu! kolokola -
                             Vesna k nam prishla.
                             CHu! strizh i snegir',
                             Vesennij psaltyr'.
                             CHu! pesni i zvon
                             Drug druzhke vdogon.
                             Razdvinem listvu
                             S zelenym au!

                             Vot gladkij penek,
                             Sidit starichok.
                             Vot ryadom drugoj.
                             Vesennij pokoj.
                             Vot, glyadya na nas,
                             On nachal rasskaz:
                             "Vot tak-to i my
                             Plyasali do t'my.
                             Kidalis' v listvu
                             S zelenym au".

                             No mal'chik ustal,
                             Ot starshih otstal.
                             A iz-za vetvej
                             Svet solnca slabej.
                             |j, brat i sestra,
                             Domoj vam pora!

                             |j, kroshka-ptenec,
                             Usni nakonec!
                             Pokinem listvu
                             S zelenym au.

                             Perevod V. L. Toporova




                            Little Lamb, who made thee?
                            Dost thou know who made thee?
                       Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
                       By the stream and o'er the mead;
                       Gave thee clothing of delight,
                       Softest clothing, woolly, bright,
                       Gave thee such a tender voice,
                       Making all the vales rejoice?
                            Little Lamb, who made thee?
                            Dost thou know who made thee?

                            Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
                            Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:
                       He is called by thy name,
                       For He calls Himself a Lamb.
                       He is meek, and He is mild;
                       He became a little child.
                       I a child, and thou a lamb,
                       We are called by His name.
                            Little Lamb, God bless thee!
                            Little Lamb, God bless thee!




                               Milyj! ch'ej rukoj
                               Sdelan ty - takoj?
                          Kto na svet tebya poslal,
                          Kto travu tebe postlal,
                          Kto privel tebya k ruch'yu,
                          SHerstku vydumal tvoyu,
                          Bleyat' kto tebe velel
                          Tak, chtob vsyak poveselel?
                               Milyj! ch'ej rukoj
                               Sdelan ty - takoj?

                               Slushaj i vnimaj!
                               Slushaj i vnimaj!
                          Tvoj sozdatel' - tezka tvoj,
                          Ibo Agnec on Svyatoj;
                          Krotok on i nezhen on,
                          On Dityatej narechen;
                          Ty yagnenok, ya ditya,
                          On takov, kak ty i ya.
                               Tvoj Tvorec - Gospod'!
                               Tvoj Tvorec - Gospod'!

                          Perevod V. L. Toporova




                  My mother bore me in the southern wild,
                  And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
                  White as an angel is the English child,
                  But I am black, as if bereav'd of light.

                  My mother taught me underneath a tree,
                  And, sitting down before the heat of day,
                  She took me on her lap and kissed me,
                  And, pointing to the east, began to say:

                  'Look on the rising sun,-there God does live,
                  And gives His light, and gives His heat away;
                  And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
                  Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.

                  'And we are put on earth a little space,
                  That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
                  And these black bodies and the sunburnt face
                  Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

                  'For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
                  The cloud will vanish; we shall hear His voice,
                  Saying: "Come out from the grove, My love and care,
                  And round My golden tent like lambs rejoice."'

                  Thus did my mother say, and kissed me;
                  And thus I say to little English boy.
                  When I from black and he from white cloud free,
                  And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,

                  I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear
                  To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
                  And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
                  And be like him, and he will then love me.




                    Tam, gde rozhden ya, - solnce i pesok,
                    I cheren ya, odna dusha bela.
                    Anglijskij mal'chik - belyj angelok,
                    A negrityanskij - chernaya smola.

                    Mat' pryatala menya v teni derev
                    Ot znoya, nastupayushchego dnem,
                    I, k nebu ruku chernuyu vozdev,
                    S lyubov'yu govorila mne o nem:

                    - Na nebe solnce, a na solnce Bog,
                    On darit svet, on darit svet i ten',
                    CHtob kazhdyj chelovek, zverek, listok
                    Hvalil rassvet i slavil yasnyj den'.

                    Luchi lyubvi nebesnoj goryachi,
                    I zhar lyubvi my vyterpet' dolzhny;
                    Sgoreli b my, Gospod' ne oblachi
                    Nas v chernye sploshnye peleny.

                    Dusha ne znaet etoj chernoty
                    I belosnezhnoj vyjdet iz pelen,
                    Kogda razdastsya Golos s vysoty
                    I prizovet yagnyat na nebosklon.

                    Tak mat' mne govorila v toj strane,
                    Tak, belyj mal'chik, ya skazhu tebe:
                    - Ty v beloj, sam ya - v chernoj pelene,
                    No nas, yagnyat, zovet Gospod' k sebe;

                    YA pomogu tebe snesti zharu
                    Na solnechnoj doroge v nebesa,
                    I vyjdem, brat'ya, k bozh'emu shatru,
                    I ya tvoi poglazhu volosa.

                    Perevod V. L. Toporova




                           Merry, merry sparrow!
                           Under leaves so green,
                           A happy blossom
                           Sees you, swift as arrow,
                           Seek your cradle narrow
                           Near my bosom.

                           Pretty, pretty robin!
                           Under leaves so green,
                           A happy blossom
                           Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
                           Pretty, pretty robin,
                           Near my bosom.




                           Strizh! Cvety prozreli.
                           Vidit nas cvetok.
                           Tak leti zhe
                           Ty, strela bez celi,
                           K tesnoj kolybeli,
                           K serdcu blizhe.

                           Milaya kasatka!
                           Slyshit nas cvetok.
                           Tak leti zhe
                           Plakat' sladko-sladko,
                           Milaya kasatka,
                           K serdcu blizhe.

                           Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha




                When my mother died I was very young,
                And my father sold me while yet my tongue
                Could scarcely cry "weep! 'weep! 'weep!'
                So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

                There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
                That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shav'd: so I said
                'Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare
                You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.'

                And so he was quiet, and that very night,
                As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!-
                That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
                Were all of them lock'd up in coffitfs of black.

                And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
                And he open'd the coffins and set them all free;
                Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
                And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.

                Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,
                They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;
                And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
                He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.

                And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,
                And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
                Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm;
                So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.



                    Mat' ostavila rano menya sirotoj,
                    A otec, udruchennyj svoej nishchetoj,
                    Kroshku-syna, kotoryj edva lepetal,
                    K trubochistam chumazym v uchen'e poslal.

                    Ne vylazhu iz sazhi - uzh tak povelos'.
                    Toma nagolo brili. Oral on. "Da bros', -
                    YA skazal, - ty kudryavej yagnenka, a tot
                    Nikogda ne prolez by, kak my, v dymohod".

                    Perestal on, bednyaga, krichat', da potom
                    Son dikovinno-strannyj uvidel nash Tom:
                    Budto tyshchi chumazyh - Dik, Dzho, Ned i Dzhek -
                    V chernyj grob zakolocheny kem-to navek.

                    No prihodit k nim angel s volshebnym klyuchom,
                    I vyhodyat na volyu Dik, Dzho, Ned i Tom,
                    Nu a tam uzh - i radost', i pesni, i smeh,
                    I vesennee solnce, i rechka dlya vseh.

                    Iskupalis', otmyli ot sazhi boka
                    I vbezhali stremglav nagishom v oblaka.
                    Angel Tomu skazal: "Nuzhno byt' molodcom,
                    I poslushnomu synu Bog budet otcom".

                    Tut - opyat' podnimat'sya i kopot' skresti,
                    I tyazheluyu sazhu v vederkah nesti.
                    Tom - userdnej drugih, hot' nakazchik umolk.
                    Plakat' nechego, kol' vypolnyaesh' svoj dolg.

                    Perevod V. L. Toporova




                   'Father! father! where are you going?
                   O do not walk so fast.
                   Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
                   Or else I shall be lost.'

                   The night was dark, no father was there;
                   The child was wet with dew;
                   The mire was deep, and, the child did weep,
                   And away the vapour flew.



                         "Otec, otec! kuda speshish'?
                         Pomedlennej idi.
                         Takaya tish', a ty molchish',
                         I temen' vperedi!"

                         I tochno: t'ma so vseh storon,
                         Bolotnaya rosa.
                         Naprasno on vzyval, smushchen,
                         Lish' par vokrug vilsya.

                         Perevod V. L. Toporova




                   The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
                   Led by the wand'ring light,
                   Began to cry; but God, ever nigh,
                   Appear'd like his father, in white.

                   He kissed the child, and by the hand led,
                   And to his mother brought,
                   Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale,
                   Her little boy weeping sought.



                       V tryasinu mal'chik ugodil,
                       Kruzha za svetlyakom;
                       On zakrichal - no tut predstal
                       Gospod': rodnym otcom.

                       Najdenysha on prilaskal
                       I k materi otnes,
                       Bluzhdavshej s krikom v lesu velikom,
                       Ohripshej ot dolgih slez.

                       Perevod V. L. Toporova




             When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
             And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
             When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
             And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

             When the meadows laugh with lively green,
             And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene,
             When Mary and Susan and Emily
             With their sweet round mouths sing 'Ha, Ha, He!'

             When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
             Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread,
             Come live, and be merry, and join with me,
             To sing the sweet chorus of 'Ha, Ha, He!'



                   V chas, kogda listva shelestit, smeyas',
                   I smeetsya klyuch, mezh kamnej zmeyas',
                   I smeemsya, dal' vzbudorazhiv, my,
                   I so smehom shlyut nam otvet holmy,

                   I smeetsya rozh' i hmel'noj yachmen',
                   I kuznechik rad hohotat' ves' den',
                   I vdali zvenit, slovno gomon ptic,
                   "Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha!" - zvonkij smeh devic,

                   A v teni vetvej stol nakryt dlya vseh,
                   I, smeyas', treshchit mezh zubov oreh, -
                   V etot chas pridi, ne boyas' greha,
                   Posmeyat'sya vslast': "Ho-ho-ho! Ha-ha!"

                   Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                       Sweet dreams, form a shade
                       O'er my lovely infant's head;
                       Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
                       By happy, silent, moony beams.

                       Sweet sleep, with soft down
                       Weave thy brows an infant crown.
                       Sweet sleep, Angel mild,
                       Hover o'er my happy child.

                       Sweet smiles, in the night
                       Hover over my delight;
                       Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
                       All the livelong night beguiles.


                       Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
                       Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
                       Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
                       All the dovelike moans beguiles.

                       Sleep, sleep, happy child,
                       All creation slept and smil'd;
                       Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
                       While o'er thee thy mother weep.

                       Sweet babe, in thy face
                       Holy image I can trace.
                       Sweet babe, once like thee,
                       Thy Maker lay and wept for me,

                       Wept for me, for thee, for all,
                       When He was an infant small.
                       Thou His image ever see,
                       Heavenly face that smiles on thee,

                       Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
                       Who became an infant small.
                       Infant smiles are His own smiles;
                       Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.



                         Sladost' snov, sojdi, kak ten',
                         Son, ditya moe oden'.
                         Sny, sojdite, kak ruchej
                         Lunnyh laskovyh luchej.

                         Sladkij son, kak nezhnyj puh,
                         Ubayukaj detskij sluh.
                         Angel krotkij, sladkij son,
                         Obstupi so vseh storon.

                         Smeh, sverkaj vo t'me nochej
                         Nad otradoyu moej.
                         Bud' s nim luchshej iz uteh,
                         Materinskij nezhnyj smeh.

                         Kazhdoj zhalobe shepni:
                         "Zadremli i otdohni".
                         Kazhdoj zhalobe skazhi:
                         "Kryl'ya legkie slozhi".

                         Spi, ditya, schastlivym snom,
                         Celyj mir usnul krugom.
                         Spi zhe, spi, rodimyj moj,
                         YA poplachu nad toboj.

                         Predo mnoj svyashchennyj lik
                         Na tvoem lice voznik,
                         Tvoj Sozdatel' zdes', vo sne,
                         Gor'ko plakal obo mne.

                         Kak nevinnoe ditya,
                         Plakal, glazkami blestya,
                         O tebe i obo vseh,
                         I slezami smyl nash greh.

                         I teper' glyadit, lyubya,
                         On s ulybkoj na tebya,
                         V snah rebenka spit on sam.
                         Mir zemle i nebesam.

                         Perevod K. D. Bal'monta




                      To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
                      All pray in their distress;
                      And to these virtues of delight
                      Return their thankfulness.

                      For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
                      Is God, our Father dear,
                      And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
                      Is man, His child and care.

                      For Mercy has a human heart,
                      Pity a human face,
                      And Love, the human form divine,
                      And Peace, the human dress.

                      Then every man, of every clime,
                      That prays in his distress,
                      Prays to the human form divine,
                      Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

                      And all must love the human form,
                      In heathen, Turk, or Jew;
                      Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
                      There God is dwelling too.



                       Dobro, Smiren'e, Mir, Lyubov' -
                       Vot perechen' shchedrot,
                       Kotoryh kazhdyj chelovek,
                       Molya i placha, zhdet.

                       Dobro, Smiren'e, Mir, Lyubov'
                       Poznal v sebe Tvorec,
                       Dobro, Smiren'e, Mir, Lyubov'
                       Vlozhil v detej Otec.

                       I nashe serdce u Dobra,
                       I nash - Smiren'ya vzglyad,
                       I v nashem obraze - Lyubov',
                       Mir - nash natel'nyj plat.

                       Lyuboj iz nas, v lyuboj strane,
                       Zovet, yavyas' na svet,
                       Dobro, Smiren'e, Mir, Lyubov' -
                       Inoj molitvy net.

                       I nehrist' - tozhe chelovek,
                       I v tom lyubvi zalog:
                       Gde Mir, Smiren'e i Lyubov', -
                       Tam, vedomo, sam Bog.

                       Perevod V. L. Toporova




        'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
        The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green,
        Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands as white as snow,
        Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow.

        O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London town!
        Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own.
        The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
        Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.

        Now like a mighty wind they raise to Heaven the voice of song,
        Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among.
        Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor;
        Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.



               Oni prohodyat po dva v ryad - sama Nevinnost' s nimi!
               Oni idut, laskaya vzglyad odezhkami cvetnymi.
               Sedye starcy vperedi, ch'ya kozha - zhestche pemzy.
               Tolpa vlivaetsya v sobor, kak budto vody Temzy.

               Kakie rossypi cvetov - zelenyj, sinij, krasnyj!
               Otkuda v Anglii oni - v tumannoj i nenastnoj?
               Uslyshish': galkami galdyat, prismotrish'sya: yagnyata;
               Obryad svershaetsya svyatoj, i sami deti svyaty.

               Vot vihrem pen'e podnyalos' i v nebo poletelo.
               Grom chistoglasnyj oglasil cerkovnye pridely.
               I starcy, mudry i shchedry, dushoj vzmyvayut k bogu.
               Dayan'e - blago; ne goni prositelya s poroga.

               Perevod V. L. Toporova




                      The sun descending in the west,
                      The evening star does shine;
                      The birds are silent in their nest,
                      And I must seek for mine.
                      The moon, like a flower,
                      In heaven's high bower,
                      With silent delight
                      Sits and smiles on the night.

                      Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
                      Where flocks have took delight.
                      Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
                      The feet of angels bright;
                      Unseen they pour blessing,
                      And joy without ceasing,
                      On each bud and blossom,
                      And each sleeping bosom.

                      They look in every thoughtless nest,
                      Where birds are cover'd warm;
                      They visit caves of every beast,
                      To keep them all from harm.
                      If they see any weeping
                      That should have been sleeping,
                      They pour sleep on their head,
                      And sit down by their bed.

                      When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
                      They pitying stand and weep;
                      Seeking to drive their thirst away,
                      And keep them from the sheep.
                      But if they rush dreadful,
                      The angels, most heedful,
                      Receive each mild spirit,
                      New worlds to inherit.

                      And there the lion's ruddy eyes
                      Shall flow with tears of gold,
                      And pitying the tender cries,
                      And walking round the fold,
                      Saying 'Wrath, by His meekness,
                      And, by His health, sickness
                      Is driven away
                      From our immortal day.

                      'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
                      I can lie down and sleep;
                      Or think on Him who bore thy name,
                      Graze after thee and weep.
                      For, wash'd in life's river
                      My bright mane for ever
                      Shall shine like the gold
                      As I guard o'er the fold.'



                          Zahodit solnce, i zvezda
                          Siyaet v vyshine.
                          Ne slyshno pesen iz gnezda.
                          Pora usnut' i mne.
                          Luna cvetkom chudesnym
                          V svoem sadu nebesnom
                          Glyadit na mir, odetyj v t'mu,
                          I ulybaetsya emu.

                          Proshchajte, roshchi i polya,
                          Nevinnyh stad priyut.
                          Sejchas, travy ne shevelya,
                          Tam angely idut
                          I l'yut blagosloven'e
                          Na kazhdoe rasten'e,
                          Na pochku, spyashchuyu poka,
                          I chashu kazhdogo cvetka.

                          Oni hranyat pokoj gnezda,
                          Gde spyat ptency vesnoj,
                          I ohranyayut ot vreda
                          Zverej v glushi lesnoj.
                          I esli po doroge
                          Uslyshat shum trevogi,
                          Pechal'nyj vzdoh il' tyazhkij ston,
                          Oni nesut stradal'cam son.

                          A esli volk il' moshchnyj lev
                          Vstrechaetsya v puti,
                          Oni speshat unyat' ih gnev
                          Il' zhertvu ih spasti.
                          No esli zver' k mol'bam ih gluh,
                          Nevinnoj zhertvy krotkij duh
                          Unosyat angely s soboj
                          V drugoe vremya, v mir drugoj.

                          I tam iz krasnyh l'vinyh glaz
                          Prol'yutsya kapli slez,
                          I budet ohranyat' on vas,
                          Stada ovec i koz,
                          I skazhet: "Gnev - lyubov'yu,
                          A nemoshchi - zdorov'em
                          Rasseyany, kak ten',
                          V bessmertnyj etot den'.

                          Teper', yagnenok, ya mogu
                          S toboyu ryadom lech',
                          Pastis' s toboyu na lugu
                          I tvoj pokoj berech'.
                          ZHivoj vodoj omylsya ya,
                          I griva pyshnaya moya,
                          CHto vsem zhivym vnushala strah,
                          Siyaet zolotom v luchah".

                          Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                      Sound the flute!
                      Now it's mute.
                      Birds delight
                      Day and night;
                      Nightingale
                      In the dale,
                      Lark in sky,
                      Merrily,
                 Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.

                      Little boy,
                      Full of joy;
                      Little girl,
                      Sweet and small;
                      Cock does crow,
                      So do you;
                      Merry voice,
                      Infant noise,
                 Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.

                      Little lamb,
                      Here I am;
                      Come and lick
                      My white neck;
                      Let me pull
                      Your soft wool;
                      Let me kiss
                      Your soft face:
                 Merrily, merrily, we welcome in the year.



                            CHu, svirel'!
                            Smolkla trel'...
                            Solovej -
                            Mezh vetvej.
                            ZHavoronok v nebe.
                            Vsyudu ptichij shchebet.
                            Veselo, veselo
                            Vstrechaem my vesnu!

                            Rady vse na svete.
                            Raduyutsya deti.
                            Petuh - na naseste.
                            S nim poem my vmeste.
                            Veselo, veselo
                            Vstrechaem my vesnu!

                            Milyj moj yagnenok,
                            Golosok tvoj tonok.
                            Ty ko mne, druzhok, pril'ni,
                            YAzychkom menya lizni.
                            Daj pogladit', potrepat'
                            SHerstki shelkovuyu pryad'.
                            Daj-ka poceluyu
                            Mordochku smeshnuyu.
                            Veselo, veselo
                            Vstrechaem my vesnu!

                            Perevod S. YA. Marshaka


                              28. NURSE'S SONG

                When the voices of children are heard on the green,
                And laughing is heard on the hill,
                My heart is at rest within my breast,
                And everything else is still.

                'Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
                And the dews of night arise;
                Come, come, leave off play, and let us away
                Till the morning appears in the skies.'

                'No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
                And we cannot go to sleep;
                Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
                And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.'

                'Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,

                And then go home to bed.'
                The little ones leaped and shouted and laugh'ed
                And all the hills echoed.



                     Kogda detvora rezvitsya s utra,
                     Na holmy podnimayas' begom,
                     Spokojno mne v moej tishine,
                     I vse spokojno krugom.

                     "Domoj, detvora, teper' nam pora.
                     Na zakate rosa holodna.
                     Pora, detvora! Domoj do utra!
                     Gulyat' nam nel'zya dotemna".

                     "Net, eshche ne pora! I v razgare igra,
                     I solnce eshche ne zashlo.
                     V nebe mnozhestvo ptah, i stada na holmah.
                     I po-prezhnemu v mire svetlo!"

                     "Horosho, detvora, pravda, spat' vam pora,
                     Ne pomerk eshche radostnyj svet!"
                     Ot holma do holma kriki, smeh, kuter'ma,
                     Tak chto eho smeetsya v otvet.

                     Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha




                          'I have no name:
                          I am but two days old.'
                          What shall I call thee?
                          'I happy am,
                          Joy is my name.'
                          Sweet joy befall thee!

                          Pretty Joy!
                          Sweet Joy, but two days old.
                          Sweet Joy I call thee
                          Thou dost smile,
                          I sing the while,
                          Sweet joy befall thee!



                          - Mne tol'ko dva dnya.
                          Net u menya
                          Poka eshche imeni.
                          - Kak zhe tebya nazovu?
                          - Raduyus' ya, chto zhivu.
                          Radost'yu - tak i zovi menya!

                          Radost' moya -
                          Dvuh tol'ko dnej, -
                          Radost' dana mne sud'boyu.

                          Glyadya na radost' moyu,
                          YA poyu:
                          Radost' da budet s toboyu!

                          Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                       Once a dream did weave a shade
                       O'er my Angel-guarded bed,
                       That an emmet lost its way
                       Where on grass methought I lay.

                       Troubled, 'wilder'd, and forlorn,
                       Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
                       Over many a tangled spray,
                       AH heart-broke I heard her say:

                       'O, my children! do they cry?
                       Do they hear their father sigh?
                       Now they look abroad to see:
                       Now return and weep for me.'

                       Pitying, I dropp'd a tear;
                       But I saw a glow-worm near,
                       Who replied: 'What wailing wight
                       Calls the watchman of the night?

                       'I am set to light the ground,
                       While the beetle goes his round:
                       Follow now the beetle's hum;
                       Little wanderer, hie thee home.'



                          V izgolov'e Angel vstal,
                          A vo sne ya uvidal,
                          CHto lezhu na travke ya
                          I glyazhu na murav'ya.

                          A neschastnyj muravej,
                          Kak v lesu, bredet v trave,
                          ZHalok, mal i odinok.
                          Vot chto, placha, on izrek:

                          "Deti! ishchete l' otca,
                          Oklikaya bez konca?
                          Ah! ostav'te poisk svoj.
                          Siroty, pora domoj!.."

                          YA zaplakal: vot bednyak.
                          Vdrug, smotryu, speshit svetlyak,
                          Molvya: "Hvatit! eto my!
                          Kto trevozhit Strazha t'my?

                          YA Svetlyak, so mnoyu ZHuk,
                          YA esm' svet, a on est' zvuk,
                          Pospeshi na zvuk i svet -
                          Ohranim tebya ot bed!"

                          Perevod V. L. Toporova


                          31. ON ANOTHER'S SORROW

                        Can I see another's woe,
                        And not be in sorrow too?
                        Can I see another's grief,
                        And not seek for kind relief?

                        Can I see a falling tear,
                        And not feel my sorrow's share?
                        Can a father see his child
                        Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?

                        Can a mother sit and hear
                        An infant groan, an infant fear?
                        No, no! never can it be!
                        Never, never can it be!

                        And can He who smiles on all
                        Hear the wren with sorrows small,
                        Hear the small bird's grief and care,
                        Hear the woes that infants bear,

                        And not sit beside the nest,
                        Pouring pity in their breast;
                        And not sit the cradle near,
                        Weeping tear on infant's tear;

                        And not sit both night and day,
                        Wiping all our tears away?
                        O, no! never can it be!
                        Never, never can it be!

                        He doth give His joy to all;
                        He becomes an infant small;
                        He becomes a man of woe;
                        He doth feel the sorrow too.

                        Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
                        And thy Maker is not by;
                        Think not thou canst weep a tear,
                        Arid thy Maker is not near.

                        O! He gives to us His joy
                        That our grief He may destroy;
                        Till our grief is fled and gone
                        He doth sit by us and moan.



                         Razve blizhnih vam ne zhal',
                         Esli ih gnetet pechal'?
                         Znaya blizhnego muchen'ya,
                         Kto ne ishchet oblegchen'ya?

                         Mozhno l', vidya slez ruch'i,
                         Ne pribavit' k nim svoi?
                         I kogo iz vas ne tronet,
                         Esli syn vash tyazhko stonet?

                         I kakaya mozhet mat'
                         Vmeste s kroshkoj ne stradat'?
                         Net, net, nikogda,
                         Ni za chto i nikogda!

                         Kak zhe tot, kto vsem otec,
                         Vidit skorb' tvoyu, ptenec?
                         Kak vsevidyashchij i chutkij
                         Mozhet slyshat' ston malyutki

                         I ne byt' vblizi gnezda,
                         Gde trevoga i nuzhda,
                         I ne byt' u toj krovatki,
                         Gde rebenok v lihoradke?

                         Ne sidet' s nim den' i noch'.
                         Ne davaya iznemoch'?
                         Net, net, nikogda,
                         Ni za chto i nikogda!

                         On daet otradu nam,
                         On mladencem byl i sam,
                         Sam izvedal on pechal',
                         I emu stradal'cev zhal'.

                         Razve slabyj detskij ston
                         S vysoty ne slyshit on?
                         Razve kazhdyj vzdoh lyudskoj
                         Ne vstrechaet on s toskoj?

                         On stremitsya nam pomoch'.
                         Nashi skorbi gonit proch',
                         A poka ih ne progonit,
                         On i sam ot skorbi stonet.

                         Perevod S. YA. Marshaka






                    Hear the voice of the Bard!
                    Who present, past, and future, sees;
                    Whose ears have heard
                    The Holy Word
                    That walk'd among the ancient trees,

                    Calling the lapsed soul,
                    And weeping in the evening dew;
                    That might control
                    The starry pole,
                    And fallen, fallen light renew!

                    'O Earth, O Earth, return!
                    Arise from out the dewy grass;
                    Night is worn,
                    And the morn
                    Rises from the slumberous mass.

                    'Turn away no more;
                    Why wilt thou turn away.
                    Die starry floor,
                    The wat'ry shore,
                    Is giv'n thee till the break of day.'





                          Slushajte golos Pevca!
                          Pesnya ego razbudit
                          Vashi serdca
                          Slovom Tvorca -
                          Slovo bylo, i est', i budet.

                          Zabludshie dushi Ono zovet,
                          Vopiya nad rosoj vechernej,
                          A chern nebosvod -
                          Vnov' zvezdy zazhzhet,
                          Mir vyrvet iz t'my dochernej!

                          "Vernis', o Zemlya Svetla,
                          Mrak otryahaya rosnyj!
                          Noch' dryahla,
                          Rassvetnaya mgla
                          Brezzhit v tryasine kosnoj.

                          Ne ischezaj nikogda!
                          CHto tebe zdes' nejmetsya?
                          V nebe zvezda,
                          V more voda -
                          Malo l' chego najdetsya".

                          Perevod V. L. Toporova


                             33. EARTH'S ANSWER

                     Earth rais'd up her head
                     From the darkness dread and drear.
                     Her light fled,
                     Stony dread!
                     And her locks cover'd with grey despair.

                     'Prison'd on wat'ry shore,
                     Starry Jealousy does keep my den:
                     Cold and hoar,
                     Weeping o'er,
                     I hear the Father of the Ancient Men.

                     'Selfish Father of Men!
                     Cruel, jealous, selfish Fear!
                     Can delight,
                     Chain'd in night,
                     The virgins of youth and morning bear?

                     'Does spring hide its joy
                     When buds and blossoms grow?
                     Does the sower
                     Sow by night,
                     Or the ploughman in darkness plough?

                     'Break this heavy chain
                     That does freeze my bones around.
                     Selfish! vain!
                     Eternal bane!
                     That free Love with bondage bound.'



                          No tyazhelo vo mrak
                          Smotrit Zemlya slepaya
                          Svet issyak!
                          Kamen' i prah!
                          V gore sklonilas' glava sedaya.

                          "More menya sdavilo.
                          Zavist' zvezd izvela,
                          Kak mogila,
                          Mne telo izryla
                          YArost' Otca Mirovogo Zla.

                          Nizkij sebyalyubec Tvorec!
                          Zlobnyj zavistnik Strah!
                          Utru obeshchannaya,
                          Obescheshchena,
                          Stonet na dybe Nevinnost' v cepyah!

                          Veshnemu vetru nel'zya ne veyat',
                          Pochkam - ne nabuhat'.
                          Mozhet li seyatel'
                          Noch'yu seyat',
                          Pahar' - vo t'me pahat'?

                          Holod zvezdnyh okov ledyanoj
                          Kosti moi pronzil.
                          Strashnyj! zloj!
                          Lyubuyas' soboj,
                          Radost' i rabstvo ty slil".

                          Perevod V. L. Toporova




                    'Love seeketh not itself to please,
                    Nor for itself hath any care,
                    But for another gives its ease,
                    And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.'

                    So sung a little Clod of Clay,
                    Trodden with the cattle's feet,
                    But a Pebble of the brook
                    Warbled out these metres meet:

                    'Love seeketh only Self to please,
                    To bind another to its delight,
                    Joys in another's loss of ease,
                    And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.'



                         - Ne sebyalyubica Lyubov':
                         Gotova preterpet' bedu,
                         Prolit' slezu, poroyu krov'...
                         S lyubov'yu schast'e - i v adu! -

                         Tak pel bespechnyj Kom Zemli.
                         Vdrug - Loshad'. I kopytom - trah!
                         I Kamen', pritayas' v pyli,
                         Peredraznil v takih stihah:

                         - Net, sebyalyubica Lyubov':
                         Gotovit vsem bedu svoyu -
                         Te slezy l'yut, poroyu - krov':
                         S lyubov'yu - gore i v rayu!

                         Perevod V. L. Toporova




                        Is this a holy thing to see
                        In a rich and fruitful land,
                        Babes reduc'd to misery,
                        Fed with cold and usurious hand?

                        Is that trembling cry a song?
                        Can it be a song of joy?
                        And so many children poor?
                        It is a land of poverty!

                        And their sun does never shine,
                        And their fields are bleak and bare,
                        And their ways are fill'd with thorns:
                        It is eternal winter there.

                        For where'er the sun does shine,
                        And where'er the rain does fall,
                        Babe can never hunger there,
                        Nor poverty the mind appal.



                         Svyatost' - eto ne pro vas.
                         Vasha milostynya - sram.
                         Vzglyad golodnyh detskih glaz
                         Prigovor vynosit vam.

                         Ili plach zvenit, kak pesn'?
                         Ili plachut ne vser'ez?
                         Ili bednost', kak bolezn', -
                         Prohodyashchaya ot slez?

                         CHto za nishchaya strana!
                         Kruglyj god stoit zima,
                         Celyj den' - nochnaya t'ma,
                         Niva toshchaya cherna.

                         Ibo solncem i dozhdem
                         Tot lish' kraj odaren, gde
                         Detyam golod neznakom
                         I - net nuzhdy v nizkoj mzde.

                         Perevod V. L. Toporova




                           In futurity
                           I prophetic see
                           That the earth from sleep
                           (Grave the sentence deep)

                           Shall arise and seek
                           For her Maker meek;
                           And the desert wild
                           Become a garden mild.

                           In the southern clime,
                           Where the summer's prime
                           Never fades away,
                           Lovely Lyca lay.

                           Seven summers old
                           Lovely Lyca told;
                           She had wander'd long
                           Hearing wild birds' song.

                           'Sweet sleep, come to me
                           Underneath this tree.
                           Do father, mother, weep?
                           Where can Lyca sleep?

                           'Lost in desert wild
                           Is your little child.
                           How can Lyca sleep
                           If her mother weep?

                           'If her heart does ache
                           Then let Lyca wake;
                           If my mother sleep,
                           Lyca shall not weep.

                           'Frowning, frowning night,
                           O'er this desert bright,
                           Let thy moon arise
                           While I close my eyes.'

                           Sleeping Lyca lay
                           While the beasts of prey,
                           Come from caverns deep,
                           View'd the maid asleep.

                           The kingly lion stood,
                           And the virgin view'd,
                           Then he gamboll'd round
                           O'er the hallow'd ground.

                           Leopards, tigers, play
                           Round her as she lay,
                           While the lion old
                           Bow'd his mane of gold

                           And her bosom lick,
                           And upon her neck
                           From his eyes of flame
                           Ruby tears there came;

                           While the lioness
                           Loos'd her slender dress,
                           And naked they convey'd
                           To caves the sleeping maid.



                             Dnes' provizhu ya:
                             Son stryahnet zemlya
                             (V glubine dushi
                             |to zapishi),

                             CHtoby nakonec
                             Najden byl Tvorec
                             I v pustyne sad
                             Posle vseh utrat.

                             V dal'nej toj strane,
                             Gde net konca vesne,
                             Devochka lezhit
                             Let semi na vid.

                             Lika dolgo shla.
                             Pticam net chisla.
                             Golosa v glushi
                             Divno horoshi.

                             "Slyshu v tishine:
                             Plachut obo mne
                             I otec i mat'.
                             Kak mne zadremat'?

                             Nastupila noch'.
                             V pustyne vasha doch'.
                             Razve mozhno spat',
                             Esli plachet mat'?

                             Like ne do sna,
                             Esli mat' grustna.
                             Esli dremlet mat',
                             Mozhno mne pospat'.

                             Sumrachnaya noch'!
                             Like spat' nevmoch'.
                             Glyadya na lunu,
                             YA glaza somknu".

                             K nej prihodit son,
                             I so vseh storon
                             Sobralos' nad nej
                             Mnozhestvo zverej.

                             Staryj plyashet lev,
                             Liku razglyadev,
                             Les likuet ves':
                             Mesto svyato zdes'.

                             I vokrug nee
                             Krotkoe zver'e,
                             Tak chto lev-starik
                             Pered nej ponik.

                             On lizal ee,
                             On lobzal ee.
                             Alaya sleza
                             Zveryu zhzhet glaza.

                             V umilen'e lev.
                             Devochku razdev,
                             L'vica v temnyj grot
                             Spyashchuyu beret.

                             Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha



                         All the night in woe
                         Lyca's parents go
                         Over valleys deep,
                         While the deserts weep.

                         Tired and woe-begone,
                         Hoarse with making moan,
                         Arm in arm seven days
                         They trac'd the desert ways.

                         Seven nights they sleep
                         Among shadows deep,
                         And dream they see their child
                         Starv'd in desert wild.

                         Pale, thro' pathless ways
                         The fancied image strays
                         Famish'd, weeping, weak.
                         With hollow piteous shriek.

                         Rising from unrest,
                         The trembling woman prest
                         With feet of weary woe:
                         She could no further go.

                         In his arms he bore
                         Her, arm'd with sorrow sore;
                         Till before their way
                         A couching lion lay.

                         Turning back was vain:
                         Soon his heavy mane
                         Bore them to the ground.
                         Then he stalk'd around,

                         Smelling to his prey;
                         But their fears allay
                         When he licks their hands,
                         And silent by them stands.

                         They look upon his eyes
                         Fill'd with deep surprise;
                         And wondering behold
                         A spirit arm'd in gold.

                         On his head a crown;
                         On his shoulders down
                         Flow'd his golden hair.
                         Gone was all their care.

                         'Follow me,' he said;
                         'Weep not for the maid;
                         In my palace deep
                         Lyca lies asleep.'

                         Then they followed
                         Where the vision led,
                         And saw their sleeping child
                         Among tigers wild.

                         To this day they dwell
                         In a lonely dell;
                         Nor fear the wolfish howl
                         Nor the lions' growl.



                             I otec i mat'
                             Vyshli doch' iskat'.
                             V dolah ni dushi.
                             Rydaniya v glushi.

                             Ishchut naugad,
                             Plachut i krichat.
                             Sem' pechal'nyh dnej
                             Oni v razluke s nej.

                             Sem' nochej podryad
                             Vo t'me pustynnoj spyat.
                             V teh mestah gluhih
                             Son morochit ih.

                             Budto slabyj krik
                             V dushu k nim pronik.
                             Lika golodna,
                             Izmuchena, bledna.

                             Istomilas' mat'
                             I ne v silah vstat'.
                             Muzh pomog zhene
                             V bezlyudnoj toj strane.

                             Nemoshchnuyu nes,
                             Oslabev ot slez,
                             SHel edva-edva.
                             Vdrug on vidit l'va.

                             Grivoj lev tryaset.
                             Slabyh kto spaset?
                             Pered groznym l'vom
                             Padayut nichkom.

                             Zver' obnyuhal ih
                             I, vzdohnuv, pritih.
                             Net, ne rasterzal, -
                             Ruki oblizal.

                             Podnyali glaza.
                             Minula groza.
                             Duh glazam predstal,
                             Zolotom blistal.

                             V zolotoj brone,
                             Slovno ves' v ogne.
                             Volosy do plech.
                             Carstvennaya rech':

                             - Sledujte za mnoj
                             V moj chertog zemnoj.
                             Lika vasha v nem
                             Spit glubokim snom.

                             V zapovednyj grot
                             Videnie vedet.
                             Spat' sredi zverej
                             Devochke teplej.

                             Tam zhivut oni
                             Do sih por odni,
                             Ne strashas' volkov
                             I svirepyh l'vov.

                             Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha



                  A little black thing among the snow,
                  Crying ' 'weep! 'weep!' in notes of woe!
                  'Where are thy father and mother, say?' -
                  'They are both gone up to the Church to pray.

                  'Because I was happy upon the heath,
                  And smil'd among the winter's snow,
                  They clothed me in the clothes of death,
                  And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

                  'And because I am happy and dance and sing,
                  They think they have done me no injury,
                  And are gone to praise God and His Priest and King,
                  Who make up a Heaven of our misery.'



                      Malysh chumazyj, - v metel', v moroz, -
                      Na grebne kryshi oslep ot slez.
                      - Kuda ushli vy, otec i mat'?
                      - Molit'sya bogu, spasen'ya zhdat'.

                      - Ne unyval ya iyul'skim dnem,
                      Ne goreval ya v metel', v moroz.
                      Mne sshili savan vy, mat' s otcom,
                      Na grebne kryshi, v yudoli slez.

                      Ne unyvayu - plyashu, poyu, -
                      A vy i rady: rabota vprok.
                      Ves' den' na nebe - da ne v rayu.
                      V rayu - svyashchennik, korol' i bog.

                      Perevod V. L. Toporova


                              39. NURSE'S SONG

                When the voices of children are heard on the green
                And whisp'rings are in the dale,
                The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
                My face turns green and pale.

                Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
                And the dews of night arise;
                Your spring and your day are wasted in play,
                And your winter and night in disguise.



                     Kogda detvora rezvitsya s utra
                     I slyshitsya shepot v teni,
                     Kak bol'no mne vspominat' v tishine
                     Moi minuvshie dni!

                     Pora vozvrashchat'sya domoj, detvora!
                     Na zakate rosa holodna.
                     Zatyanulas' igra, i uznat' vam pora,
                     Kak zima ledyanaya temna.

                     Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha




                           O Rose, thou art sick!
                           The invisible worm,
                           That flies in the night,
                           In the howling storm,

                           Has found out thy bed
                           Of crimson joy;
                           And his dark secret love
                           Does thy life destroy.



                           O roza, ty bol'na!
                           Vo mrake nochi burnoj
                           Razvedal cherv' tajnik
                           Lyubvi tvoej purpurnoj.

                           I on tuda pronik,
                           Nezrimyj, nenasytnyj,
                           I zhizn' tvoyu sgubil
                           Svoej lyubov'yu skrytnoj.

                           Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                             Little Fly,
                             Thy summer's play
                             My thoughtless hand
                             Has brush'd away.

                             Am not I
                             A fly like thee?
                             Or art not thou
                             A man like me?

                             For I dance,
                             And drink, and sing,
                             Till some blind hand
                             Shall brush my wing.

                             If thought is life
                             And strength and breath,
                             And the want
                             Of thought is death;

                             Then am I
                             A happy fly,
                             If I live
                             Or if I die.



                               ZHal' motyl'ka!
                               Moya ruka
                               Nashla ego
                               V rayu cvetka.

                               Moj kratok vek.
                               Tvoj kratok srok.
                               Ty chelovek.
                               YA motylek.

                               Porhayu, znaya:
                               Sgrebet, smetet
                               Ruka slepaya
                               I moj polet.

                               No esli myslit'
                               I znachit - byt',
                               A konchiv myslit',
                               Konchaem zhit', -

                               To zhit' zhelayu
                               Moj kratkij srok, -
                               Ves' vek porhaya, -
                               Kak motylek.

                               Perevod V. L. Toporova




                    I dreamt a dream! what can it mean?
                    And that I was a maiden Queen,
                    Guarded by an Angel mild:
                    Witless woe was ne'er beguil'd!

                    And I wept both night and day,
                    And he wip'd my tears away,
                    And I wept both day and night,
                    And hid from him my heart's delight.

                    So he took his wings and fled;
                    Then the morn blush'd rosy red;
                    I dried my tears, and arm'd my fears
                    With ten thousand shields and spears.


                    Soon my Angel came again:
                    I was arm'd, he came in vain;
                    For the time of youth was fled,
                    And grey hairs were on my head.



                     Mne snilsya son - prestrannyj son!
                     Bezmuzhnej ya vzoshla na tron,
                     Lish' krotkij angel byl so mnoj -
                     Bespomoshchnyj zastupnik moj.

                     I den' i noch' moj krik zvuchal,
                     A on mne slezy utiral;
                     O chem - i noch' i den' - moj krik,
                     YA skryla, angel ne postig.

                     On uletel v rassvetnyj chas,
                     I tyshchi kopij i kiras
                     YA vernym strazham razdala,
                     A plakat' - bol'she ne mogla.

                     Vernulsya vskore angel moj -
                     Strah ne puskaet v moj pokoj, -
                     I ne uvidit nikogda,
                     CHto golova moya seda.

                     Perevod V. L. Toporova




                      Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
                      In the forests of the night,
                      What immortal hand or eye
                      Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

                      In what distant deeps or skies
                      Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
                      On what wings dare he aspire?
                      What the hand dare seize the fire?

                      And what shoulder, and what art,
                      Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
                      And when thy heart began to beat,
                      What dread hand? and what dread feet?

                      What the hammer? what the chain?
                      In what furnace was thy brain?
                      What the anvil? what dread grasp
                      Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

                      When the stars threw down their spears,
                      And water'd heaven with their tears,
                      Did he smile his work to see?
                      Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

                      Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
                      In the forests of the night,
                      What immortal hand or eye,
                      Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?



                       Tigr, o tigr! krovavyj spoloh,
                       Bystryj blesk v polnochnyh dolah,
                       Ustrashitel'naya stat',
                       Kto posmel tebya sozdat'?

                       V preispodnej il' v edeme
                       Nekto v carskoj diademe
                       Ogn' v ochah tvoih zazheg?
                       Kak on vyterpel ozhog?

                       Kto kachnul rukoyu vlastnoj
                       Serdca mayatnik uzhasnyj
                       I, uslyshav groznyj stuk,
                       Ne ubral smyatennyh ruk?

                       Kto hrebet krepil i prochil?
                       V kuzne kto tebya vorochal?
                       V ch'ih kleshchah tvoj mozg pylal?
                       CH'eyu zloboj zakipal?

                       A kogda ty v noch' umchalsya,
                       Neuzheli ulybalsya
                       Tvoj sozdatel' - vozlyubya
                       I yagnenka, i - tebya?

                       Tigr, o tigr! krovavyj spoloh,
                       Bystryj blesk v polnochnyh dolah,
                       Ustrashitel'naya stat', -
                       Kto velel tebe vosstat'?

                       Perevod V. L. Toporova




                      A flower was offer'd to me,
                      Such a flower as May never bore;
                      But I said 'I've a pretty Rose-tree,'
                      And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

                      Then I went to my pretty Rose-tree,
                      To tend her by day and by night,
                      But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy,
                      And her thorns were my only delight.



                         YA uvidel cvetok. On, manya,
                         Kak v nevidannom mae, rascvel.
                         "Est' rozovyj kust u menya", -
                         YA podumal i mimo proshel.

                         Den' i noch', ne vedaya sna,
                         YA leleyal by rozu moyu.
                         No revnivo zamknulas' ona -
                         Lish' kolyuchki ee poznayu.

                         Perevod V. L. Toporova




                 45. Ah, Sun-flower! weary of time,
                     Who countest the steps of the sun;
                     Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
                     Where the traveller's journey is done;

                     Where the Youth pined away with desire,
                     And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow,
                     Arise from their graves, and aspire
                     Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.



                     45. Ah! podsolnuh! chto za zhrebij
                         Merit' solnca shag dnevnoj
                         I grustit' o znojnom nebe
                         Nad blazhennoyu stranoj,

                         Gde, bezhav ot l'da i zloby,
                         Otrok s devoyu, chisty,
                         Zryat, pustye kinuv groby,
                         Kraj, kotorym bredish' ty.

                         Perevod V. L. Toporova




                  The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
                  The humble Sheep a threat'ning horn;
                  While the Lily white shall in love delight,
                  Nor a thorn, nor a threat, stain her beauty bright.



                      Terniem kolet Roza, stroga.
                      Ovechka, grozya, podymaet roga.
                      A Lileya, bela, dlya lyubvi rascvela,
                      Ne ugrozoj, ne tern'em - krasotoyu vzyala.

                      Perevod A. V. Parina




                    I went to the Garden of Love,
                    And saw what I never had seen:
                    A Chapel was built in the midst,
                    Where I used to play on the green.

                    And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
                    And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
                    So I turn'd to the Garden of Love
                    That so many sweet flowers bore;

                    And I saw it was filled with graves,
                    And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
                    And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
                    And binding with briars my joys and desires.



                        YA otpravilsya v Sad Lyubvi.
                        YA i ran'she byval tam ne raz.
                        No, pridya, ya ego ne uznal:
                        Tam chasovnya stoyala sejchas.

                        Dver' v chasovnyu byla zaperta.
                        "Bog nakazhet" - prochel ya nad nej.
                        YA prochel, oglyanulsya vokrug:
                        Ne uznal ni derev, ni allej.

                        Tam, gde bylo prostorno cvetam,
                        Tesno zhalis' mogily teper',
                        I svyashchenniki v chernom shli shagom dozornym
                        I puty pechali na lyubov' nalagali.

                        Perevod V. L. Toporova




               Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold,
               But the Ale-house is healthy and pleasant and warm;
               Besides I can tell where I am used well,
               Such usage in Heaven will never do well.

               But if at the Church they would give us some ale,
               And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
               We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day,
               Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.

               Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,
               And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
               And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,
               Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

               And God, like a father, rejoicing to see
               His children as pleasant and happy as He,
               Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
               But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.



                     Ah, mamen'ka, v cerkvi i holod i mrak.
                     Kuda veselej pridorozhnyj kabak.
                     K tomu zhe ty znaesh' povadku moyu -
                     Takomu brodyazhke ne mesto v rayu.

                     Vot ezheli v cerkvi dadut nam vinca
                     Da plamenem zharkim sogreyut serdca,
                     YA budu molit'sya ves' den' i vsyu noch'.
                     Nikto nas iz cerkvi ne vygonit proch'.

                     I stanet nash pastyr' sluzhit' veselej.
                     My schastlivy budem, kak pticy polej.
                     I strogaya tetka, chto v cerkvi ves' vek,
                     Ne stanet porot' maloletnih kalek.

                     I bog budet schastliv, kak dobryj otec,
                     Uvidev dovol'nyh detej nakonec.
                     Naverno, prostit on bochonok i cherta
                     I d'yavolu vydast kamzol i botforty.

                     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                   I wander thro' each charter'd street,
                   Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
                   And mark in every face I meet
                   Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

                   In every cry of every Man,
                   In every Infant's cry of fear,
                   In every voice, in every ban,
                   The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.

                   How the chimney-sweeper's cry
                   Every black'ning church appals;
                   And the hapless soldiers sigh

                   Runs in blood down palace walls.

                   But most thro' midnight streets I hear
                   How the youthful harlot's curse
                   Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
                   And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.



                          Po vol'nym ulicam brozhu,
                          U vol'noj izdavna reki.
                          Na vseh ya licah nahozhu
                          Pechat' bessil'ya i toski.

                          Muzhskaya bran', i zhenskij ston,
                          I plach ispugannyh detej
                          V moih ushah zvuchat, kak zvon
                          Zakonom sozdannyh cepej.

                          Zdes' trubochistov yunyh kriki
                          Pugayut sumrachnyj sobor,
                          I krov' soldata-goremyki
                          Techet na korolevskij dvor.

                          A ot proklyatij i ugroz
                          Devchonki v zakoulkah mrachnyh
                          CHerneyut kapli detskih slez
                          I katafalki novobrachnyh.

                          Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                      Pity would be no more
                      If we did not make somebody poor;
                      And Mercy no more could be
                      If all were as happy as we.

                      And mutual fear brings peace,
                      Till the selfish loves increase:
                      Then Cruelty knits a snare,
                      And spreads his baits with care.

                      He sits down with holy fears,
                      And waters the ground with tears;
                      Then Humility takes its root
                      Underneath his foot.

                      Soon spreads the dismal shade
                      Of Mystery over his head;
                      And the caterpillar and fly
                      Feed on the Mystery.

                      And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
                      Ruddy and sweet to eat;
                      And the raven his nest has made
                      In its thickest shade.

                      The Gods of the earth and sea
                      Sought thro' Nature to find this tree;
                      But their search was all in vain:
                      There grows one in the Human brain.



                     Byla by zhalost' na zemle edva li,
                     Ne dovodi my blizhnih do sumy.
                     I miloserd'ya lyudi by ne znali,
                     Bud' i drugie schastlivy, kak my.

                     Pokoj i mir hranit vzaimnyj strah.
                     I sebyalyub'e vlastvuet na svete.
                     I vot zhestokost', skrytaya vpot'mah,
                     Na perekrestkah rasstavlyaet seti.

                     Svyatogo straha yakoby polna,
                     Slezami grud' zemli poit ona.
                     I skoro pod ee zloveshchej sen'yu
                     Rostki puskaet krotkoe smiren'e.

                     Ego pokrov zelenyj rasproster
                     Nad vsej zemlej misticheskij shater.
                     I tajnyj cherv', mertvyashchij vse zhivoe,
                     Pitaetsya tainstvennoj listvoyu.

                     Ono prinosit lyudyam kazhdyj god
                     Obmana sochnyj i rumyanyj plod.
                     I v gushche list'ev, temnoj i tletvornoj,
                     Nevidimo gnezditsya voron chernyj.

                     Vse nashi bogi neba i zemli
                     Iskali eto derevo ot veka.
                     - No otyskat' donyne ne mogli:
                     Ono rastet v mozgu u cheloveka.

                     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                     My mother groan'd, my father wept,
                     Into the dangerous world I leapt;
                     Helpless, naked, piping loud,
                     Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

                     Straggling in my father's hands,
                     Striving against my swaddling-bands,
                     Bound and weary, I thought best
                     To sulk upon my mother's breast.



                        Mat' v slezah. Otec vzbeshen.
                        Strashnyj mir so vseh storon.
                        Zatayus', nelep i nag,
                        Slovno d'yavol v pelenah.

                        To v rukah otcovskih hvatkih
                        YA zab'yus' v besovskih shvatkah,
                        To ugryumyj vzor upru
                        V mir, chto mne ne po nutru.

                        Perevod V. L. Toporova




                       I was angry with my friend:
                       I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
                       I was angry with my foe:
                       I told it not, my wrath did grow.

                       And I water'd it in fears,
                       Night and morning with my tears;
                       And I sunned it with smiles,
                       And with soft deceitful wiles.

                       And it grew both day and night,
                       Till it bore an apple bright;
                       And my foe behold it shine,
                       And he knew that it was mine,

                       And into my garden stole
                       When the night had veil'd the pole:
                       In the morning glad I see
                       My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.



                        V yarost' drug menya privel -
                        Gnev izlil ya, gnev proshel.
                        Vrag obidu mne nanes -
                        YA molchal, no gnev moj ros.

                        YA tail ego v tishi
                        V glubine svoej dushi,
                        To slezami polival,
                        To ulybkoj sogreval.

                        Ros on noch'yu, ros on dnem.
                        Zrelo yablochko na nem,
                        YAda sladkogo polno.
                        Znal moj nedrug, ch'e ono.

                        Temnoj noch'yu v tishine
                        On prokralsya v sad ko mne
                        I ostalsya nedvizhim,
                        YAdom skovannyj moim.

                        Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                      'Nought loves another as itself,
                      Nor venerates another so,
                      Nor is it possible to Thought
                      A greater than itself to know:

                      'And, Father, how can I love you
                      Or any of my brothers more?.
                      I love you like the little bird
                      That picks up crumbs around the door.'

                      The Priest sat by and heard the child,
                      In trembling zeal he seiz'd his hair:
                      He led him by his little coat,
                      And all admir'd the priestly care.

                      And standing on the altar high,
                      'Lo! what a fiend is here,' said he,
                      'One who sets reason up for judge
                      Of our most holy Mystery.'

                      The weeping child could not be heard,
                      The weeping parents wept in vain;
                      They stripp'd him to his little shirt,
                      And bound him in an iron chain;

                      And burn'd him in a holy place,
                      Where many had been burn'd before:
                      The weeping parents wept in vain.
                      Are such things done on Albion's shore?



                          "Nel'zya lyubit' i uvazhat'
                          Drugih, kak sobstvennoe ya,
                          Ili chuzhuyu mysl' priznat'
                          Gorazdo bol'shej, chem svoya.

                          YA ne mogu lyubit' sil'nej
                          Ni mat', ni brat'ev, ni otca.
                          YA ih lyublyu, kak vorobej,
                          CHto lovit kroshki u kryl'ca".

                          Uslyshav eto, duhovnik
                          Ditya za volosy shvatil
                          I povolok za vorotnik.
                          A vse hvalili etot pyl.

                          Potom, vzobravshis' na amvon,
                          Skazal svyashchennik: "Vot zlodej!
                          Umom ponyat' pytalsya on
                          To, chto sokryto ot lyudej!"

                          I ne byl slyshen detskij plach,
                          Naprasno umolyala mat',
                          Kogda ditya razdel palach
                          I nachal cep' na nem kovat'.

                          Byl na kostre - drugim na strah -
                          Prestupnik malen'kij sozhzhen...
                          Ne na tvoih li beregah
                          Vse eto bylo, Al'bion?

                          Perevod S. YA. Marshaka



                                      Children of the future age,
                                      Reading this indignant page,
                                      Know that in a former time,
                                      Love, sweet Love, was thought a crime!

                          In the Age of Gold,
                          Free from winter's cold,
                          Youth and maiden bright
                          To the holy light,
                          Naked in the sunny beams delight.

                          Once a youthful pair,
                          Fill'd with softest care,
                          Met in garden bright
                          Where the holy light
                          Had just remov'd the curtains of the night.

                          There, in rising day,
                          On the grass they play;
                          Parents were afar,
                          Strangers came not near,
                          And the maiden soon forgot her fear.

                          Tired with kisses sweet,
                          They agree to meet
                          When the silent sleep
                          Waves o'er heaven's deep,
                          And the weary tired wanderers weep.

                          To her father white
                          Came the maiden bright;
                          But his loving look,
                          Like the holy book,
                          All her tender limbs with terror shook.

                          'Ona! pale and weak!
                          To thy father speak:
                          O! the trembling fear,
                          O! the dismal care,
                          That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!'



                                             Deti budushchih vekov!
                                             Iz razgnevannyh stihov
                                             Vy uznaete o tom,
                                             CHto Lyubov' byla grehom.

                             V veke zolotom,
                             Svetom zalitom, -
                             Vechnaya vesna
                             I, kak sneg yasna,
                             YUnyh tel nagaya belizna.

                             On, ona - yuny,
                             Nezhnyh dum polny.
                             Horosho dvoim
                             Utrom zolotym,
                             Utrom, vechnym svetom zalitym.

                             V utrennej tishi
                             V kushchah ni dushi:
                             Ne glyadit otec,
                             Ne speshit gonec, -
                             Una vnemlet trepetu serdec.

                             Vosstayut iz trav,
                             Radostno ustav;
                             Novoj vstrechi zhdut
                             V chas, kak vse usnut,
                             V chas, kogda lish' stranniki bredut.

                             I, kak sneg svetla,
                             V dom k otcu voshla.
                             Bel otec kak led,
                             Poly svyatyh zabot,
                             On vzglyanul - i strah ee tryaset.

                             "Doch', kak ty bledna!
                             Una, ty bol'na?
                             O, potoki slez!
                             Gibel'nyj vopros
                             Rvet, kak vihr', cvety sedyh volos!"

                             Perevod V. L. Toporova




                      Whate'er is born of mortal birth
                      Must be consumed with the earth,
                      To rise from generation free:
                      Then what have I to do with thee?

                      The sexes sprung from shame and pride,
                      Blow'd in the morn; in evening died;
                      But Mercy chang'd death into sleep;
                      The sexes rose to work and weep.

                      Thou, Mother of my mortal part,
                      With cruelty didst mould my heart,
                      And with false self-deceiving tears
                      Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears;

                      Didst close my tongue in senseless clay,
                      And me to mortal life betray:
                      The death of Jesus set me free:
                      Then what have I to do with thee?



                          Rozhdennyj Mater'yu Zemnoj
                          Opyat' smeshaetsya s Zemlej;
                          Stav prahom, stanet Perst' ravna -
                          Tak chto zhe mne v tebe, ZHena?

                          Vosstav iz Spesi i Styda,
                          Dva Pola pali v Nikuda;
                          No Smert' do Sna nizvedena -
                          Dva Pola vstali posle sna.

                          Mat' Smertnoj Uchasti Moej!
                          Daritel'nica Vseh Skorbej!
                          Zamazala tvoya sleza
                          Mne Nozdri, Ushi i Glaza.

                          Mne kosnym sdelala YAzyk.
                          Na smert' ya iz Tebya voznik!
                          Dusha Golgofoj spasena -
                          Tak chto zhe mne v tebe, ZHena?

                          Perevod V. L. Toporova




                     I love to rise in a summer morn
                     When the birds sing on every tree;
                     The distant huntsman winds his horn,
                     And the skylark sings with me.
                     O! what sweet company.

                     But to go to school in a summer morn,
                     O! it drives all joy away;
                     Under a cruel eye outworn,
                     The little ones spend the day

                     In sighing and dismay.

                     Ah! then at times I drooping sit,
                     And spend many an anxious hour,
                     Nor in my book can I take delight,
                     Nor sit in learning's bower,
                     Worn thro' with the dreary shower.

                     How can the bird that is born for joy
                     Sit in a cage and sing?
                     How can a child, when fears annoy,
                     But droop his tender wing,
                     And forget his youthful spring?

                     O! father and mother, if buds are nipp'd
                     And blossoms blown away,
                     And if the tender plants are stripp'd
                     Of their joy in the springing day,
                     By sorrow and care's dismay,

                     How shall the summer arise in joy,
                     Or the summer fruits appear?
                     Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
                     Or bless the mellowing year,
                     When the blasts of winter appear?



                        Lyublyu ya letnij chas rassveta.
                        SHCHebechut pticy v tishine.
                        Trubit v rozhok ohotnik gde-to.
                        I s zhavoronkom v vyshine
                        Pereklikat'sya lyubo mne.

                        No dnem sidet' za knizhkoj v shkole -
                        Kakaya radost' dlya rebyat?
                        Pod vzorom starshih, kak v nevole,
                        S utra usazhennye v ryad,
                        Bednyagi shkol'niki sidyat.

                        S travoj i pticami v razluke
                        Za chasom chas ya provozhu.
                        Uteh ni v chem ne nahozhu
                        Pod vethim kupolom nauki,
                        Gde kaplet dozhdik mertvoj skuki.

                        Poet li drozd, popavshij v seti,
                        Zabyv polety v vyshinu?
                        Kak mogut radovat'sya deti,
                        Vstrechaya vzaperti vesnu?
                        I niknut kryl'ya ih v plenu.

                        Otec i mat'! Kol' vetvi sada
                        Nenastnym dnem obnazheny
                        I shelestyashchego naryada
                        CHut' raspustivshejsya vesny
                        Dyhan'em buri lisheny, -

                        Pridut li dni tepla i sveta,
                        Taya v listve rumyanyj plod?
                        Kakuyu radost' dast nam leto?
                        Blagoslovim li zrelyj god.
                        Kogda zima opyat' dohnet?

                        Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                  Youth of delight, come hither,
                  And see the opening morn,
                  Image of truth new-born.
                  Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
                  Dark disputes and artful teasing.
                  Folly is an endless maze,
                  Tangled roots perplex her ways.
                  How many have fallen there!
                  They stumble all night over bones of the dead,
                  And feel they know not what but care,
                  And wish to lead others, when they should be led.



                        Pridite, molodye!
                        Uzhe zarya zazhglas',
                        I pravda rodilas'.
                        Skrylis' teni vekovye,
                        Mudrstvovaniya pustye.
                        Labirintom vyros bred.
                        Ot kornej prohodu net.
                        Mnogie spotknulis' tam,
                        Bluzhdaya po kostyam vo mrake do zari.
                        Pletutsya s gorem popolam,
                        Sebya vozhdyami mnyat, a im samim nuzhny
                        Povodyri.

                        Perevod V. B. Mikushevicha



                                 (1789-1793)



                    58. Never seek to tell thy love,
                        Love that never told can be;
                        For the gentle wind does move
                        Silently, invisibly.

                        I told my love, I told my love,
                        I told her all my heart;
                        Trembling, cold, in ghastly tears,
                        Ah! she doth depart.

                        Soon as she was gone from me,
                        A traveller came by,
                        Silently, invisibly:
                        He took her with a sigh.


                                 (1789-1793)



                      58. Slovom vyskazat' nel'zya
                          Vsyu lyubov' k lyubimoj.
                          Veter dvizhetsya, skol'zya,
                          Tihij i nezrimyj.

                          YA skazal, ya vse skazal,
                          CHto v dushe tailos'.
                          Ah, lyubov' moya v slezah,
                          V strahe udalilas'.

                          A mgnovenie spustya
                          Putnik, shedshij mimo,
                          Tiho, vkradchivo, shutya
                          Zavladel lyubimoj.

                          Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                   59. I saw a Chapel all of gold
                       That none did dare to enter in,
                       And many weeping stood without,
                       Weeping, mourning, worshipping.

                       I saw a Serpent rise between
                       The white pillars of the door,
                       And he forc'd and forc'd and forc'd;
                       Down the golden hinges tore,

                       And along the pavement sweet,
                       Set with pearls and rubies bright,
                       All his shining length he drew,
                       Till upon the altar white

                       Vomiting his poison out
                       On the Bread and on the Wine.
                       So I turn'd into a sty,
                       And laid me down among the swine.



                  59. Predstal mne Zlatoglavyj Hram -
                      I zapoveden byl Porog,
                      I tolpy orobelyh tam
                      Molilis' i valilis' s nog.

                      No vot u Vrat, mezh dvuh kolonn
                      Belejshih, pokazalsya Zmij -
                      Popolz, popolz, vpolzaya, On
                      Tuda, gde pravit' prizvan Syj.

                      Zlatye Stvory minovav,
                      Po perlovicam polovic
                      Vpolz, oslepitel'no krovav,
                      V Svyatyh Svyatuyu - i zavis

                      Nad mirom, i, razinuv Zev,
                      Istorg na Plot' i Krov' svoj YAd.
                      Togda ya vorotilsya v hlev
                      I zhit' reshil, gde svin'i spyat.

                      Perevod V. L. Toporova




                    60. I asked a thief to steal me a peach.
                        He turned up his eyes.
                        I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down:
                        Holy and meek, she cries.

                        As soon as I went
                        An Angel came:
                        He wink'd at the thief,
                        And smil'd at the dame;

                        And without one word said
                        Had a peach from the tree,
                        And still as a maid
                        Enjoy'd the lady.




                   60. Vora prosil ya persik ukrast'.
                       Mne byl molchalivyj otkaz.
                       Strojnuyu damu prosil ya vozlech' -
                       No bryznuli slezy iz glaz.

                       Tut angel voru
                       Morgnul, a gibkoj
                       Ledi poklon
                       Otvesil s ulybkoj,

                       I ovladel,
                       Mezhdu shutkoj i delom,
                       Damoj podatlivoj,
                       Persikom spelym.

                       Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                      61. I heard an Angel singing
                          When the day was springing:
                          'Mercy, Pity, Peace
                          Is the world's release.'

                          Thus he sang all day
                          Over the new-mown hay,
                          Till the sun went down,
                          And haycocks looked brown.

                          I heard a Devil curse
                          Over the heath and the furze:
                          'Mercy could be no more
                          If there was nobody poor,

                          'And Pity no more could be,
                          If all were as happy as we.'
                          At his curse the sun went down,
                          And the heavens gave a frown.

                          [Down pour'd the heavy rain
                          Over the new reap'd grain;
                          And Misery's increase
                          Is Mercy, Pity, Peace.]



                     61. YA slyshal angela pen'e,
                         A den' stoyal - zaglyaden'e:
                         "ZHalost', Soglas'e, Blagost'
                         Prevozmogut lyubuyu tyagost'!"

                         On pel, ispolnyaya svoj dolg,
                         Nad skoshennym senom - i smolk
                         Posle zakata, kogda
                         Buroj kazalas' skirda.

                         Nad drokom i vereskom, brat'ya,
                         YA d'yavola slyshal zaklyat'ya:
                         "Tolk o Blagosti vreden,
                         Kol' skoro nikto ne beden.

                         Kto schastliv, kak nashe soslov'e,
                         Tem ZHalost' - odno pustoslov'e!"
                         Ot zaklyat'ya solnce zashlo,
                         Nebes pomrachnelo chelo,

                         I liven' hlynul s neba
                         Na kopny szhatogo hleba.
                         Prishla nishcheta v odnochas'e,
                         S nej - Blagost', ZHalost', Soglas'e.

                         Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                      Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,
                      Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
                      Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep
                      Little sorrows sit and weep.

                      Sweet Babe, in thy face
                      Soft desires I can trace,
                      Secret joys and secret smiles,
                      Little pretty infant wiles.

                      As thy softest limbs I feel,
                      Smiles as of the morning steal
                      O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
                      Where thy little heart does rest.

                      O! the cunning wiles that creep
                      In thy little heart asleep.
                      When thy little heart does wake
                      Then the dreadful lightnings break,

                      From thy cheek and from thy eye,
                      O'er the youthful harvests nigh.
                      Infant wiles and infant smiles
                      Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.



                             Son! son! povedi,
                             Gde svet vperedi!
                             Tam svet - v glubine,
                             I - gore na dne.

                             Spi, shozhij licom
                             S zabludshim otcom.
                             Spi, greshen, lukav.
                             Spi, syne, ustav.

                             Spi, nezhnyj i zloj.
                             Spi vmeste s Zemlej.
                             Son v mire bol'shom.
                             Son v serdce tvoem.

                             Uzh serdce polno
                             Vsego, chto temno.
                             Tak strashnyj rassvet
                             Roditsya na svet.

                             On bryznet iz glaz
                             V polozhennyj chas. -
                             Lukav i krovav. -
                             I - Nebo poprav.

                             Perevod V. L. Toporova




                  63. I fear'd the fury of my wind
                      Would blight all blossoms fair and true;
                      And my sun it shin'd and shin'd,
                      And my wind it never blew.

                      But a blossom fair or true
                      Was not found on any tree;
                      For all blossoms grew and grew
                      Fruitless, false, tho' fair to see.



                    63. Strashilsya ya: moj vihr' ub'et
                        Prekrasnyj i nevinnyj cvet.
                        No solnce s neba l'et i l'et
                        Potok luchej, a vetra net.

                        Kogda nastal cveten'ya chas,
                        Lish' pustocvet gustoj-gustoj
                        Vse ros da ros i teshil glaz
                        Besplodnoj, lzhivoj krasotoj.

                        Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                                     i

                     My mother groan'd, my father wept;
                     Into the dangerous world I leapt,
                     Helpless, naked, piping loud,
                     Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

                                     ii

                     Struggling in my father's hands,
                     Striving against my swaddling-bands,
                     Bound and weary, I thought best
                     To sulk upon my mother's breast,

                                    iii

                     When I saw that rage was vain,
                     And to sulk would nothing gain,
                     Turning many a trick and wile
                     I began to soothe and smile,

                                     iv

                     And I sooth'd day after day,
                     Till upon the ground I stray;
                     And I smil'd night after night,
                     Seeking only for delight,

                                     v

                     And I saw before me shine
                     Clusters of the wand'ring vine;
                     And, beyond, a Myrtle-tree
                     Stretch'd its blossoms out to me.

                                     vi

                     But a Priest with holy look,
                     In his hands a holy book,
                     Pronounced curses on his head
                     Who the fruits or blossoms shed

                                    vii

                     I beheld the Priest by night;
                     He embrac'd my Myrtle bright:
                     I beheld the Priest by day,
                     Where beneath my vines he lay.

                                    viii

                     Like a serpent in the day
                     Underneath my vines he lay:
                     Like a serpent in the night
                     He embrac'd my Myrtle bright.

                                     ix

                     So I smote him, and his gore
                     Stain'd the roots my Myrtle bore;
                     But the time of youth is fled,
                     And grey hairs are on my head.



                        Mat' v slezah. Otec vzbeshen.
                        Strashnyj mir so vseh storon.
                        Zatayus', nelep i nag,
                        Slovno d'yavol v pelenah.

                        To v rukah otcovskih hvatkih
                        YA zab'yus' v besovskih shvatkah,
                        To ugryumo vzor upru
                        V mir, chto mne ne po nutru.

                        No ponyav, chto grud' - suha,
                        YA zatih: toska - tiha.
                        No ponyav: toska bessil'na,
                        Ulybat'sya stal umil'no.

                        YA, zatihshi v zhalkoj zybke,
                        Razdaval svoi ulybki;
                        Sprygnul i poshel potom,
                        Naslazhdeniem vlekom.

                        I uvidel ya otradnye
                        Kushchi, grozd'ya vinogradnye,
                        Mne derev'ya i kusty
                        Sypali svoi cvety...

                        I togda otec moj skuchnyj,
                        Pyatiknizh'ya chtec poslushnyj,
                        Proklyal syna i svyazal,
                        K drevu mirta prikoval.

                        Perevod V. L. Toporova




                   65. Thou hast a lap full of seed,
                       And this is a fine country.
                       Why dost thou not cast thy seed,
                       And live in it merrily?

                       Shall I cast it on the sand
                       And turn it into fruitful land?
                       For on no other ground
                       Can I sow my seed,
                       Without tearing up
                       Some stinking weed.



                     65.- Zerna u tebya v podole,
                        Blagodaten etot kraj.
                        CHto zh ty ne zaseesh' pole
                        I ne snimesh' urozhaj?

                        - YA zaroyu ih v pesok besplodnyj.
                        Tam sozdam ya kraj svoj plodorodnyj.
                        Na drugoj zemle nel'zya
                        Seyat' mne, dokole
                        Ot zlovonnyh sornyakov
                        Ne ochishchu pole!

                        Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                       Why should I be bound to thee,
                       O my lovely mirtle tree?
                       Love, free love, cannot be bound
                       To any tree that grows on ground.

                       O, how sick & weary I
                       Underneath my mirtle lie,
                       Like to dung upon the ground
                       Underneath my mirtle bound.

                       Oft my mirtle sign'd in vain
                       To behold my heavy chain;
                       Oft my father saw us sigh,
                       And laugh'd at our simplicity.

                       So I smote him & his gore
                       Stain'd the roots my mirtle bore.
                       But the time of youth is fled,
                       And grey hairs are on my head.



                        Drevo mirta, otchego ya
                        Svyazan uzami s toboyu?
                        Kak lyubvi - samoj svobode -
                        Na odnom cvesti ugod'e?

                        Gnet blazhenstvu ne soyuznik.
                        Ploho nam s toboj, souznik.
                        Kak navoz, lezhu v pyli
                        Na tvoem klochke zemli.

                        Drevo plakalo: protretsya
                        Cep', ya plakal: ne porvetsya.
                        A roditel' hohotal:
                        Vse pro nas i cep' on znal.

                        YA ubil otca, i korni,
                        Krov'yu politye, cherny.
                        Vyterpevshi stol'ko let -
                        Sam teper' i star i sed.

                        Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                    Why art thou silent and invisible,
                    Father of Jealousy?
                    Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds
                    From every searching eye?

                    Why darkness and obscurity
                    In all thy words and laws,
                    That none dare eat the fruit but from
                    The wily Serpent's jaws?
                    Or is it because secrecy gains females' loud applause?



                         Zachem bezmolven ty, zachem
                         Nezrim, Revnivyj Otche?
                         Zachem tumannoj pelenoj
                         Pytaesh' nashi ochi?

                         Zachem ty gnevnoj t'moj ob®yal
                         Slova svoi svyatye,
                         I nest' dlya nas inyh plodov,
                         CHem te, chto v zeve Zmiya?

                         Odna l' povinna v etom
                         Strast' zhenskaya k sekretam?

                         Perevod V. L. Toporova


                         68. THE WILD FLOWER'S SONG

                         As I wander'd the forest,
                         The green leaves among,
                         I heard a Wild Flower
                         Singing a song.

                         'I slept in the earth
                         In the silent night,
                         I murmur'd my fears
                         And I felt delight.

                         'In the morning I went,
                         As rosy as morn,
                         To seek for new joy;
                         But I met with scorn.'



                            Mezh list'ev zelenyh
                            Rannej vesnoj
                            Pel svoyu pesnyu
                            Cvetik lesnoj:

                            - Kak sladko ya spal
                            V temnote, v tishine,
                            O smutnyh trevogah
                            SHeptal v polusne.

                            Raskrylsya ya, svetel,
                            Pred samoyu zor'koj,
                            No svet menya vstretil
                            Obidoyu gor'koj.

                            Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




            69. O lapwing! thou fliest around the heath,
                Nor seest the net that is spread beneath.
                Why dost thou not fly among the corn fields?
                They cannot spread nets where a harvest yields.



               69. O chibis! Ty vidish' vnizu pustopol'e.
                   Teneta razveshany tam na privol'e.
                   Ty mog by nad speyushchej nivoj nosit'sya:
                   Setej ne raskinut, gde hleb kolositsya!

                   Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                   I walked abroad on a snowy day:
                   I ask'd the soft Snow with me to play:
                   She play'd and she melted in all her prime;
                   And the Winter call'd it a dreadful crime.



                   Brodil ya odnazhdy po zimnim tropinkam.
                   - So mnoj poigrajte! - skazal ya snezhinkam.
                   Igrali - i tayali... Ih poveden'yu
                   Zima uzhasalas', kak grehopaden'yu.

                   Perevod V. A. Potapovoj


                           71. MERLIN'S PROPHECY

                The harvest shall flourish in wintry weather
                When two Virginities meet together:
                The king and the priest must be tied in a tether
                Before two Virgins can meet together.



            Derev'ya zimoj zacvetut, vzojdut iz-pod snega posevy,
            Kogda povstrechayutsya dve celomudrennyh devy.
            No sperva korolya i popa strenozh'te verevkoj edinoj,
            CHtoby vstretilas' deva nevinnaya s devoj nevinnoj.

            Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                   The sun arises in the East,
                   Cloth'd in robes of blood and gold;
                   Swords and spears and wrath increas'd
                   All around his bosom roll'd,
                   Crown'd with warlike fires and raging desires.



                           Voshodit solnce na vostoke.
                           Krov', zlato - vot ego naryad!
                           Vokrug vskipaet gnev zhestokij.
                           Mechi i kop'ya tam goryat.
                      Venec ego i znaki carskoj vlasti -
                      Ogni vojny, voinstvennye strasti.

                      Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




              73. Why should I care for the men of Thames,
                  Or the cheating waves of charter'd streams;
                  Or shrink at the little blasts of fear
                  That the hireling blows into my ear?

                  Tho' born on the cheating banks of Thames,
                  Tho' his waters bathed my infant limbs,
                  The Ohio shall wash his stains from me:
                  I was born a slave, but I go to be free G



                CHem obyazan ya vam, - esli s Temzy vy rodom, -
                I kovarnym, otmechennym Hartiej, vodam?
                Razve dolzhen teryat' ya prisutstvie duha
                Ot vsego, chto vduvaet naushnik mne v uho?

                Beregov etih lzhivyh ya byl urozhencem
                I v beschestnyh volnah iskupalsya mladencem,
                Smoj, Ogajo, s menya etu mutnuyu vodu!
                YA rodilsya rabom, no poznayu svobodu.

                Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                 74. Abstinence sows sand all over
                     The ruddy limbs and flaming hair,
                     But Desire gratified
                     Plants fruits of life and beauty there.



                   74. Plamen' volos i rumyanuyu plot'
                       Peskom Vozderzhan'e zanosit.
                       Utolennyh zhelanij cvetushchaya vetv'
                       Na sypuchem peske plodonosit.

                       Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




             75. If you trap the moment before it's ripe,
                 The tears of repentence you'll certainly wipe;
                 But if once you let the ripe moment go
                 You can never wipe off the tears of woe.



              75. Shvativ za vihor prezhde vremeni sluchaj,
                  Zaplachesh' slezami raskayan'ya.
                  No, mig promorgav podhodyashchij, - ne muchaj
                  Sebya: net prichin dlya otchayan'ya.

                  Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                    76. He who bends to himself a Joy
                        Doth the winged life destroy;
                        But he who kisses the Joy as it flies
                        Lives in Eternity's sunrise.



                         Kto uderzhit radost' siloyu,
                         ZHizn' pogubit legkokryluyu.

                         Na letu celuj ee -
                         Utro vechnosti tvoe!

                         Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                   The countless gold of a merry heart,
                   The rubies and pearls of a loving eye,
                   The indolent never can bring to the mart,
                   Nor the secret hoard up in his treasury.



                       Veselyh umov zolotye krupinki,
                       Rubiny i zhemchug serdec
                       Bezdel'nik ne sbudet s prilavka na rynke,
                       Ne spryachet v podvaly skupec.

                       Perevod S. YA Marshaka




                  Why of the sheep do you not learn peace?
                  Because I don't want you to shear my fleece.



                   - Moj syn, smireniyu uchites' u ovec!..
                   - Boyus', chto strich' menya vy budete, otec!

                   Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                     79. Soft deceit & idleness
                         These are beauties sweetest dress.



                    79. Lenost' i obman blazhennyj -
                        Krasoty naryad bescennyj.

                        Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




              80. "Let the Brothels of Paris be opened
                  With many an alluring dance
                  To awake the Pestilence thro' the city,"
                  Said the beautiful Queen of France.

                  The King awoke on his couch of gold,
                  As soon as he heard these tidings told:
                  "Arise & come, both fife & drum,
                  And the Famine shall eat both crust & crumb."

                  Then he swore a great & solemn Oath:
                  "To kill the people I am loth,
                  But if they rebel, they must go to hell:
                  They shall have a Priest & a passing bell."

                  Then old Nobodaddy aloft

                  Farted & belch'd & cough'd,

                  And said, "I love hanging & drawing & quartering
                  Every bit as well as war & slaughtering.
                  Damn praying & singing,
                  Unless they will bring in
                  The blood of ten thousand by fighting or swinging."

                  The Queen of France just touched this Globe,
                  And the Pestilence darted from her robe;
                  But our good Queen quite grows to the ground,
                  And a great many suckers grow all around.

                  Fayette beside King Lewis stood;
                  He saw him sign his hand;
                  And soon he saw the famine rage

                  About the fruitful land.

                  Fayette beheld the Queen to smile
                  And wink her lovely eye;
                  And soon he saw the pestilence
                  From street to street to fly.

                  Fayette beheld the King & Queen
                  In tears & iron bound;
                  But mute Fayette wept tear for tear,
                  And guarded them around.

                  Fayette, Fayette, thou'rt bought & sold,
                  And sold is thy happy morrow;
                  Thou gavest the tears of Pity away
                  In exchange for the tears of sorrow.

                  Who will exchange his own fire side
                  For the steps of another's door?
                  Who will exchange his wheaten loaf
                  For the links of a dungeon floor?

                  O, who would smile on the wintry seas,
                  & Pity the stormy roar?
                  Or who will exchange his new born child
                  For the dog at the wintry door?



                 80. "Dveri nastezh', parizhskie bordeli!
                     Pust' zaraza po gorodu letit,
                     S golyt'boyu obvenchana sud'boyu", -
                     Koroleva Francii velit.

                     Korol' so zlatogo lozha sletel,
                     To uslyhav, chego znat' ne hotel:
                     "Vstavaj, narod, truba zovet,
                     Ne to vse do kroshki Golod sozhret!"

                     I vot Korol' dal velikij obet:
                     "Priyazni v krovavyh kaznyah net,
                     No buntovshchikam ya voli ne dam -
                     Na plahu polyagut ko vsem chertyam!"

                     I vot Ne Porodivshij Syna otec
                     S®el, rygnul i raskashlyalsya pod konec:
                     "Obozhayu vojny, povesheniya, chetvertovaniya,
                     Smakuyu kazhdyj kusok stradaniya.
                     Nabili oskominu blagodarstvennye zavyvaniya,
                     Predpochitayu vyslushivat' ponosheniya
                     I vykushivat' mnogotysyachnye zhertvoprinosheniya!"

                     SHar Zemnoj Antuanetta vzyala, -
                     Zaraza iz plat'ya ee plyla.
                     K zemle klonilas' nasha dobraya Koroleva -
                     Lizoblyudami otyagoshchennoe drevo.

                     Uvidel vernyj Lafajet
                     ZHest vlastnyj Korolya -
                     I golod Franciyu ob®yal,
                     I vymerli polya.

                     Uslyshal vernyj Lafajet
                     Antuanetty smeh -
                     Zaraza vspyhnula v strane,
                     Zatronuv vsya i vseh.

                     Uvidel vernyj Lafajet
                     V cepyah siyu CHetu -
                     I s tihim plachem stal ne Palach im,
                     A Storozh na postu.

                     Ty byl menyaloj, Lafajet,
                     No baryshi propali:
                     Ty sostradaniya slezu
                     Promenyal na slezy pechali.

                     Kto promenyaet svoj ochag
                     Na chernyj chuzhoj porog?
                     Kto promenyaet pshenichnyj hleb
                     Na tyuremnyj zamok?

                     Kto zh pozhaleet uragan
                     I livnevyj potok?
                     Kto zh promenyaet svoe ditya
                     Na psa, chto v puti promok?

                     Perevod V. L. Toporova


                                 (1800-1803)



                                     i

                  81. My Spectre around me night and day
                      Like a wild beast guards my way;
                      My Emanation far within
                      Weeps incessantly for my sin.

                                     ii

                      'A fathomless and boundless deep,
                      There we wander, there we weep;
                      On the hungry craving wind
                      My Spectre follows thee behind.

                                    iii

                      'He scents thy footsteps in the snow,
                      Wheresoever thou dost go,
                      Thro' the wintry hail and rain.
                      When wilt thou return again?

                                     iv

                      'Dost thou not in pride and scorn
                      Fill with tempests all my morn,
                      And with jealousies and fears
                      Fill my pleasant nights with tears?

                                     v

                      'Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
                      Has bereaved of their life.
                      Their marble tombs I built with tears,
                      And with cold and shuddering fears.

                                     vi

                      'Seven more loves weep night and day
                      Round the tombs where my loves lay,
                      And seven more loves attend each night
                      Around my couch with torches bright.

                                    vii

                      'And seven more loves in my bed
                      Crown with wine my mournful head,
                      Pitying and forgiving all
                      Thy transgressions great and small.

                                    viii

                      'When wilt thou return and view
                      My loves, and them to life renew?
                      When wilt thou return and live?
                      When wilt thou pity as I forgive?'

                                     a

                      ['O'er my sins thou sit and moan:
                      Hast thou no sins of thy own?
                      O'er my sins thou sit and weep,
                      And lull thy own sins fast asleep.]

                                     b

                      ['What transgressions I commit
                      Are for thy transgressions fit.
                      They thy harlots, thou their slave;
                      And my bed becomes their grave.]

                                     ix

                      'Never, never, I return:
                      Still for victory I burn.
                      Living, thee alone I'll have;
                      And when dead I'll be thy grave.

                                     x

                      'Thro' the Heaven and Earth and Hell
                      Thou shalt never, never quell:
                      I will fly and thou pursue:
                      Night and morn the flight renew.'

                                     s

                      ['Poor, pale, pitiable form
                      That I follow in a storm;
                      Iron tears and groans of lead
                      Bind around my aching head.]

                                     xi

                      'Till I turn from Female love
                      And root up the Infernal Grove,
                      I shall never worthy be
                      To step into Eternity.

                                    xii

                      'And, to end thy cruel mocks,
                      Annihilate thee on the rocks,
                      And another form create
                      To be subservient to my fate.

                                    xiii

                      'Let us agree to give up love,
                      And root up the Infernal Grove;
                      Then shall we return and see
                      The worlds of happy Eternity.

                                    xiv

                      'And throughout all Eternity
                      I forgive you, you forgive me.
                      As our dear Redeemer said:
                      "This the Wine, and this the Bread."'

                                 (1800-1803)



                       Moj Spektr oprich' menya kruzhit,
                       Kak hishchnik, zhertvu storozhit,
                       A |manaciya moya,
                       Rydaya, brosila menya.

                       "Vo mrake bezdny bezyshodnoj,
                       Svershaya greh nepervorodnyj,
                       Bluzhdaem i rydaem my -
                       Tebya moj Spektr zhdet v carstve t'my.

                       Tvoj sled - kuda ty ni poshla by,
                       CHerez ushchel'ya i uhaby, -
                       Otyshchet on, skvoz' grad i sneg.
                       Kogda zh vernesh'sya ty navek?

                       Ne ta li ty, chto gnev s prezren'em
                       Vozdvigla nad moim smiren'em,
                       Ne ta li, chto sozhgla slezmi
                       Moi igralishcha s lyud'mi?

                       Ne ty li sem' moih lyubovej
                       Pohoronila v more krovi?
                       Ne ty l' velish', chtob ya zabyl
                       Sem' prisnopamyatnyh mogil?

                       Eshche sem' raz lyubil ya, znaya,
                       CHto zhdet lyubov' zemlya syraya,
                       I sem' drugih v polnochnom sne
                       Skol'znuli s fakelom ko mne.

                       I sem' s velikoyu dushoyu,
                       Naivozlyublennejshih mnoyu,
                       Lozoj uvili mne chelo,
                       Ne stavya Zlo tvoe vo zlo.

                       Kogda zh vernesh'sya ty, chtob vseh
                       Ih voskresit', izbyv svoj greh?
                       Kogda zh vernesh'sya ty, menya -
                       Kak ya proshchayu - ne kaznya?"

                        ("Moi grehi tebe meshayut,
                       A sobstvennye - ne smushchayut?
                       K moim - prezren'e bespredel'noe,
                       Svoim - poesh' ty kolybel'nuyu".)

                        ("CHto za greh, chto mnoj svershen,
                       Toboyu ne predvoshishchen?
                       SHlyuh ty shlesh' mne na podmenu -
                       Znaesh' sobstvennuyu cenu".)

                       "Ne vernus' ya, ibo penej
                       Dolzhen byt' triumf - ne mene!
                       Kol' tebya perezhivu -
                       Budet povod k torzhestvu!

                       Nebo, Zemlyu i Geennu
                       Ne ob®yat' tebe, smyatennyj.
                       Polechu kuda smelej
                       Provozvestnicej tvoej!"

                        ("Bednyj, zhalkij, bespomoshchnyj
                       Sputnik moj vo t'me polnochnoj,
                       Za tebya ya, kak v okovah,
                       Vsya v slezah svoih svincovyh".)

                       "Tshchetno k vechnosti vzyvayu
                       YA, poka ne polomayu
                       Adskij les suhoj hvoi, -
                       Puty zhenskie tvoi.

                       YA raspnu tebya na skalah,
                       CHtob ne zret' v tvoih oskalah
                       Zla, ni zhalosti k sebe,
                       Ni prezreniya k sud'be.

                       Ili ya sozdam drugoe
                       Nechto, shodnoe s toboyu,
                       Adskij les suhoj hvoi -
                       Il' vstupi na put' Lyubvi.

                       I, otrinuv besserdechnost',
                       Obretem v soglas'e Vechnost' -
                       Ved' Spasitelem dana
                       Mera Hleba i Vina".

                       Perevod V. L. Toporova




                 82. When Klopstock England defied,
                     Uprose William Blake in his pride;
                     For old Nobodaddy aloft
                     ...and belch'd and cough'd;
                     Then swore a great oath that made Heaven quake,
                     And call'd aloud to English Blake.
                     Blake was giving his body ease,
                     At Lambeth beneath the poplar trees.
                     From his seat then started he
                     And turn'd him round three times three.
                     The moon at that sight blush'd scarlet red,
                     The stars threw down their cups and fled,
                     And all the devils that were in hell,
                     Answered with a ninefold yell.
                     Klopstock felt the intripled turn,
                     And all his bowels began to churn,
                     And his bowels turn'd round three times three,
                     And lock'd in his soul with a ninefold key;...
                     Then again old Nobodaddy swore
                     He ne'er had seen such a thing before,
                     Since Noah was shut in the ark,
                     Since Eve first chose her hellfire spark,
                     Since 'twas the fashion to go naked,
                     Since the old Anything was created...



                82. Klopshtok Angliyu hulil kak hotel,
                    No tut kak raz Vil'yam Blejk podospel;
                    Ibo Ne Porodivshij Syna otec
                    ...rygnul i raskashlyalsya pod konec;
                    Svyashchennaya zatrepetala semejka
                    Ot zaklyat'ya, razbudivshego Britanskogo Blejka.
                    Vil'yam Blejk vossedal orlom
                    V okrestnostyah Londona, pod topol'kom.
                    Ne usidev na nasizhennom meste -
                    Kucha ostalas' na etom meste, -
                    Trizhdy on obernulsya na meste,
                    CHto bylo nachalom svyashchennoj mesti.
                    Krov'yu nalilas' pri vide etogo Luna,
                    Zvezdy povalilis'; kak hvativ vina,
                    I devyatikratnoj ploshchadnoyu bran'yu
                    Otozvalos' chertej Kromeshnoe Sobran'e.
                    Klopshtok, v otvet na troekratnyj povorot,
                    Trizhdy s vizgom shvatilsya za zhivot,
                    Trizhdy v ego zhivote perevernulis' vse kishki,
                    I devyat' raz podryad dusha ego vstala na dybki...
                    Togda Ne Porodivshij Syna otec
                    Poklyalsya, chto ne vstrechalsya emu podobnyj igrec
                    S teh por, kak Noj smasteril svoj kovcheg,
                    S teh por, kak Eva vkusila zapretnyh neg,
                    S teh por, kak on t'mu otdelil ot sveta,
                    S teh por, kak sodeyat' zamyslil eto...
                    Voschuvstvovav tak, on menya prosil,
                    CHtob muku Klopshtokovu ya smyagchil...
                    Tako Blejk pobedil, oblegchayas',
                    A uzh v stihah pobedit, ruchayus'!

                    Perevod V. L. Toporova




                83. Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau:
                    Mock on, mock on; tis all in vain!
                    You throw the sand against the wind,
                    And the wind blows it back again.

                    And every sand becomes a gem
                    Reflected in the beams divine;
                    Blown back they blind the mocking eye,
                    But still in Israel's paths they shine.

                    The Atoms of Democritus
                    And Newton's Particles of Light
                    Are sands upon the Red Sea shore,
                    Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.



                    83. ZHivej, Vol'ter! Smelej, Russo!
                        Bushuj, bumazhnaya groza!
                        Vernetsya po vetru pesok,
                        CHto nam shvyryaete v glaza.

                        Peschinka kazhdaya - almaz,
                        Kogda v nej bleshchet luch nebes...
                        Nasmeshniki! dlya vashih glaz
                        Nest' v nashej Biblii chudes!

                        Pridumal atom Demokrit,
                        N'yuton raz®yal na chasti svet...
                        Peschanyj smerch Nauki spit,
                        Kogda my slushaem Zavet.

                        Perevod V. L. Toporova




           84. When a man has married a wife, he finds out whether
               Her knees and elbows are only glued together.



                 84. Poka ne zhenimsya, skazat' my ne sumeem,
                     Ne skleeny li u zheny koleni kleem.

                     Perevod S. YA. Marshaka




                  Whate'er is done to her she cannot know,
                  And if you'll ask her she will swear it so.
                  Whether 'tis good or evil none's to blame:
                  No one can take the pride, no one the shame.



                      Sodeyali s neyu dobro ili zlo?
                      Ne znaet sama; bezmyatezhno chelo.
                      I nekomu eto postavit' v ukor:
                      Nich'ya tut zasluga, nichej tut pozor.

                      Perevod V. A. Potapovoj




                       To find the Western path,
                       Right thro' the Gates of Wrath
                       I urge my way;
                       Sweet Mercy leads me on
                       With soft repentant moan:
                       I see the break of day.

                       The war of swords and spears,
                       Melted by dewy tears,
                       Exhales on high;
                       The Sun is freed from fears,
                       And with soft grateful tears
                       Ascends the sky.

                                 86. 

                         Ishcha tropinki na Zakat,
                         Prostranstvom tesnym Gnevnyh Vrat
                         YA bodro prohozhu.
                         I zhalost' krotkaya menya
                         Vedet, v raskayan'e stenya.
                         YA problesk dnya slezhu.

                         Mechej i kopij gasnet boj
                         Rassvetnoj ranneyu poroj,
                         Zalit slezami, kak rosoj.
                         I solnce, v radostnyh slezah,
                         Preodolev svoj tyazhkij strah,
                         Siyaet yarko v nebesah.

                         Perevod S. YA. Marshaka


    x x x

87. 'Now Art has lost its mental charms France shall subdue the world in arms.' So spoke an Angel at my birth; Then said 'Descend thou upon earth; Renew the Arts on Britain's shore, And France shall fall down and adore. With works of art their armies meet And War shall sink beneath thy feet. But if thy nation Arts refuse, And if they scorn the immortal Muse, France shall the arts of peace restore And save thee from the ungrateful shore.' Spirit who lov'st Britannia's Isle Round which the fiends of commerce smile -

    x x x

87. Utratilo iskusstvo svoj Plenitel'nyj duhovnyj stroj, Teper' im zapravlyaet Gall, - Tak dobryj angel mne skazal. - No ty, prodolzhil on, rozhden Vernut' iskusstvo v Al'bion. Pojdut iskusstva rat' na rat' - I gall'skomu - ne ustoyat'. No esli Francii otdash' Pobedu - to iskusstv shabash Ohvatit celyj materik, I tam sochtut, chto ty velik... Moj duh, nadezhda Al'biona, Zaulybalsya chut' smushchenno... Perevod V. L. Toporova (1808-1811) 88. TO F [LAXMAN] I mock thee not, though I by thee am mocked; Thou call'st me madman, but I call thee blockhead. (1808-1811)

    88. MOEMU HULITELYU

Pust' obo mne ty raspuskaesh' lozh', YA nad toboyu ne glumlyus' tajkom. Pust' sumasshedshim ty menya zovesh', Tebya zovu ya tol'ko durakom. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    x x x

89. Here lies John Trot, the friend of all mankind: He has not left one enemy behind. Friends were quite hard to find, old authors say; But now they stand in everybody's way.

    x x x

89. Ni odnogo vraga vseobshchij drug, Dzhon Trot, Ostavit' ne sumel u Vechnosti Vorot. "Drug - redkost'!" - myslili tak drevnie v trevoge. Teper' druz'ya stoyat vsem poperek dorogi. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj

    x x x

90. I was buried near this dyke, That my friends may weep as much as they like.

    90. |PITAFIYA

YA pogreben u gorodskoj kanavy vodostochnoj, CHtob slezy lit' mogli druz'ya i dnem i ezhenoshchno. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    x x x

91. My title as a genius thus is prov'd: Not prais'd by Hayley, nor by Flaxman lov'd.

    x x x

91. Teper' poprobujte skazat', chto ya ne genialen: Fleksmanom ya ne lyubim, Hejli - ne zahvalen. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj

    x x x

92. Grown old in Love from Seven till Seven times Seven I oft have wish'd for Hell, for Ease from Heaven.

    x x x

92. Vsyu zhizn' lyubov'yu plamennoj sgoraya, Mechtal ya v ad popast', chtob otdohnut' ot raya. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    x x x

93. All pictures that's panted with sense and with thought Are panted by madmen, as sure as a groat; For the greater the fool is the pencil more blest, As when they are drunk they always pant best. They never can Raphael it, Fuseli it, nor Blake it; If they can't see an outline, pray how can they make it? When men will draw outlines begin you to jaw them; Madmen see outlines and therefore they draw them.

    x x x

93. CHuvstva i mysli v kartine nashedshij Smeknet, chto ee napisal sumasshedshij. CHem bol'she durak - tem ostree nait'e. Blazhen karandash, esli duren' - v podpit'e. Kto kontur ne vidit - ne mozhet ego risovat', Ni rafaelit', ni fyuzelit', ni blejkovat'. Za konturnyj metod vy rady hudozhnika s®est', No kontury vidit bezumec i pishet kak est'. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj

    x x x

94. Why was Cupid a boy, And why a boy was he? He should have been a girl, For aught that I can see. For he shoots with his bow, And the girl shoots with her eye, And they both are merry and glad, And laugh when we do cry. And to make Cupid a boy Was the Cupid girl's mocking plan; For a boy can't interpret the thing Till he is become a man. And then he's so pierc'd with cares, And wounded with arrowy smarts, That the whole business of his life Is to pick out the heads of the darts. 'Twas the Greeks' love of war Turn'd Love into a boy, And woman into a statue of stone - And away fled every joy.

    94. KUPIDON

Zachem ty sozdan, Kupidon S mal'chisheskoyu stat'yu? Tebe by devochkoyu byt', Po moemu ponyat'yu! Ty porazhaesh' cel' streloj, A devochka - glazami, I oba schastlivy, kogda Zal'emsya my slezami. V zatee - mal'chikom tebya Sozdat', uznal ya zhenshchin ruku: Lish' vozmuzhav, postignesh' ty Glumlen'ya slozhnuyu nauku. No do teh por - neschetnyh strel V tebya vop'yutsya zhal'ca, A ih vydergivat' iz ran Vsyu zhizn' - udel stradal'ca. Lyubvi pridav muzhskuyu stat', Iz kamnya zhenskij pol vayat' Vojnolyubivyj vzdumal grek - I radost' uneslo navek. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj

    x x x

95. I asked my dear friend Orator Prig: 'What's the first part of oratory?' He said: 'A great wig.' 'And what is the second?' Then, dancing a jig And bowing profoundly, he said: 'A great wig.' 'And what is the third?' Then he snored like a pig, And, puffing his cheeks out, replied: 'A great wig.' So if a great panter with questions you push, 'What's the first part of panting?' he'll say 'A pant-brush.' 'And what is the second?' with most modest blush, He'll smile like a cherub, and say: 'A pant-brush.' 'And what is the third?' he'll bow like a rush, With a leer in his eye, he'll reply: 'A pant-brush.' Perhaps this is all a panter can want: But, look yonder-that house is this house of Rembrandt!

    x x x

95. - CHto oratoru nuzhno? Horoshij yazyk? - Net, - otvetil orator. - Horoshij parik! - A eshche? - Ne smutilsya pochtennyj starik I otvetil: - Opyat' zhe horoshij parik. - A eshche? - On zadumalsya tol'ko na mig I voskliknul: - Konechno, horoshij parik! - CHto, maestro, vazhnee vsego v portretiste? On otvetil: - Osobye kachestva kisti. - A eshche? - On, palitru staratel'no chistya, Povtoril: - Razumeetsya, kachestvo kisti. - A eshche? - Stanovyas' ponemnogu rechistej, On voskliknul: - Vysokoe kachestvo kisti! Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    x x x

96. Having given great offence by writing in prose, I'll write in verse as soft as Bartoloze. Some blush at what others can see no crime in; But nobody sees any harm in riming. Dryden, in rime, cries 'Milton only plann'd': Every fool shook his bells throughout the land. Tom Cooke cut Hogarth down with his clean graving: Thousands of connoisseurs with joy ran raving. Thus, Hayley on his toilette seeing the soap, Cries, 'Homer is very much improv'd by Pope.' Some say I've given great provision to my foes, And that now I lead my false friends by the nose. Flaxman and Stothard, smelling a.sweet savour, Cry 'Blakified drawing spoils painter and engraver'; While I, looking up to my umbrella, Resolv'd to be a very contrary fellow, Cry, looking quite from skumference to centre: 'No one can finish so high as the original Inventor.' Thus poor Schiavonetti died of the Cromek- A thing that's tied around the Examiner's neck! This is my sweet apology to my friends, That I may put them in mind of their latter ends. If men will act like a maid smiling over a churn, They ought not, when it comes to another's turn, To grow sour at what a friend may utter, Knowing and feeling that we all have need of butter. False friends, fie! fie! Our friendship you shan't sever; In spite we will be greater friends than ever.

    96. BLEJK V ZASHCHITU SVOEGO KATALOGA

Poskol'ku ot prozy moej ostalis' u mnogih zanozy, Gravyur Bartolocci nezhnej, stihi napishu vmesto prozy. Inoj bez prichin zalivaetsya kraskoj styda. Odnako nikto v rifmopletstve ne vidit vreda. "Mil'tonom sozdan lish' plan!" - Drajden v stihah vosklicaet, I vsyakij durackij kolpak bubencami ob etom bryacaet. Hogarta Kuk obkornal chisten'kim gravirovan'icem. S revom begut znatoki, voshishchayas' ego darovan'icem. Hejli, na mylo vziraya, hvatil cherez meru: "Pop, - zakrichal on, - pridal sovershenstva Gomeru!" Za nos fal'shivyh druzej vozhu, govoryat, ya neploho I opolchit'sya uspel, ot vragov ozhidaya podvoha. Fleksman so Stothardom pryanost' uchuyali nyuhom: "Beda, kol' graver i hudozhnik proniknutsya blejkovskim duhom!" No ya, nepokladistyj malyj, na sobstvennyj zont Bespechno smotryu snizu vverh i gotov na afront. V tochku, gde shodyatsya spicy, ustaviv glyadelki, Krichu ya: "Lish' avtor sposoben dostich' blagorodstva otdelki!" ZHertva kromekov, - neschastnyj pogib Sk'yavonetti: Petlya na sheyu - my skazhem ob etom predmete! Proshu u druzej izvinen'ya - zachem naobum YA mysl' o gryadushchej konchine privel im na um? Kak devushka, nad maslobojkoj stan sklonivshaya gibkij, Mutovku drugim ustupaya, s lica ne stirajte ulybki, Ne skisajte ot slova druga, esli ono ne hvalebno, Ne zabyvajte, chto maslo lyubomu iz nas potrebno! Lozhnym druz'yam v dosadu, naperekor ih fal'shi, Istinnoj druzhby uzy krepnut' budut i dal'she! Perevod V. A. Potapovoj

    x x x

97. Some people admire the work of a fool, For it's sure to keep your judgement cool; It does not reproach you with want of wit; It is not like a lawyer serving a writ.

    x x x

97. Tvoren'e duraka po vkusu mnogim lyudyam. O nem navernyaka my bez volnen'ya sudim. Nas v tuposti ono ne upreknet; v otmestku, Kak stryapchij, - ne prishlet sudebnuyu povestku. Perevod V. A. Potapovoj

    x x x

98. Since all the riches of this world May be gifts from the Devil and earthly kings, I should suspect that I worshipp'd the Devil If I thank'd my God for worldly things.

    98. O BLAGODARNOSTI

Ot d'yavola i ot carej zemnyh My poluchaem znatnost' i bogatstvo. I nebesa blagodarit' za nih, Po moemu suzhden'yu, - svyatotatstvo. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    x x x

99. I rose up at the dawn of day - 'Get thee away! get thee away! Pray'st thou for riches? Away! away! This is the Throne of Mammon grey.' Said I: This, sure, is very odd; I took it to be the Throne of God. For everything besides I have: It is only for riches that I can crave. I have mental joy, and mental health, And mental friends, and mental wealth; I've a wife I love, and that loves me; I've all but riches bodily. I am in God's presence night and day, And He never turns His face away; The accuser of sins by my side doth stand, And he holds my money-bag in his hand. For my worldly things God makes him pay, And he'd pay for more if to him I would pray; And so you may do the worst you can do; Be assur'd, Mr. Devil, I won't pray to you. Then if for riches I must not pray, God knows, I little of prayers need say; So, as a church is known by its steeple, If I pray it must be for other people. He says, if I do not worship him for a God, I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod; So, as I don't value such things as these, You must do, Mr. Devil, just as God please.

    x x x

99. YA vstal, kogda redela noch'. - Podi ty proch'! Podi ty proch'! O chem ty molish'sya, poklony Kladya pred kapishchem Mamony? YA byl nemalo udivlen - YA dumal, - eto bozhij tron. Vsego hvataet mne, no malo V karmane zvonkogo metalla. Est' u menya bogatstvo dum, Vostorgi duha, zdravyj um, ZHena lyubimaya so mnoyu. No beden ya kaznoj zemnoyu. YA pered bogom den' i noch'. S menya on glaz ne svodit proch'. No d'yavol tozhe neotluchen: Moj koshelek emu poruchen. On moj nevol'nyj kaznachej. YA el by pishchu bogachej, Kogda by stal emu molit'sya. YA ne hochu, a d'yavol zlitsya. Itak, ne byt' mne bogachom. K chemu zh molit'sya i o chem? ZHelanij u menya nemnogo, I za drugih molyu ya boga. Puskaj daet mne zlobnyj chert Odezhdy, pishchi hudshij sort, - Mne i v nuzhde zhivetsya slavno... I vse zhe, chert, sluzhi ispravno! Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    THE PICKERING MANUSCRIPT

(1800-1803)

    100. THE SMILE

There is a smile of love, And there is a smile of deceit, And there is a smile of smiles In which these two smiles meet. And there is a frown of hate, And there is a frown of disdain, And there is a frown of frowns Which you strive to forget in vain, For it sticks in the heart's deep core And it sticks in the deep backbone - And no smile that ever was smil'd, But only one smile alone, That betwixt the cradle and grave It only once smil'd can be; And, when it once is smil'd, There's an end to all misery.

    MANUSKRIPT PIKERINGA

(1800-1803)

    100. ULYBKA

Est' Ulybka Lyubvi, Est' Ulybka pritvornoj Lichiny, Est' Ulybka Ulybok - V nej obe Ulybki ediny. Est' Uhmylka Vrazhdy, Est' Uhmylka Prezren'ya, Est' Uhmylka Uhmylok, Ot kotoroj ne znayut zabven'ya, Ibo v strup'yah dusha ot nee I nutro v neschislimyh uvech'yah; No edinoj Velikoj Ulybke Suzhdeno na ustah chelovech'ih Edinozhdy vspyhnut' v puti Ot Kolybeli do Groba; No dostatochno ej rascvesti -- I vpadaet v nichtozhestvo Zloba. Perevod A. V. Parina

    101. THE GOLDEN NET

Three Virgins at the break of day: - 'Whither, young man, whither away? 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?

    101. ZLATAYA SETX

Tri devy v predrassvetnyj chas: "Kuda ty, yunosha, ot nas? O gore, gore!" Iz ochej U kazhdoj hlynul slez ruchej. Odna - ognem odela stan, Drugoj - naryad zheleznyj dan. Na tret'ej - polnoe siyan'ya, Iz slez i vzdohov odeyan'e. I set' iz pryazhi zolotoj Nesut, rydaya, v les gustoj. Zaplakav s nimi, ya uzrel Lyubvi i Krasoty udel: Oni dvojnym ognem palimy. ZHelan'ya ih neutolimy. Do slez ya zhazhdal im pomoch', - Odetym v slezy den' i noch'. Tut vyzval ya u nih ulybku, CHto nebesa vvela b v oshibku, - Ulybku, chto zlatuyu set' Zastavila, kak puh, vzletet' I zahlestnut' nachalo dnej Moih, chtob ya bluzhdal pod nej. Vzyvayu k YAromu Ognyu, Molyu ZHeleznuyu Bronyu, Slezam i Vzdoham govoryu: - Kogda uvizhu ya zaryu? Perevod V. L. Potapovoj

    102. 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. Till he becomes a bleeding Youth, And she becomes a Virgin bright; Then he rends up his manacles, And binds her down for his delight. He plants himself in all her nerves, Just as a husbandman his mould; And she becomes his dwelling-place And garden fruitful seventyfold. An aged Shadow, soon he fades, Wandering round an earthly cot, Full filled all with gems and gold Which he by industry had got. And these are the gems of the human soul, The rubies and pearls of a love-sick eye, The countless gold of the aching heart, The martyr's groan and the lover's sigh. They are his meat, they are his drink; He feeds the beggar and the poor And the wayfaring traveller: For ever open is his door. His grief is their eternal joy; They make the roofs and walls to ring; Till from the fire on the hearth A little Female Babe does spring. And she is all of solid fire And gems and gold, that none his hand Dares stretch to touch her baby form, Or wrap her in his swaddling-band. But she comes to the man she loves, If young or old, or rich or poor; They soon drive out the Aged Host, A beggar at another's door. He wanders weeping far away, Until some other take him in; Oft blind and age-bent, sore distrest, Until he can a Maiden win. And to allay his freezing age, The poor man takes her in his arms; The cottage fades before his sight, The garden and its lovely charms. The guests are scatter'd thro' the land, For the eye altering alters all; The senses roll themselves in fear, And the flat earth becomes a ball; The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away, A desert vast without a bound, And nothing left to eat or drink, And a dark desert all around. The honey of her infant lips, The bread and wine of her sweet smile, The wild game of her roving eye, Does him to infancy beguile; For as he eats and drinks he grows Younger and younger every day; And on the desert wild they both Wander in terror and dismay. Like the wild stag she flees away, Her fear plants many a thicket wild; While he pursues her night and day, By various arts of love beguil'd; By various arts of love and hate, Till the wide desert planted o'er With labyrinths of wayward love, Where roam the lion, wolf, and boar. Till he becomes a wayward Babe, And she a weeping Woman Old. Then many a lover wanders here; The sun and stars are nearer roll'd; The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy To all who in the desert roam; Till many a city there is built, And many a pleasant shepherd's home. But when they find the Frowning Babe, Terror strikes thro' the region wide: They cry 'The Babe! the Babe is born!' And flee away on every side. For who dare touch the Frowning Form, His arm is wither'd to its root; Lions, boars, wolves, all howling flee, And every tree does shed its fruit. And none can touch that Frowning Form, Except it be a Woman Old; She nails him down upon the rock, And all is done as I have told.

    102. STRANSTVIE

YA stranstvoval v Strane Lyudej, YA byl v Strane Muzhej i ZHen - I lyutyj strah zastyl v glazah, V ushah ostalsya s teh vremen. Tam tyazhkij trud - Zachat' Ditya, Zabava Prazdnaya - Rozhat'; Tak nam legko sbirat' plody, No tyazhko seyat' i sazhat'. Ditya zhe, esli eto Syn, Staruhe Dryahloj otdayut, I ta, raspyav ego gvozdem, Sbiraet krik v zlatoj sosud. YAzvit ternovnikom CHelo, Pronzaet Nogu i Ladon', I Serdce, grud' emu raz®yav, Kidaet v prorub' i v ogon'. "Tut bol'no? - ishchet. - Tut? a tut?" V nahodke kazhdoj - torzhestvo. Rastet on v mukah, a ona Lish' molodeet ottogo. I vot on - stroen i krovav. I deva s uzhasom v glazah. I, puty sbrosiv, on ee Beret - vsyu v putah i v slezah. "Tut bol'no? - ishchet. - Tut? a tut?" Vedet, kak plugom, borozdu; On obitaet v nej teper', Kak v neskonchaemom sadu. No vyanet vskorosti i on, V svoem zhilishche, kak slepoj, Kradyas' mezh Bleshchushchih Bogatstv, CHto zahvatil za Den' Zemnoj. Ego bogatstva - zhemchug slez, Rubiny vospalennyh glaz, I zlato raskalennyh dum, I strast', i pros'ba, i prikaz. On - eto el, on - eto pil; Teper' on kormit i poit I perehozhih, i bol'nyh - Otnyne dom ego otkryt. K nemu prihodyat - poglazet', On stal posmeshishchem dlya vseh; Mladenec-Deva iz ognya Dolzhna vosstat', chtob smolknul smeh. I vosstaet iz ochaga - Zlataya, ognennaya stat', - Ne podymaetsya ruka Dotronut'sya i spelenat'. A Deva ishchet ne ego - Bogat il' beden, yun il' star Ee izbrannik, - no emu Dom starca prepodnosit v dar. Ograblennyj, uhodit von. Ishcha strannopriimnyj dom, Gde vyjdet Deva iz ognya I slyubitsya so starikom. Sedoj, sogbennyj i slepoj, Beret on Ognennuyu Dshcher' - I vot rassypalsya dvorec. I sad osypalsya teper'. Vse perehozhie - bezhat', Drozha v smyaten'e, kak listva, I sharom ploskaya Zemlya Krutitsya v vihre estestva. SHarahayutsya zvezdy proch', Zabivshis' v shcheli pustoty, Ne stalo pishchi i pit'ya, Odni pustyni stol' pusty. No est' Nevinnye Usta, Oni - Vino, i Hleb, i Med; Est' Pticy Glaz na vertelah - I, voskresaya, est i p'et. On znaet, chto rastet nazad, Rastet v mladencheskie dni; V pustyne straha i styda Vdvoem skitayutsya oni. Ona, kak lan', nesetsya proch' - I, gde promchalas', vyros les, Ee smyaten'em porozhden; A on - za nej, vo t'mu dreves, Vo t'mu dreves, vo t'mu Lyubvi I Nenavisti, - on za nej; I vse izvilistej lesa, Neprohodimej i temnej. I vsya pustynya zarosla Stolpami mertvennyh derev, I v Debryah Begstva i Lyubvi Uzh ryshchut Volk, i Vepr', i Lev. I on dobilsya svoego! Mladenec on, ona - dryahla; Vernulis' lyudi v te kraya, A v nebo - zvezdy bez chisla. Derev'ya prinesli plody, Manya i pishchej i pit'em; Uzhe vozvodyat goroda I stroyat hizhiny krugom. No lish' Uzhasnoe Ditya Uvidyat zhiteli strany, Kak s gromkim voplem: "Rodilos'!" Sbegut iz etoj storony. Ved' vedomo: lish' prikosnis' K Uzhasnoj Ploti - i umresh'; Volk, Vepr' i Lev begut, drozha, Derev'ya ogolila drozh'. Ved' vedomo: na etu Plot' Upravy lyudyam ne syskat', Poka Staruha ne pridet... I vse, kak skazano, - opyat'. Perevod V. L. Toporova

    103. THE LAND OF DREAMS

Awake, awake, my little boy! Thou wast thy mother's only joy; Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep? Awake! thy father does thee keep. 'O, what land is the Land of Dreams? What are its mountains, and what are its streams? O father! I saw my mother there, Among the lilies by waters fair. 'Among the lambs, clothed in white, She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight. I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn; O! when shall I again return?' Dear child, I also by pleasant streams Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams; But tho' calm and warm the waters wide, - I could not get to the other side. 'Father, O father! what do we here In this land of unbelief and fear? The Land of Dreams is better far, Above the light of the morning star.'

    103. YUDOLX GREZ

- Prosnis', moj mal'chik, moj malysh! Zachem ty plachesh' i krichish'? Ne bojsya, milyj! Pogodi - Otec prizhmet tebya k grudi. - Ah! ya bluzhdal v YUdoli Grez. YA videl reku i utes. I mat' - vsyu v liliyah - zhivoj YA tam uvidel nad vodoj. Sredi yagnyat, belym-bela, Ona so mnoj po travam shla. Ot schast'ya plakal ya togda. No kak vernut'sya mne tuda? - Synok, ya byl v YUdoli Grez, YA videl reku i utes, No tak bezbrezhen byl potok, CHto pereplyt' ego ne mog. - Otec, otec! chego zh my zhdem! YUdol' Otchayan'ya krugom! V YUdoli Grez, blazhennyh Grez, My pozabudem gorech' slez! Perevod V. L. Toporova

    104. MARY

Sweet Mary, the first time she ever was there, Came into the ball-room among the fair; The young men and maidens around her throng, And these are the words upon every tongue: 'An Angel is here from the heavenly climes, Or again does return the golden times; Her eyes outshine every brilliant ray, She opens her lips-'tis the Month of May.' Mary moves in soft beauty and conscious delight, To augment with sweet smiles all the joys of the night, Nor once blushes t6 own to the rest of the fair That sweet Love and Beauty are wortriy our care. In the morning the villagers rose with delight, And repeated with pleasure the joys of the night, And Mary arose among friends to be free, k But no friend from henceforward thou, Mary, shalt see. Some said she was proud, some call'd her a whore, And some, when she passed by, shut to the door; A damp cold came o'er her, her blushes all fled; Her lilies and roses are blighted and shed. 'O, why was I born with a different face? Why was I not born like this envious race? Why did Heaven adorn me with bountiful hand, And then set me down in an envious land? 'To be weak as a lamb and smooth as a dove, And not to raise envy, is call'd Christian love; But if you raise envy your merit's to blame For planting such spite in the weak and the tame. 'I will humble my beauty, I will not dress fine, I will keep from the ball, and my eyes shall not shine; And if any girl's lover forsakes her for me I'll refuse him my hand, and from envy be free.' She went out in morning attir'd plain and neat; 'Proud Mary's gone mad,' said the child in the street; She went out in morning in plain neat attire, And came home in evening bespatter'd with mire. She trembled and wept, sitting on the bedside, She forgot it was night, and she trembled and cried; She forgot it was night, she forgot it was morn, Her soft memory imprinted with faces of scorn; With faces of scorn and with eyes of disdain, Like foul fiends inhabiting Mary's mild brain; She remembers no face like the Human Divine; All faces have envy, sweet Mary, but thine; And thine is a face of sweet love in despair, And thine is a face of mild sorrow and care, And thine is a face of wild terror and fear That shall never be quiet till laid on its bier.

    104. M|RI

Prekrasnaya Meri vpervye prishla Na prazdnik mezh pervyh krasavic sela. Nashla ona mnogo druzej i podrug, I vot chto o nej govorili vokrug: "Neuzheli k nam angel spustilsya s nebes Ili vek zolotoj v nashe vremya voskres? Svet nebesnyh luchej zatmevaet ona. Priotkroet usta - nastupaet vesna". Meri dvizhetsya tiho v siyan'e svoej Krasoty, ot kotoroj i vsem veselej. I, stydlivo krasneya, sama soznaet, CHto prekrasnoe stoit lyubvi i zabot. Utrom lyudi prosnulis' i vspomnili noch', I vesel'e prodlit' oni byli ne proch'. Meri tak zhe bespechno na prazdnik prishla, No druzej ona bol'she v tolpe ne nashla. Kto skazal, chto prekrasnaya Meri gorda, Kto dobavil, chto Meri ne znaet styda. Budto veter syroj naletel i unes Lepestki raspustivshihsya lilij i roz. "O, zachem ya krasivoj na svet rozhdena? Pochemu ne pohozha na vseh ya odna? Pochemu, odariv menya shchedroj rukoj, Nebesa menya predali zlobe lyudskoj? - Bud' smirenna, kak agnec, kak golub', chista, - Takovo, mne tverdili, uchen'e Hrista. Esli zh zavist' rozhdaesh' ty v dushah u vseh Krasotoyu svoej - na tebe etot greh! YA ne budu krasivoj, smenyu svoj naryad, Moj rumyanec pobleknet, pomerknet moj vzglyad. Esli zh kto predpochtet menya miloj svoej, YA otvergnu lyubov' i poshlyu ego k nej". Meri skromno odelas' i vyshla chut' svet. "Sumasshedshaya!" - kriknul mal'chishka vosled. Meri skromnyj, no chistyj nadela naryad, A vernulas' zabryzgana gryaz'yu do pyat. Vsya drozha, opustilas' ona na krovat', I vsyu noch' ne mogla ona slezy unyat', Pozabyla pro noch', ne zametila dnya, V chutkoj pamyati zlobnye vzglyady hranya. Lica, polnye yarosti, zloby slepoj, Pered nej pronosilis', kak d'yavolov roj. Ty ne videla, Meri, lucha dobroty. Temnoj zloby ne znala odna tol'ko ty. Ty zhe - obraz lyubvi, iznemogshej v slezah, Nezhnyj obraz rebenka, uznavshego strah, Obraz tihoj pechali, toski rokovoj, CHto provodyat tebya do doski grobovoj. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    105. THE CRYSTAL CABINET

The Maiden caught me in the wild, Where I was dancing merrily; She put me into her Cabinet, And lock'd me up with a golden key, This Cabinet is form'd of gold And pearl and crystal shining bright, And within it opens into a world And a little lovely moony night. Another England there I saw, Another London with its Tower, Another Thames and other hills, And another pleasant Surrey bower. Another Maiden like herself, Translucent, lovely, shining clear, Threefold each in the other clos'd - O, what a pleasant trembling fear! O, what a smile! a threefold smile Fill'd me, that like a flame I burn'd; I bent to kiss the lovely Maid, And found a threefold kiss return'd. I strove to seize the inmost form With ardour fierce and hands of flame, But burst the Crystal Cabinet, And like a weeping Babe became- A weeping Babe upon the wild, And weeping Woman pale reclin'd, And in the outward air again I fill'd with woes the passing wind.

    105. HRUSTALXNAYA SHKATULKA

Plyasal ya na pustom prostore, Kazalos', plyaska vesela; No Deva YUnaya pojmala - V svoyu shkatulku zaperla. Byla hrustal'nogo shkatulka, Byla zhemchuzhnoj, zolotoj; Nezdeshnij mir v nej otkryvalsya S nezdeshnej Noch'yu i Lunoj. Nezdeshnej Angliya predstala: Nezdeshnej Temzy berega, Nezdeshnij Tauer i London, Nezdeshni milye luga. I Deva deyalas' nezdeshnej, Skvozya skvoz' samoe sebya. YA videl: v nej byla drugaya! V toj - tret'ya, videl ya, lyubya! YA trepetal... O, Tri Ulybki! Plamen'ev pylkih tri volny! YA celoval ih, i lobzan'ya Trikraty mne vozvrashcheny! YA k tret'ej, k tajnoj, k sokrovennoj Dlan' plamesushchuyu proster - I szheg hrustal'nuyu shkatulku, Mladencem pal v pustoj prostor. I ZHenshchina zagolosila, I ya, Mladenec, golosil, I veter proletal po svetu, I veter kriki raznosil. Perevod V. L. Toporova

    106. THE GREY MONK

'I die, I die!' the Mother said, 'My children die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless tyrant said?' The Monk sat down on the stony bed. The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side, His hands and feet were wounded wide, His body bent, his arms and knees Like to the roots of ancient trees. His eye was dry; no tear could flow: A hollow groan first spoke his woe. He trembled and shudder'd upon the bed; At length with a feeble cry he said: 'When God commanded this hand to write In the studious hours of deep midnight, He told me the writing I wrote should prove The bane of all that on Earth I love. 'My brother starv'd between two walls, His children's cry my soul appalls; I mock'd at the wrack and griding chain, My bent body mocks their torturing pain. 'Thy father drew his sword in the North, With his thousands strong he marched forth; Thy brother has arm'd himself in steel, To avenge the wrongs thy children feel. 'But vain the sword and vain the bow, They never can War's overthrow. The hermit's prayer and the widow's tear Alone can free the world from fear. 'For a tear is an intellectual thing, And a sigh is the sword of an Angel King, And the bitter groan of the martyr's woe Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow. 'The hand of Vengeance found the bed To which the purple tyrant fled; The iron hand crush'd the tyrant's head, And became a tyrant in his stead.'

    106. SERYJ MONAH

Mat' prichitaet: - Nam konec! Zamuchen v kreposti otec. Ni kroshki v dome... Deti, spat'! - Monah saditsya na krovat'. Na lbu ego krovavyj shram. Krov' luzhej natekla k nogam. Kak molniej spalennyj dub, On poluzhiv i polutrup. No ni slezy v ego ochah... Vzdohnuvshi gorestno, monah Sobralsya iz poslednih sil I s zhalkim krikom vozglasil: - Kogda Gospod' moej ruke Velel pisat' o zloj toske, On rek: byt' etomu pis'mu Proklyat'em rodu tvoemu. Byl brat moj v krepost' zatochen. Neschastnyh sirot slysha ston, YA - sam isterzan i v cepyah, - Smeyas', prevozmogal svoj strah. Otec tvoj rat' svoyu sozval, Ej put' na Sever ukazal; Tvoj brat s druzhinoyu svoej Otmstil za plach tvoih detej. No tshchetna hitrost', hrupok mech, Bojcov otvazhnyh gubit sech', A torzhestvuet tol'ko tot, Kto molitsya i slezy l'et. Pust' vdov i muchenikov plach S izdevkoj slushaet palach, No voinstvo nevinnyh slez Vedet v srazhenie Hristos! Ruka Vozmezdiya najdet Togo, kto v Purpure cvetet, No mstitel', pust' on spravedliv, Ubijcej stanet, otomstiv. Perevod V. L. Toporova

    107. AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE

To see a World in a grain of sand, And a Heaven in a wild flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, And Eternity in an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all Heaven in a rage. A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons Shudders Hell thro' all its regions. A dog starv'd at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A horse misus'd upon the road Calls to Heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing. The game-cock dipt and arm'd for fight Does the rising sun affright. Every wolfs and lion's howl Raises from Hell a Human soul. The wild deer, wandering here and there, Keeps the Human soul from care. The lamb misus'd breeds public strife, And yet forgives the butcher's knife. The bat that flits at close of eve Has left the brain that won't believe. The owl that calls upon the night Speaks the unbeliever's fright. He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be belov'd by men. He who the ox to wrath has mov'd Shall never be by woman lov'd. The wanton boy that kills the fly Shall feel the spider's enmity. He who torments the chafer's sprite Weaves a bower in endless night. The caterpillar on the leaf Repeats to thee thy mother's grief. Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh. He who shall train the horse to war Shall never pass the polar bar. The beggar's dog and widow's cat, Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat. The gnat that sings his summer's song Poison gets from Slander's tongue. The poison of the snake and newt Is the sweat of Envy's foot. The poison of the honey-bee Is the artist's jealousy. The prince's robes and beggar's rags Are toadstools on the miser's bags. A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent. It is right it should be so; Man was made for joy and woe; And when this we rightly know, Thro' the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine; Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine. The babe is more than swaddling-bands; Throughout all these human lands Tools were made, and born were hands, Every farmer understands. - Every tear from every eye Becomes a babe in Eternity; This is caught by Females bright, And return'd to its own delight. The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar Are waves that beat on Heaven's shore. The babe that weeps the rod beneath Writes revenge in realms of death. The beggar's rags, fluttering in air, Does to rags the heavens tear. The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun, Palsied strikes the summer's sun. The poor man's farthing is worth more Than all the gold on Afric's shore. One mite wrung from the labourer's hands Shall buy and sell the miser's lands Or, if protected from on high, Does that whole nation sell and buy. He who mocks the infant's faith Shall be mock'd in Age and Death. He who shall teach the child to doubt The rotting grave shall ne'er get out. He who respects the infant's faith Triumphs over Hell and Death. The child's toys and the old man's reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. The questioner, who sits so sly, Shall never know how to reply. He who replies to words of Doubt Doth put the light of knowledge out. The strongest poison ever known Came from Caesar's laurel crown. Nought can deform the human race Like to the armour's iron brace. When gold and gems adorn the plough To peaceful arts shall Envy bow. A riddle, or the cricket's cry, Is to Doubt a fit reply. The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame Philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please. If the Sun and Moon should doubt, They'd immediately go out. To be in a passion you good may do, But no good if a passion is in you. The whore and gambler, by the state Licensed, build that nation's fate. The harlot's cry from street to street Shall weave Old England's winding-sheet The winner's shout, the loser's curse, Dance before dead England's hearse. Every night and every morn Some to misery are born. Every morn and every night Some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night. We are led to believe a lie When we see not thro' the eye, Which was born in a night, to perish in a night, When the Soul slept in beams of light. God appears, and God is Light, To those poor souls who dwell in Night; But does a Human Form display To those who dwell in realms of Day.

    107. IZRECHENIYA NEVINNOSTI

Nebo sinee - v cvetke, V gorstke praha - beskonechnost'; Celyj mir derzhat' v ruke, V kazhdom mige videt' vechnost'. Esli pticu v kletku pryachut, Nebesa nad neyu plachut. Golubyatnya s golubyami Gasit d'yavolovo plamya. Pes golodnyj okoleet - Angliya ne uceleet. Kon', ishlestannyj plet'mi, - Signal k rasprave nad lyud'mi. Krik zatravlennogo zajca V chelovechij mozg vonzaetsya. ZHavoronka podob'esh' - Dobryh angelov spugnesh'. Petushinyj boj nachnetsya - Solnce v nebesah kachnetsya. Volchij voj i l'vinyj rev Budyat spyashchih mertvecov. Lan', kradushchayasya v kushchah, Ohranyaet son zhivushchih. Trus-myasnik i hrabryj voin - Bliznecy so skotoboen. Netopyr' roditsya seryj Iz dushi, lishennoj very. CHto bezbozhnik, chto sova - Net im sna, dusha mertva. Tot, kto pticu b'et vpustuyu, Zasluzhit nenavist' lyudskuyu. Tot, kto holostit svoj skot, Tshchetno zhenskoj laski zhdet. Esli mal'chik shlepnet moshku - Pauch'ej on pojdet dorozhkoj. Tot, kto muchaet zhuka, Budet muchit'sya veka. V gusenice razumej Gore materi tvoej. Kol' pogibnet strekoza - Gryanet bozhiya groza. Kto konya k srazhen'yam shkolit, Sej greh voveki ne zamolit. Pokormi kota i psa - Tebya prokormyat nebesa. YAd komarov, zhuzhzhashchih letom, - Brat men'shoj inym navetam. Zavist' vechno vsya v potu, |tot pot - u zmej vo rtu. Po chasti yada prevzoshel Lyuboj poet medvyanyh pchel. I chervoncy, i polushki U skupca v rukah - gnilushki. Pravdu podluyu skazhi - Vyjdet gazhe podloj lzhi. Vot chto nuzhno znat' vsegda: Slitny radost' i beda. Znaj ob etom - i togda Ne spotknesh'sya nikogda. Radost' i beda - odno Plat'e, hitro spleteno: Pod nevzrachnoe ryadno Poddeto tonkoe sukno. ZHizn' rebenka povazhnej Im isporchennyh veshchej: Stukni po stolu. Ot stuku Stanet zhal' ne stol, a ruku. Slezy, prolitye nami, Stanut nashimi synami - Synov'ya otyshchut mat', CHtob smeyat'sya i sverkat'. Bleyan'e, mychan'e, rzhan'e - Volny v rajskom okeane. Mal'chugan, nakazan rozgoj, - Rayu tvoemu ugroza. Plat'e nishchego ubogo, No ne luchshe i u boga. Voin s sablej i ruzh'em Solnce delaet rzhav'em. Grosh podenshchika cennee, CHem sokrovishcha Gvinei. Grosh bednyage ne ustupish' - Kraj skupcov prodash' i kupish', A kol' vlast'yu nadelen - Prodash' i kupish' Al'bion. Otuchit' ditya ot very - Zasluzhit' potoki sery. Nauchit' ditya somnen'yam - Rasprostit'sya s Voskresen'em. Tot, kto veru v detyah chtit, Muki ada posramit. Igry malyh, mysli staryh - Urozhaj v zemnyh ambarah. Tot, kto hitro voproshaet, Kak otvetit', sam ne znaet. Recham somnen'ya ne otvetstvuj, A ne to pogasish' svet svoj. Lavry Cezarya taili YAd, ubijstvennyj po sile. Gde chelovek byvaet huzhe, CHem sredi svoih oruzhii? Plug ceni dorozhe zlata - I ne budesh' vedat' zla ty. Tochnejshij - i navernyaka - Otvet somnen'yu - skrip sverchka. Orel - stremglav, murash - polzkom, A mudrost' - sidnem, no verhom. CHut' filosof usomnitsya - Stukni. On reshit, chto mnitsya. Solnce, znaj ono somnen'ya, Grelo b d'yavola v geenne. Strast'yu horosho pylat', Ploho - hvorostom ej stat'. Vzyatku dav, igrok i blyad' Stranoyu stali zapravlyat'. Zazyvan'yami bludnicy Savan Anglii kroitsya. Vyigral il' proigralsya - Grob strany zasypat' vzyalsya. Temnoj noch'yu i chut' svet Lyudi yavyatsya na svet. Lyudi yavyatsya na svet, A vokrug - nochnaya t'ma. I odnih - zhdet Schast'ya svet, A drugih - Neschast'ya t'ma. Esli b my glyadeli glazom, To vo lzhi pogryaz by razum. Glaz vo t'mu glyadit, glaz vo t'mu skol'zit, A dusha mezh tem v blikah sveta spit. Tem, kto stranstvuet v nochi, Svetyat Gospoda luchi. K tem, kto v stranah dnya zhivet, Bogochelovek gryadet. Perevod V. L. Toporova

    108. LONG JOHN BROWN AND LITTLE MARY BELL

Little Mary Bell had a Fairy in a nut, Long John Brown had the Devil in his gut; Long John Brown lov'd little Mary Bell, And the Fairy drew the Devil into the nutshell. Her Fairy skipp'd out and her Fairy skipp'd in; He laugh'd at the Devil, saying 'Love is a sin.' The Devil he raged, and the Devil he was wroth, And the Devil enter'd into the young man's broth. He was soon in the gut of the loving young swain, For John ate and drank to drive away love's pain; But all he could do he grew thinner and thinner, Tho' he ate and drank as much as ten men for his dinner. Some said he had a wolf in his stomach day and night, Some said he had the Devil, and they guess'd right; The Fairy skipp'd about in his glory, joy and pride, And he laugh'd at the Devil till poor John Brown died. Then the Fairy skipp'd out of the old nutshell, And woe and alack for pretty Mary Bell! For the Devil crept in when the Fairy skipp'd out, And there goes Miss Bell with her fusty old nut.

    108. DLINNYJ DZHON BRAUN I MALYUTKA M|RI B|LL

Byla v orehe feya u kroshki Meri Bell, A u verzily Dzhona v pechenkah chert sidel. Lyubil malyutku Meri verzila bol'she vseh, I zamanila feya d'yavola v oreh. Vot vyprygnula feya i spryatalas' v oreh. Smeyas', ona skazala: "Lyubov' - velikij greh!" Obidelsya na feyu v nee vlyublennyj bes, I vot k verzile Dzhonu v pohlebku on zalez. Popal k nemu v pechenki i nachal portit' krov', Verzila est za semeryh, chtoby prognat' lyubov', No taet on, kak svechka, hudeet s kazhdym dnem S teh por, kak poselilsya golodnyj d'yavol v nem. - Dolzhno byt', - lyudi govoryat, - v nego zabralsya volk! Drugie d'yavola vinyat, i v etom est' svoj tolk. A feya plyashet i poet - tak d'yavol ej smeshon. I doplyasalas' do togo, chto umer dlinnyj Dzhon. Togda plyasun'ya-feya pokinula oreh. S teh por malyutka Meri ne vedaet uteh. Ee pustym orehom sam d'yavol zavladel. I vot s protuhshej skorlupoj ostalas' Meri Bell. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    109. WILLIAM BOND

I wonder whether the girls are mad, And I wonder whether they mean to kill, And I wonder if William Bond will die, For assuredly he is very ill. He went to church in a May morning, Attended by Fairies, one, two, and three; But the Angels of Providence drove them away, And he return'd home in misery. He went not out to the field nor fold, He went not out to the village nor town, But he came home in a black, black cloud, And took to his bed, and there lay down. And an Angel of Providence at his feet, And an Angel of Providence at his head, And in the midst a black, black cloud, And in the midst the sick man on his bed. And on his right hand was Mary Green, And on his left hand was his sister Jane, And their tears fell thro' the black, black cloud To drive away the sick man's pain. 'O William, if thou dost another love, Dost another love better than poor Mary, Go and take that other to be thy wife, And Mary Green shall her servant be.' 'Yes, Mary, I do another love, Another I love far better than thee, And another I will have for my wife; Then what have I to do with thee? 'For thou art melancholy pale, And on thy head is the cold moon's shine, But she is ruddy and bright as day, And the sunbeams dazzle from her eyne.' Mary trembled and Mary chill'd, And Mary fell down on the right-hand floor, That William Bond and his sister Jane Scare could recover Mary more. When Mary woke and found her laid On the right hand of her William dear, On the right hand of his loved bed, And saw her William Bond so near, The Fairies that fled from William Bond Danced around her shining head; They danced over the pillow white, And the Angels of Providence left the bed. I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine, But O he lives in the moony light! I thought to find Love in the heat of day, But sweet Love is the comforter of night. Seek Love in the pity of others' woe, In the gentle relief of another's care, In the darkness of night and the winter's snow, In the naked and outcast, seek Love there!

    109. VILXYAM BOND

YA porazhayus' bezum'yu Dev, YA porazhayus' ih zhazhde krovi, I ya porazhayus': Villi Bond zhiv, Hotya poshatnulos' ego zdorov'e! On v cerkov' majskim utrom poshel; Odna, dve, tri - zamel'kali Fei, No Angely Providen'ya spugnuli Fej, I Villi domoj povernul, mrachneya. Ne poshel on pasti ovec, Ne poshel on pahat' zemlicu - CHernee tuchi prishel domoj, CHernee tuchi v postel' lozhitsya. Angel Providen'ya vstal v nogah, Angel Providen'ya stereg izgolov'e, A posredine - tuchi chernej - Mrachnyj Muzhlan pomirat' nagotove. Odesnuyu vstala Meri Grin, Oshuyuyu vstala ego sestra, No plach nepritvornyj nad tuchej chernoj Ne podnyal stradal'ca s ego odra. "O Vil'yam, ezheli ty razlyubil, Ezheli polyubil druguyu, - Podi i v zheny ee voz'mi, I k vam sluzhankoj togda pojdu ya!" "Vot v etom, Meri, ty prava. Ty zanimaesh' chuzhoe mesto. Druguyu v ZHeny ya voz'mu, Tak chto zhe mne v tebe, Nevesta? Ty pugliva, i ty bledna, Lunnyj hlad na chele vitaet, A ona - goryacha, smela, Plamya solnca v ochah blistaet!" Meri vnemlet, i Meri zrit, Meri padaet, gde stoyala; Bezdyhannuyu s polovic Perenosyat pod odeyalo. No edva ochnulas' ona - Obnaruzhila, torzhestvuya, CHto polozhena na krovat' Ot zhelannogo odesnuyu. Fei, spugnutye s utra, Vorotilis' i zaplyasali Na podushkah vokrug nee. Angely Providen'ya propali. Lyubov', ya dumal, - zhar i svet. A vyshlo - polut'ma i trepet. Lyubov', ya dumal, - Solnca Smeh. A vyshlo - tihij lunnyj lepet. Ishchite v gorestyah Lyubov', V slezah, v uchastii, v zabote, Vo t'me, v snegah, sredi nagih I siryh. Tam ee najdete! Perevod V. L. Toporova

    THE BOOK OF THEL

THEL'S MOTTO Does the Eagle know what is in the pit Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod, Or Love in a golden bowl?

    I

The daughters of [the] Seraphim led round their sunny flocks - All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air, To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day: Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard, And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew: - 'O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water? Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall? Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud; Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water; Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face; Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head, And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice Of Him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.' The Lily of the Valley, breathing in the humble grass, Answered the lovely maid and said: I am a wat'ry weed, And I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly vales; So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head. Yet I am visited from heaven, and He that smiles on all Walks in the valley, and each morn over me spreads His hand, Saying, "Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower, Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks; For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna, Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs, To flourish in eternal vales." Then why should Thel complain? Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?' She ceas'd, and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine. Thel answer'd: 'O thou little Virgin of the peaceful valley, Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired; Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments, He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face, Wiping his mild and meeking mouth from all contagious taints. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume, Which thou dost scatter on every little'blade of grass that springs, Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed. But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun: I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?' 'Queen of the vales,' the Lily answer'd, 'ask the tender Cloud, And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky. And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air. Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel.' The Cloud descended, and the Lily bowed her modest head, And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.

    II

'O little Cloud,' the Virgin said, T charge thee tell to me Why thou complainest not, when in one hour thou fade away: Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee: I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.' The Cloud then show'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd, Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel. 'O Virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth, And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more, Nothing remains? O Maid, I tell thee, when I pass away, It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and raptures holy: Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers, And court the fair-eyed dew, to take me to her shining tent: The weeping virgin, trembling, kneels before the risen sun, Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part, But walk united, bearing food to all out tender flowers.' 'Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee, For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers, But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds, But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food: But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away; And all shall say, "Without a use this shining woman liv'd, Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?" ' The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne, and answer'd thus: - 'Then if thou art the food of worms, O Virgin of the skies, How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Everything that lives Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call The weak Worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice. Come forth, Worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive Queen.' The helpless Worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf, And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.

    III

Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed. 'Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm? I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf. Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep. Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping, And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles.' The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head: She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes. 'O Beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves. Thou seest me, the meanest thing, and so I am indeed. My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark; But He, that loves the lowly, pours His oil upon my head, And kisses me, and binds His nuptial bands around my breast, And says: "Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee, And I have given thee a crown that none can take away." But how this is, sweet Maid, I know not, and I cannot know; I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.' The Daughter of Beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil, And said: 'Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep. That God would love a worm I knew, and punish the evil foot That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that He cherish'd it With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep; And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away, And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot.' 'Queen of the vales,' the matron Clay answer'd, 'I heard thy sighs, And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down. Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? "Tis given thee to enter And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet.'

    IV

The eternal gates' terrific Porter lifted the northern bar: Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the Jand unknown. She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists: A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen. She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground, Till to her own grave-plot she came, and there she sat down, And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit. 'Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction? Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile? Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn, Where a thousand fighting men in ambusji lie, Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'rhig fruits and coined gold? Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind? Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in? Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affrigfit? Why a tender curb upon the youthful, burning boy? Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?' The Virgin started from her seat, apd with a shriek Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.

    THE END.

    KNIGA T|LX

    x x x

Izvestno l' orlu, chto taitsya v zemle? Il' krot vam skazhet o tom? Kak mudrost' v serebryanom spryatat' zhezle, A lyubov' - v kovshe zolotom?

    I

V doline dshcheri Serafimov pasli svoih ovec. No Tel', ih mladshaya sestra, bluzhdala odinoko, Gotova s pervym dunoven'em ischeznut' navsegda. Vdol' po techeniyu Adony nesetsya skorbnyj ropot, I l'yutsya tihie stenan'ya, kak padet rosa. - O ty, begushchaya voda! Zachem tvoj lotos vyanet? Tvoih detej pechalen zhrebij: mgnovennyj smeh i smert'. Ah, Tel', - kak raduga vesny, kak oblako v lazuri, Kak obraz v zerkale, kak teni, chto brodyat po vode, Kak mimoletnyj detskij son, kak rezvyj smeh rebenka, Kak golos golubya lesnogo, kak muzyka vdali. Skorej by golovu sklonit', zabyt'sya bezmyatezhno, I tiho spat' poslednim snom, i slyshat' tihij golos Togo, kto po sadu prohodit vecherneyu poroj. Nevinnyj landysh, chut' zametnyj sredi smirennyh trav, Prekrasnoj devushke otvetil: - YA - tonkij stebelek, ZHivu ya v nizmennyh dolinah; i tak ya slab i mal, CHto motylek prisest' boitsya, porhaya, na menya. No nebo blagostno ko mne, i tot, kto vseh leleet, Ko mne prihodit v rannij chas i, oseniv ladon'yu, Mne shepchet: "Radujsya, cvetok, o liliya-malyutka, O deva chistaya dolin i ruchejkov ukromnyh. ZHivi, odevshis' v tkan' luchej, pitajsya bozh'ej mannoj, Poka u zvonkogo klyucha ot znoya ne uvyanesh', CHtob rascvesti v dolinah vechnyh!" Na chto zhe ropshchet Tel'? O chem vzdyhaet bezuteshno krasa doliny Gar? Cvetok umolk i pritailsya v rosistom altare. Tel' otvechala: - O malyutka, o liliya dolin, Ty otdaesh' sebya ustalym, bespomoshchnym, nemym, Ty nezhish' krotkogo yagnenka: molochnyj tvoj naryad S vostorgom lizhet on i shchiplet dushistye cvety, Mezh tem kak ty s ulybkoj nezhnoj glyadish' emu v glaza, Smetaya s mordochki nevinnoj prilipshij vrednyj sor. Tvoj sok prohladnyj ochishchaet gustoj yantarnyj med. Dysha tvoim blagouhan'em, okrestnaya trava ZHivit kormilicu-korovu, smiryaet pyl konya. No Tel' - kak oblako, sluchajno zazhzhennoe zarej. Ono pokinet tron zhemchuzhnyj, i kto ego najdet? - Carica yunaya dolin! - promolvil skromnyj landysh, - Ty mozhesh' oblako sprosit', plyvushchee nad nami, Zachem na utrennej zare gorit ono i bleshchet, Ogni i kraski rassypaya po vlazhnoj sineve. Sleti k nam, oblako, pomedli pered glazami Tel'! Spustilos' oblako, a landysh, golovku nakloniv, Opyat' ushel k svoim besschetnym zabotam i delam.

    II

- Skazhi mne, oblako, - sprosila zadumchivaya Tel', - Kak ty ne ropshchesh', ne toskuesh', zhivya odin lish' chas? No chas projdet, i bol'she v nebe tebya my ne najdem. I Tel' - kak ty. No Tel' toskuet, i net otveta ej! Glavu zlatuyu obnaruzhiv i vyplyv na prostor, Sverknulo oblako, vitaya nad golovoyu Tel'. - Ty znaesh', vlagu zolotuyu prohladnyh rodnikov P'yut nashi koni tam, gde Luva menyaet loshadej. Ty smotrish' s grust'yu i trevogoj na molodost' moyu, Skorbya o tom, chto ya rastayu, ischeznu bez sleda. No znaj, o devushka: rastayav, ya tol'ko perejdu K desyatikratnoj novoj zhizni, k pokoyu i lyubvi. K zemle spuskayas' nevidimkoj, ya chashechek cvetov Kasayus' kryl'yami i feyu puglivuyu - rosu Molyu prinyat' menya v prozrachnyj, siyayushchij shater. Rydaet trepetnaya deva, koleni prekloniv Pered svetilom voshodyashchim. No skoro my vstaem Soedinennoj, nerazluchnoj, likuyushchej chetoj, CHtob vmeste stranstvovat' i pishchu nesti cvetam polej. - Neuzhto, oblachko? YA vizhu, razlichen nash udel: Dyshu ya tozhe aromatom cvetov doliny Gar, No ne kormlyu cvetov dushistyh. YA slyshu shchebet ptic, No ne pitayu malyh ptashek. Oni svoj korm v polyah Nahodyat sami. YA ischeznu, i skazhut obo mne: Bez pol'zy vek svoj prozhila siyayushchaya deva, Ili zhila, chtob stat' dobychej prozhorlivyh chervej?.. S prestola oblako sklonilos' i otvechalo Tel': - Kol' suzhdeno tebe, o deva, stat' pishchej dlya chervej, Kak veliko tvoe znachen'e, kak chuden tvoj udel. Vse to, chto dyshit v etom mire, zhivet ne dlya sebya. Ne bojsya, esli iz mogily chervya ya pozovu. YAvis' k zadumchivoj carice, smirennyj syn Zemli! Mogil'nyj cherv' pripolz mgnovenno i leg na vlazhnyj list, I skrylos' oblako v pogone za sputnicej svoej.

    III

Bessil'nyj cherv' lezhal, svernuvshis', na malen'kom listke. - Ah, kto ty, slaboe sozdan'e? Ty - cherv'? I tol'ko cherv'? Peredo mnoj lezhit mladenec, zavernutyj v listok. Ne plach', o slabyj golosok! Ty govorit' ne mozhesh' I tol'ko plachesh' bez konca. Nikto tebya ne slyshit, Nikto lyubov'yu ne sogreet ozyabshee ditya!.. No glyba vlazhnaya zemli malyutku uslyhala, Sklonilas' laskovo nad nim i vse zhivye soki, Kak mat' mladencu, otdala. I, nakormiv pitomca, Smirennyj vzglyad spokojnyh glaz na devu ustremila. - Krasa dolin! My vse na svete zhivem ne dlya sebya. Menya ty vidish'? YA nichtozhna, nichtozhnej v mire vseh, YA lishena tepla i sveta, temna i holodna. No tot, kto lyubit vseh smirennyh, l'et na menya elej, Menya celuet, i odezhdy mne brachnye daet, I govorit: "Tebya izbral ya, o mat' moih detej, I dal tebe venec netlennyj, lyubvi moej zalog!" No chto, o deva, eto znachit, ponyat' ya ne mogu. YA tol'ko znayu, chto dano mne zhit' i, zhivya, lyubit'. Tel' osushila legkoj tkan'yu potoki svetlyh slez I tiho molvila: - Otnyne ne stanu ya roptat'. YA znala: drug vsego zhivogo ne mozhet ne zhalet' CHervya nichtozhnogo i strogo nakazhet za nego Togo, kto s umyslom razdavit bespomoshchnuyu tvar'. No ya ne znala, chto eleem i chistym molokom CHervya on kormit, i naprasno roptala na nego, Strashas' sojti v syruyu zemlyu, pokinut' svetlyj mir. - Poslushaj, devushka, - skazala privetlivo zemlya, - Davno tvoi ya slyshu vzdohi, vse zhaloby tvoi Neslis' nad krovleyu moeyu, - ya privlekla ih vniz. Ty hochesh' dom moj posetit'? Tebe dano spustit'sya I vyjti vnov' na svet dnevnoj. Pereshagni bez straha Svoeyu devstvennoj nogoyu zapretnyj moj porog!

    IV

Ugryumyj storozh vechnyh vrat zasov zheleznyj podnyal, I Tel', sojdya, uznala tajny nevidannoj strany, Uzrela lozha mertvecov, podzemnye glubiny, Gde niti vseh zemnyh serdec gnezdyatsya, izvivayas', - Stranu pechali, gde ulybka ne svetit nikogda. Ona brodila v carstve tuch, po sumrachnym dolinam, Vnimala zhalobam gluhim, i chasto otdyhala Vblizi nevedomyh mogil, prislushivayas' k stonam Iz glubiny syroj zemli... Tak, medlenno bluzhdaya, K svoej mogile podoshla, i tiho tam prisela, I uslyhala skorbnyj gul pustoj, glubokoj yamy: - Zachem vsegda otkryto uho dlya rokovyh vestej, A glaz blestyashchij - dlya ulybki, tayashchej sladkij yad? Zachem bezzhalostnoe veko polno zhestokih strel, Skryvaya voinov besschetnyh v zasade, ili glaz, Struyashchij milosti i laski, chervoncy i plody? Zachem yazyk medovoj pyl'yu laskayut veterki? Zachem v krugovorot svoj uho vtyanut' stremitsya mir? Zachem vdyhayut nozdri uzhas, raskryvshis' i drozha? Zachem goryashchij otrok svyazan stol' nezhnoyu uzdoj? Zachem zavesa tonkoj ploti nad logovom strastej?.. Tel' s krikom rinulas' ottuda - i v sumrake, nikem Ne ostanovlena, dostigla dolin cvetushchih Gar. Perevod S. YA. Marshaka

    THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL

    THE ARGUMENT

Rintrah roars, and shakes his fires in the burden'd air; Hungry clouds swag on the deep. Once meek, and in a perilous path, The just man kept his course along The vale of death. Roses are planted where thorns grow, And on the barren heath Sing the honey bees. Then the perilous path was planted, And a river and a spring On every cliff and tomb, And on the bleached bones Red clay brought forth; Till the villain left the paths of ease, To walk in perilous paths, and drive The just man into barren climes. Now the sneaking serpent walks In mild humility, And the just man rages in the wilds Where lions roam. Rintrah roars, and shakes his fires in the burden'd air; Hungry clouds swag on the deep. -----

    BRAKOSOCHETANIE RAYA I ADA

    SMYSL

Rintra revet i pylaet v tyazhelom nebe; ZHadnye tuchi drozhat nad puchinoj. Krotkij pravednik nekogda Prohodil po opasnoj doroge V doline smerti. Vmesto terniev - rozy, Na vereske pustoshi Poyut medonosnye pchely. Teper' ne projti po opasnoj doroge: Iz kazhdoj skaly i mogily Zabili ruchej i reka, I belye kosti mertvyh Obagrilis' ot krasnoj gliny; I zlodej ostavil dorogu pokoya I po opasnoj doroge Zagnal cheloveka v pustynyu. Nyne v nezhnom smiren'e polzaet Zlaya zmeya. I yaritsya pravednik v golyh stranah, Gde brodyat l'vy. Rintra revet i pylaet v tyazhelom nebe; ZHadnye tuchi drozhat nad puchinoj. ----- As a new heaven is begun, and it is now thirty-three years since its advent, the Eternal Hell revives. And lo! Swedenborg is the Angel sitting at the tomb: his writings are the linen clothes folded up. Now is the dominion of Edom, and the return of Adam into Paradise. See Isaiah xxxiv and xxxv chap. Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence. From these contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil. Good is the passive that obeys Reason. Evil is the active springing from Energy. Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell. -----

    THE VOICE OF THE DEVIL

All Bibles or sacred codes have been the causes of the following Errors: - 1. That Man has two real existing principles, viz. a Body and a Soul. 2. That Energy, call'd Evil, is alone from the Body; and that Reason, call'd Good, is alone from the Soul. 3. That God will torment Man in Eternity for following his Energies. But the following Contraries to these are True: - 1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul; for that call'd Body is a portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age. 2. Energy is the only life, and is from the Body; and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy. 3. Energy is Eternal Delight. ----- Tridcat' tri goda nazad s nachalom novogo raya vozrodilsya i Vechnyj Ad. I vzglyani: Svedenborg, slovno Angel, sidit na grobe, i slova ego - na plashchanice. Nastalo gospodstvo Edoma, i Adam vozvratilsya v raj; smotri knigu Isaji, glavy XXXIV i XXXV. Dvizhenie voznikaet iz Protivopolozhnostej. Vlechenie i Otvrashchenie, Mysl' i Dejstvie, Lyubov' i Nenavist' neobhodimy dlya bytiya CHeloveka. Protivopolozhnosti sozdayut to, chto veruyushchie nazyvayut Dobrom i Zlom. Dobro passivno i podchinyaetsya Mysli. Zlo aktivno i proistekaet ot Dejstviya. Dobro - eto Raj. Zlo - eto Ad. -----

    GOLOS DXYAVOLA

- Vse Svyashchennye knigi - prichina Oshibochnyh Mnenij: 1. CHto chelovek raz®yat na Telo i Dushu. 2. CHto Dejstvie, to est' Zlo, ot Tela; a Mysl', to est' Dobro, ot Dushi. 3. CHto Bog budet vechno kaznit' CHeloveka za Dejstviya. No Istina - v Protivopolozhnom: 1. Dusha i Telo nerazdelimy, ibo Telo - chastica Dushi i ego pyat' chuvstv sut' ochi Dushi. 2. ZHizn' - eto Dejstvie i proishodit ot Tela, a Mysl' privyazana k Dejstviyu i sluzhit emu obolochkoj. 3. Dejstvie - Vechnyj Vostorg. ----- Those who restrain Desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained; and the restrainer or Reason usurps its place and governs the unwilling. And being restrained, it by degrees becomes passive, till it is only the shadow of Desire. The history of this is written in _Paradise Lost_, and the Governor or Reason is call'd Messiah. And the original Archangel, or possessor of the command of the Heavenly Host, is call'd the Devil or Satan, and his children are call'd Sin and Death. But in the Book of Job, Milton's Messiah is called Satan. For this history has been adopted by both parties. It indeed appear'd to Reason as if Desire was cast out; but the Devil's account is, that the Messiah fell, and formed a Heaven of what he stole from the Abyss. This is shown in the Gospel, where he prays to the Father to send the Comforter, or Desire, that Reason may have Ideas to build on; the Jehovah of the Bible being no other than he who dwells in flaming fire. Know that after Christ's death, he became Jehovah. But in Milton, the Father is Destiny, the Son a Ratio of the five senses, and the Holy-ghost Vacuum! Note. The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true Poet, and of the Devil's party without knowing it. ----- Obuzdat' zhelanie mozhno, esli zhelanie slabo: togda mysl' vytesnyaet zhelanie i pravit protivno chuvstvu. Podavlennoe zhelanie lishaetsya voli i stanovitsya sobstvennoj ten'yu. Ob etom nam povestvuet "Utrachennyj Raj" i "Gosudar'", gde Razum nazvan Messiej. A pervonachal'nyj Arhangel, strateg nebesnogo voinstva, nazvan D'yavolom i Satanoj, a deti ego - Grehom i Smert'yu. Tot, kogo Mil'ton nazval Messiej, v Knige Iova - Satana. Ibo istoriyu Iova prinyali obe vrazhduyushchie storony. Mysl' iskrenne preziraet ZHelanie, no D'yavol nas uveryaet, chto pal ne on, a Messiya, i, pav, ustroil Raj iz togo, chto ukral v Adu. Smotri Evangelie, gde Messiya molit Otca poslat' emu uteshitelya, to est' ZHelanie, chtoby Mysl' ego obrela Podtverzhdenie; biblejskij Iegova ne kto inoj, kak tot, kto zhivet v pylayushchem plameni. Znaj, chto posle Hristovoj smerti on vnov' stal Iegovoj. No Mil'ton schitaet Otca - Sud'boj, Syna - Vmestilishchem chuvstv, a Duha Svyatogo - Pustotoj! Zamet', chto Mil'ton v temnice pisal o Boge i Angelah, a na svobode - o D'yavole i Geenne, ibo byl prirozhdennym Poetom i, sam ne znaya togo, storonnikom D'yavola. -----

    A MEMORABLE FANCY

As I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius, which to Angels look like torment and insanity, I collected some of their Proverbs; thinking that as the sayings used in a nation mark its character, so the Proverbs of Hell show the nature of Infernal wisdom better than any description of buildings or garments. When I came home, on the abyss of the five senses, where a flat- sided steep frowns over the present world, I saw a mighty Devil, folded in black clouds, hovering on the sides of the rock: with corroding fires he wrote the following sentence now perceived by the minds of men, and read by them on earth: - _How do you know but ev'ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense World of Delight, clos'd by your senses five_? -----

    PAMYATNYJ SON

YA shel sredi adskih ognej, i moe Vdohnoven'e kazalos' Angelam mukami ili bezumiem; a ya sobiral Poslovicy, ibo esli rechen'ya naroda raskryvayut dushu naroda, to Poslovicy Ada govoryat o mudrosti Preispodnej vernee, chem opisaniya i rassuzhdeniya puteshestvennika. Vernuvshis' domoj, nad bezdnoj pyati chuvstv, na hmuroj otvesnoj kruche nad nyneshnim mirom ya uvidel v tuchah moguchego D'yavola - on ognem vysekal na kamne to, chto segodnya otkryto lyudskomu umu: Vam, lyudyam, ne uznat', chto v kazhdoj ptice na letu Bezmernyj mir vostorga, nedostupnyj vashim chuvstvam! -----

    PROVERBS OF HELL

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. The cut worm forgives the plough. Dip him in the river who loves water. A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees. He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star. Eternity is in love with the productions of time. The busy bee has no time for sorrow. The hours of folly are measur'd by the clock; but of wisdom, no clock can measure. All wholesome food is caught without a net or a trap. Bring out number, weight, and measure in a year of dearth. No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings. A dead body revenges not injuries. The most sublime act is to set another before you. If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise. Folly is the cloak of knavery. Shame is Pride's cloak. Prisoners are built with stones of Law, brothels with bricks of Religion. The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. The nakedness of woman is the work of God. Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps. The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man. The fox condemns the trap, not himself. Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth. Let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep. The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. The selfish, smiling fool, and the sullen, frowning fool shall be both thought wise, that they may be a rod. What is now proved was once only imagin'd. The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit watch the roots; the lion, the tiger, the horse, the elephant watch the fruits. The cistern contains: the fountain overflows. One thought fills immensity. Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you. Everything possible to be believ'd is an image of truth. The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow. The fox provides for himself; but God provides for the lion. Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night. He who has suffer'd you to impose on him, knows you. As the plough follows words, so God rewards prayers. The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction. Expect poison from the standing water. You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. Listen to the fool's reproach! it is a kingly title! The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth. The weak in courage is strong in cunning. The apple tree never asks the beech ftow he shall grow; nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey. The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest. If others had not been foolish, we should be so. The soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd. When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of Genius; lift up thy head! As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys. To create a little flower is the labour of ages. Damn braces. Bless relaxes. The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest. Prayers plough not! Praises reap not! Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not! The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands and feet Proportion. As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible. The crow wish'd everything was black, the owl that everything was white. Exuberance is Beauty. If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning. Improvement makes straight roads; but the crooked roads without improvement are roads of Genius. Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires. Where man is not, nature is barren. Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ'd. Enough! or Too much. -----

    POSLOVICY ADA

Vo vremya poseva uchis', v zhatvu uchi, zimoj veselis'. Prokladyvaj put' i vedi borozdu nad kostyami mertvyh. Doroga izlishestv privodit k dvorcu mudrosti. Nichtozhestvo ugozhdaet rasslablennomu bogachu po imeni Blagorazumie. Bezdeyatel'noe zhelanie rozhdaet chumu. CHerv', rassechennyj plugom, ne dolzhen vinit' plug. Bros' v reku togo, kto p'et odnu vodu. V odnom i tom zhe dereve glupec i mudrec najdut ne odno i to zhe. Kto ne sposoben svetit', ne stanet zvezdoj. Vechnost' - eto lyubov', zakalennaya vremenem. Delovitoj pchele nedosug toskovat'. CHasy izmeryayut vremya bezumiya, no ne mudrosti. Zdorovuyu pishchu ne lovyat kapkanom ili silkom. V golod tvoi druz'ya - mera, chislo i ves. Ptica na sobstvennyh kryl'yah ne vzletit chereschur vysoko. Mertvyj ne mstit za obidy. Blagorodnyj stavit soseda vyshe sebya. Uporstvuya v gluposti, glupec stanovitsya mudrym. Glupost' - odezhda Lukavstva. Pozor - odeyanie Gordosti. Tyur'my stroyat iz kamnej Zakona, Doma Terpimosti - iz kirpichej Religii. Krasota Pavlina - slava Bozh'ya. Pohot' kozla - shchedrost' Bozh'ya. Svirepost' l'va - mudrost' Bozh'ya. Nagota zhenshchiny - tvoren'e Bozh'e. Ot izbytka gorya smeyutsya, a ot izbytka radosti plachut. L'vinyj ryk, volchij voj, yarost' buri i zhalo klinka sut' chasticy vechnosti, slishkom velikoj dlya glaza lyudskogo. Lisa v kapkane klyanet ne sebya, no kapkan. Radost' obremenyaet. Gore razreshaet ot bremeni. Dlya muzha - l'vinaya shkura, dlya zheny - ovech'e runo. Ptice - gnezdo, pauku - pautina, cheloveku - druzhba. Veselyj dobryj durak i hmuryj zlobnyj durak sojdut za umnyh, derzha v ruke rozgi. Segodnyashnyaya istina prezhde byla lish' dogadkoj. Krysa, mysh', lisa i krolik vidyat korni; lev, tigr, loshad' i slon vidyat plody. Prud kopit vodu, ruchej rastochaet. Odnoyu mysl'yu mozhno zapolnit' beskrajnost'. Govori otkrovenno, i lzhec ot tebya ubezhit. Vse dostojnoe very est' obraz istiny. Uchas' u vorony, orel tol'ko gubit vremya. Lisa kormit sebya, l'va kormit Bog. Dumaj utrom. Dejstvuj dnem. Esh' vecherom. Spi noch'yu. Tot, kto tebe podchinilsya, poznal tebya. Kak plug podchinyaetsya slovu, tak Bog slyshit molitvu. Tigry gneva mudrej loshadej pouchen'ya. Znaj, chto v stoyachej vode otrava. Ne uznaesh' mery, poka ne uznal izbytka. Vnimat' upreku glupca dostojno carya! Ochi ognya, nozdri vozduha, guby vody, boroda zemli. Slabyj muzhestvom silen hitrost'yu. YAsen' ne uchit yablonyu rostu; loshad' ne uchit l'va ohote. Blagodarnost' prinosit obil'nuyu zhatvu. Esli kto-to spassya ot gluposti, znachit, i my mozhem. Dushevnuyu blagodat' nel'zya zamarat'. Vidya Orla, vidish' chasticu Geniya: vyshe golovu! Gusenica oskvernyaet luchshie list'ya, svyashchennik oskvernyaet chistejshie radosti. CHtoby sozdat' cvetok, nuzhna rabota vekov. Proklyatie skovyvaet, Blagoslovenie osvobozhdaet. Vino - chem starshe, tem luchshe; voda - chem svezhej, tem luchshe. Molitvy ne seyut! Gimny ne zhnut! Radosti ne smeyutsya! Pechali ne plachut! V myslyah Parenie, v serdce Sostradanie, v chreslah Krasota, v nogah i rukah Sorazmernost'. Nebo - ptice, more - rybe, prezren'e - prezrennym. Vorona hotela, chtob mir pochernel, sova - chtob on pobelel. V Izlishestve - Krasota. Esli b lisa pouchala l'va, on by sdelalsya hitrym. CHelovek vypryamlyaet krivye puti; Genij idet krivymi. Luchshe ubit' ditya v kolybeli, chem sderzhivat' bujnye strasti. Gde net cheloveka, priroda pustynna. Lyudi ne primut pravdy, esli pojmut ee, no ne poveryat. Dovol'no! - to zhe samoe, chto: CHereschur! ----- The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with Gods or Geniuses, calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged and numerous senses could perceive. And particularly they studied the Genius of each city and country, placing it under its Mental Deity; Till a System was formed, which some took advantage of, and enslav'd the vulgar by attempting to realise or abstract the Mental Deities from their objects-thus began Priesthood; Choosing forms of worship from poetic'tales. And at length they pronounc'd that the Gods had order'd such things. Thus men forgot that All Deities reside in the Human breast. ----- Poety drevnosti odushevlyali predmety vokrug sebya, videli v nih Bogov ili Geniev, zvali ih po imenam i ukrashali ih dostoyaniem gor, lesov, ozer, gorodov, narodov, ibo mir oni vosprinimali shire i glubzhe, chem my. Oni pristal'no izuchali geniya kazhdogo goroda i strany i nahodili emu mesto v svite vymyshlennogo bozhestva. I voznikla kartina miroporyadka; no korystnye lyudi stremilis' predstavit' vo ploti vymyshlennye bozhestva, i otreshit' ih ot zrimyh predmetov, i etim porabotit' doverchivyh i nerazumnyh: tak voznikli Svyashchennosluzhiteli; Oni sozdavali obryady iz mifov, sochinennyh poetami. I nakonec ob®yavili, chto vse na zemle sotvorili Bogi. I lyudi zabyli, chto Vse bozhestva zhivut v ih grudi. -----

    A MEMORABLE FANCY

The Prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel dined with me, and I asked them how they dared so roundly to assert that God spoke to them; and whether they did not think at the time that they would be misunderstood, and so be the cause of imposition. Isaiah answer'd: 'I saw no God, nor heard any, in a finite organical perception; but my senses discover'd the infinite in everything, and as I was then persuaded, and remain confirm'd, that the voice of honest indignation is the voice of God, I cared not for consequences, but wrote.' Then I asked: 'Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so?' He replied: 'All Poets believe that it does, and in ages of imagination this firm persuasion removed mountains; but many are not capable of a firm persuasion of anything.' Then Ezekiel said: 'The philosophy of the East taught the first principles of human perception. Some nations held one principle for the origin, and some another: we of Israel taught that the Poetic Genius (as you now call it) was the first principle and all the others merely derivative, which was the cause of our despising the Priests and Philosophers of other countries, and prophesying that all Gods would at last be proved to originate in ours and to be the tributaries of the Poetic Genius. It was this that our great poet, King David, desired so fervently and invokes so pathetically, saying by this he conquers enemies and governs kingdoms; and we so loved our God, that we cursed in his name all the Deities of surrounding nations, and asserted that they had rebelled. From these opinions the vulgar came to think that all nations would at last be subject to the Jews.' 'This,' said he, 'like all firm persuasions, is come to pass; for all nations believe the Jews' code and worship the Jews' god, and what greater subjection can be?' I heard this with some wonder, and must confess my own conviction. After dinner I ask'd Isaiah to favour the world with his lost works; he said none of equal value was lost. Ezekiel said the same of his. I also asked Isaiah what made him go naked and barefoot three years. He answer'd: 'The same that made our friend Diogenes, the Grecian.' I then asked Ezekiel why he ate dung, and lay so long on his right and left side. He answer'd, 'The desire of raising other men into a perception of the infinite: this the North American tribes practise, and is he honest who resists his genius or conscience only for the sake of present ease or gratification?' -----

    PAMYATNYJ SON

Proroki Isajya i Iezekiil' delili so mnoj trapezu, i ya sprosil, kak oni otvazhilis' utverzhdat', chto Sam Bog govoril s nimi, i ne boyalis', chto neverno ponyatye slova ih rodyat prinuzhden'e i lozh'. Isajya otvetil: "YA ne slyhal Boga ushami i ne vidal glazami, no chuvstva moi nashli beskonechnost' v kazhdom predmete, i ya uveroval, chto golos pravednogo gneva est' glas Bozhij, i, ne dumaya o posledstviyah, napisal knigu". Togda ya sprosil: "Sposobna li vera v svoyu pravotu pretvorit' etu veru v Istinu?" Ot otvetil: "Vse poety stoyat na etom, i nekogda vera sdvigala gory, no ne mnogim dano uverovat'". Togda Iezekiil' skazal: "Filosofiya Vostoka uchila pervoosnovam vospriyatiya mira: odni narody izbrali odnu osnovu, drugie druguyu; my, iudei, uchili, chto pervoosnova - Poeticheskij Genij (ya pol'zuyus' vashimi slovami), a drugie osnovy vtorichny; poetomu my prezirali inozemnyh Svyashchennikov i Filosofov i prorochestvovali, chto vse ubedyatsya v pervichnosti nashego Boga, Poeticheskogo Geniya; etogo zhadno zhazhdal nash velikij poet Car' David, ibo zhelal pobezhdat' vragov i uderzhivat' carstva Poeziej; my lyubili nashego Boga i otvergali bogov sopredel'nyh narodov, i nevezhdy reshili, chto my hotim pokorit' vse narody. Nasha vera sdelalas' zhizn'yu: narody chtut iudejskie knigi i molyatsya iudejskomu bogu - kogo zhe nam pokoryat'?" YA slushal ih s udivleniem i poveril v ih pravotu. Posle trapezy ya poprosil Isajyu vernut' miru utrachennye knigi: on skazal, chto ni odna vazhnaya kniga ne utrachena. To zhe skazal Iezekiil'. Potom ya sprosil Isajyu, chto zastavilo ego tri goda hodit' nagim i bosym. On otvetil: "To zhe, chto nashego druga greka Diogena". Togda ya sprosil Iezekiilya, otchego on el navoz i tak dolgo lezhal na levom i pravom boku? On otvetil: "YA zhelal, chtoby lyudi ponyali smysl beskonechnosti; to zhe delayut i indejcy Ameriki; da i chesten li tot, kto protivitsya svoemu geniyu ili sovesti radi miga pokoya i udovol'stviya?" ----- The ancient tradition that the; world will be consumed in fire at the end of six thousand years is true^as I have heard from Hell. For the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his guard at tree of life; and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy, whereas it now appears finite and corrupt. This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment. But first the notion that man has a body distinct from his soul is to be expunged; this I shall do by printing in the infernal method, by corrosives, which in Hell are salutary and medicinal, melting apparent surfaces away, and displaying the infinite which was hid. If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern. ----- Istinna drevnyaya vera v to, chto mir v konce shesti tysyach let pogibnet v ogne, - tak mne skazali v Adu. Ibo kogda Heruvim s plameneyushchim mechom ostavit strazhu u dreva zhizni, vse tvorenie ispepelitsya i stanet svyatym i vechnym, kak nyne grehovno i tlenno. Put' zhe k etomu - cherez ochishchenie radostej ploti. Dlya nachala dokazhem, chto dusha i telo nerazdelimy; i ya budu vytravlivat' mysli moi na metalle kislotami, koi v Adu spasitel'ny i celebny, ibo oni raz®edayut poverhnost' predmetov i obnazhayut skrytuyu v nih beskonechnost'. Esli b vrata poznaniya byli otkryty, lyudyam otkrylas' by beskonechnost'. No lyudi ukrylis' ot mira i vidyat ego lish' v uzkie shcheli svoih peshcher. -----

    A MEMORABLE FANCY

I was in a Printing-house in Hell, and saw the method in which knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation. In the first chamber was a Dragon-Man, clearing away the rubbish from a cave's mouth; within, a number of Dragons were hollowing the cave. In the second chamber was a Viper folding round the rock and the cave, and others adorning it with gold, silver, and precious stones. In the third chamber was an Eagle with wings and feathers of air: he caused the inside of the cave to be infinite. Around were numbers of Eagle-like men who built palaces in the immense cliffs. In the fourth chamber were Lions of flaming fire, raging around and melting the metals into living fluids. In the fifth chamber were Unnamed forms, which cast the metals into the expanse. There they were received by Men who occupied the sixth chamber, and took the forms of books and were arranged in libraries. -----

    PAMYATNYJ SON

V pechatne Ada ya videl, kak znaniya perehodyat ot pokoleniya k pokoleniyu. V pervoj komnate CHelovek-Drakon vymetal musor s poroga, kuda ego vynosili drugie Drakony. Vo vtoroj - vdol' sten vygibalsya Zmej, i ego ukrashali serebrom, zolotom i kamen'yami. V tret'ej - Orel s vozdushnymi kryl'yami utverzhdal beskonechnosti Ada, a vokrug nego Lyudi-Orly vysekali dvorcy v bespredel'nyh skalah. V chetvertoj - L'vy ognennym zharom dyhaniya prevrashchali metally v tekuchie zhidkosti. Iz pyatoj Bezymyannye sushchestva prolivali eti metally v shestuyu. V shestoj - ih vbirali Lyudi, rasstavlennye po polkam, kak knigi. ----- The Giants who formed this world into its sensual existence, and now seem to live in it in chains, are in truth the causes of its life and the sources of all activity; but the chains are the cunning of weak and tame minds which have power to resist energy. According to the proverb, the weak in courage is strong in cunning. Thus one portion of being is the Prolific, the other the Devouring. To the Devourer it seems as if the producer was in his chains; but it is not so, he only takes portions of existence and fancies that the whole. But the Prolific would cease to be Prolific unless the Devourer, as a sea, received the excess of his delights. Some will say: 'Is not God alone the Prolific?' I answer: 'God only Acts and Is, in existing beings or Men.' These two classes of men are always upon earth, and they should be enemies: whoever tries to reconcile them seeks to destroy existence. Religion is an endeavour to reconcile the two. _Note_. Jesus Christ did not wish to unite, but to separate them, as in the Parable of sheep and goats! And He says: 'I came not to send Peace, but a Sword.' Messiah or Satan or Tempter was formerly thought to be one of the Antediluvians who are our Energies. ----- Sozdavshie mir i nyne kak budto okovannye cepyami mira Giganty sut' prichiny zhizni i istochniki dejstvij; no cepi - vsego lish' hitrost' slabyh, pokornyh umov, kotorym dostalo sily soprotivlyat'sya sile; kak glasit poslovica: slabyj muzhestvom silen hitrost'yu. Bytie sozdaet Izobilie i Pogloshchenie; Pogloshchenie mnit, chto derzhit v cepyah Izobilie, no na dele beret nichtozhnuyu dolyu, prinimaya ee za celoe. No Izobilie istoshchitsya, esli izbytok ego vostorgov ne budet tonut' v moryah Pogloshcheniya. Kto-to sprosit: "Razve ne v Boge odnom Izobilie?" YA otvechu: "Bog sushchestvuet i dejstvuet tol'ko v Lyudyah". Storonniki Izobiliya i storonniki Pogloshcheniya zhivut na zemle i vechno vrazhduyut: kto staraetsya ih primirit', ubivaet zhizn'. Ih staraetsya primirit' Religiya. Zamet': Iisus Hristos ne soedinyal, no razdelyal, i v Pritche ob agncah i kozlishchah on govorit: "Ne Mir prishel YA prinesti, no Mech". Messiya, on zhe Satana, on zhe Iskusitel' - ne dopotopnaya Drevnost', no nyneshnyaya nasha Sila. -----

    A MEMORABLE FANCY

An Angel came to me and said: 'O pitiable, foolish young man! O horrible! O dreadful state! Consider the hot, burning dungeon thou art preparing for thyself to all Eternity, to which thou art going in such career.' I said: 'Perhaps you will be willing to show me my eternal lot, and we will contemplate together upon it, and see whether your lot or mine is most desirable.' So he took me thro' a stable, and thro' a church, and down into the church vault, at the end of which was a mill. Thro' the mill we went, and came to a cave. Down the winding cavern we groped our tedious way, till a void boundless as a nether sky appear'd beneath us, and we held by the roots of trees, and hung over this immensity. But I said: 'If you please, we will commit ourselves to this void, and see whether Providence is here also. If you will not, I will.' But he answer'd: 'Do not presume, O young man, but as we here remain, behold thy lot which will soon appear when the darkness passes away.' So I remain'd with him, sitting in the twisted root of an oak. He was suspended in a fungus, which hung with the head downward into the deep. By degrees we beheld the infinite Abyss, fiery as the smoke of a burning city; beneath us, at an immense distance, was the sun, black but shining; round it were fiery tracks on which revolv'd vast spiders, crawling after their prey, which flew, or rather swum, in the infinite deep, in the most terrific shapes of animals sprung from corruption; and the air was full of them, and seem'd composed of them-these are Devils, and are called Powers of the Air. I now asked my companion which was my eternal lot? He said: 'Between the black and white spiders.' But now, from between the black and white spiders, a cloud and fire burst and rolled thro' the deep, blackening all beneath; so that the nether deep grew black as a sea, and rolled with a terrible noise. Beneath us was nothing now to be seen but a black tempest, till looking East between the clouds and the waves we saw a cataract of blood mixed with fire, and not many stones' throw from us appear'd and sunk again the scaly fold of a monstrous serpent. At last, to the East, distant about three degrees, appear'd a fiery crest above the waves. Slowly it reared like a ridge of golden rocks, till we discover'd two globes of crimson fire, from which the sea fled away in clouds of smoke; and now we saw it was the head of Leviathan. His forehead was divided into streaks of green and purple like those on a tiger's forehead. Soon we saw his mouth and red gills hang just above the raging foam, tinging the black deep with beams of blood, advancing toward us with all the fury of a Spiritual Existence. -----

    PAMYATNYJ SON

Angel soshel ko mne i skazal: "O zhalkij bezumec! O merzkij! O gibnushchij! ZHizn'yu svoej ty sebe ugotovil v vechnosti ognennuyu preispodnyuyu". YA otvetil: "Pokazhi mne moyu sud'bu, i my vmeste reshim, chej zhrebij luchshe, moj ili tvoj". On povel menya skvoz' konyushnyu, i cerkov', i sklep, i v konce byla mel'nica; my proshli iz nee v peshcheru, i tomitel'no dolgo spuskalis' izvilistym podzemel'em, i vot uvideli pod soboj pustotu, beskrajnyuyu, kak oprokinutye nebesa, i na kornyah rastenij povisli nad pustotoj; ya skazal: "Brosimsya v pustotu i posmotrim, est' li v nej providenie, - esli ne hochesh', ya broshus' odin". On otvetil: "Smiris', yunec, kogda rasstupitsya t'ma, my i otsyuda uvidim tvoj zhrebij". I ya ostalsya sidet' na izognutom korne duba, a on derzhalsya za moh, svisavshij s obryva. My rassmotreli beskrajnyuyu Bezdnu, yarostnuyu, kak dym goryashchego goroda; vnizu beskonechno daleko ot nas svetilo chernoe solnce; vokrug chernyh luchej ego vrashchalis', lovya dobychu, chernye pauki, zloveshchie tvari, rozhdennye tleniem; oni leteli, ili, vernee, plyli, v bezdonnyh glubinah, i vozduh byl tak nasyshchen imi, chto kazalos', iz nih sostoit: eto D'yavoly; i zovut ih Silami vozduha. YA sprosil moego sputnika, v chem zhe moj vechnyj zhrebij. On otvetil: "Byt' v seredine mezh chernymi i belymi paukami". No iz serediny mezh chernymi i belymi paukami vyrvalis' tucha i plamya, i glub' pochernela, kak more, i pokatilas' s uzhasnym revom; chernaya burya vse skryla ot glaz, lish' na vostoke s neba v more spadal vodopad iz krovi s ognem, i na rasstoyanii neskol'kih broshennyh kamnej poyavilas' i vnov' pogruzilas' vo mrak cheshuya chudovishcha; i voznik nad vojnami yarostnyj greben' drakona, on podnimalsya, kak zolotistyj greben' gory; i dve sfery alogo plameni razognali tuchi i dym: my uvideli purpurnuyu i zelenuyu golovu Leviafana, polosatuyu, kak golova tigra; my uvideli ego past' nad klokochushchej penoj i zhabry, struivshie krov' v chernuyu glubinu; on ustremilsya k nam s neistovstvom gneva. ----- My friend the Angel climb'd up from his station into the mill: I remain'd alone, and then this appearance was no more; but I found myself sitting on a pleasant bank beside a river, by moonlight, hearing a harper, who sung to the harp; and his theme was: "The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.' But I arose and sought for the mill, and there I found my Angel, who, surprised, asked me how I escaped. I answer'd: 'All that we saw was owing to your metaphysics; for when you ran away, I found myself on a bank by moonlight hearing a harper. But now we have seen my eternal lot, shall I show you yours?' He laugh'd at my proposal; but I, by force, suddenly caught him in my arms, and flew westerly thro' the night, till we were elevated above the earth's shadow; then I flung myself with him directly into the body of the sun. Here I clothed myself in white, and taking in my hand Swedenborg's volumes, sunk from the glorious clime, and passed all the planets till we came to Saturn. Here I stay'd to rest, and then leap'd into the void between Saturn and the fixed stars. 'Here,' said I, 'is your lot, in this space-if space it may be call'd.' Soon we saw the stable and the church, and I took him to the altar and open'd the Bible, and lo! it was a deep pit, into which I descended, driving the Angel before me. Soon we saw seven houses of brick. One we enter'd; in it were a number of monkeys, baboons, and all of that species, chain'd by the middle, grinning and snatching at one another, but withheld by the shortness of their chains. However, I saw that they sometimes grew numerous, and then the weak were caught by the strong, and with a grinning aspect, first coupled with, and then devour'd, by plucking off first one limb and then another, till the body was left a helpless trunk. This, after grinning and kissing it with seeming fondness, they devour'd too; and here and there I saw one savourily picking the flesh off of his own tail. As the stench terribly annoy'd us both, we went into the mill, and I in my hand brought the skeleton of a body, which in the mill was Aristotle's Analytics. So the Angel said: 'Thy phantasy has imposed upon me, and thou oughtest to be ashamed.' I answer'd: 'We impose on one another, and it is but lost time to converse with you whose works are only Analytics.' ----- Drug moj Angel bezhal na mel'nicu; ya ostalsya odin, i videnie vdrug ischezlo; ya sidel u priyatnoj reki v lunnom svete i slushal arfu i pesnyu: "Ne sklonnyj k peremenam um - stoyachaya voda, v voobrazhenii ego - nechistyh gadov roj". YA prishel na mel'nicu k Angelu; on udivilsya mne i sprosil, kak ya spassya. YA otvetil: "Ty pokazal mne plody svoej metafiziki: kogda ty bezhal, ya ostalsya pri lunnom svete vozle reki i slushal penie. Ty pokazal mne moj vechnyj zhrebic, a ya pokazhu tebe tvoj". On zasmeyalsya, no ya obhvatil ego, i my poleteli na zapad skvoz' noch' vyshe teni zemnoj i opustilis' na solnce, i ya oblachilsya v beloe, i, zahvativ toma Svedenborga, pokinul stranu siyaniya, i minoval vse planety, i my prileteli k Saturnu: ya otdohnul i rinulsya v bezdnu mezhdu Saturnom i nepodvizhnymi zvezdami. YA skazal: "Tvoj zhrebij - v etih predelah, esli zdes' predel". I vnov' pered nami byla konyushnya i cerkov', i ya podvel Angela k altaryu i raskryl Bibliyu, i - o, chudo! - eto byl vhod v podzemel'e, i ya pognal po nemu Angela k semi kirpichnym domam i vvel v odin dom; martyshki i obez'yany v nem, skalyas', brosalis' drug na druga, naskol'ko puskali ih cepi, sil'nye, uhvativ slabyh, otgryzali im nogi i ruki, obladali bespomoshchnymi telami i totchas ih pozhirali; i my ot smrada sbezhali na mel'nicu, i ya prines s soboyu skelet, kotoryj byl "Analitikoj" Aristotelya. Angel skazal: "Stydis', ty pokazal mne svoj bred". YA otvetil: "My oba pokazali drug drugu svoj bred, no ya ne budu popustu sporit' s toboj, ibo tvoj trud - "Analitika". V Protivoborstve sut' istinnoj Druzhby. ----- I have always found that Angels have the vanity to speak of themselves as the Only Wise. This they do with a confident insolence sprouting from systematic reasoning. Thus Swedenborg boasts that what he writes is new; tho' it is only the Contents or Index of already publish'd books. A man carried a monkey about for a show, and because he was a little wiser than the monkey, grew vain, and conceiv'd himself as much wiser than seven men. It is so with Swedenborg: he shows the folly of churches, and exposes hypocrites, till he imagines that all are religious, and himself the single one on earth that ever broke a net. Now hear a plain fact: Swedenborg has not written one new truth. Now hear another: he has written all the old falsehoods. And now hear the reason. He conversed with Angels who are all religious, and conversed not with Devils who all hate religion, for he was incapable thro' his conceited notions. Thus Swedenborg's writings are a recapitulation of all superficial opinions, and an analysis of the more sublime-but no further. Have now another plain fact. Any man of mechanical talents may, from the writings of Paracelsus or Jacob Behmen, produce ten thousand volumes of equal value with Swedenborg's, and from those of Dante or Shakespear an infinite number. But when he has done this, let him not say that he knows better than his master, for he only holds a candle in sunshine. ----- YA vsegda zamechal, chto Angely pochitayut mudrymi tol'ko sebya; ih samomnenie - plod postoyannogo umstvovaniya. I Svedenborg hvastaet tem, chto vse sochinennoe im novo, a na dele ono - Svod vyzhimok iz starinnyh knig. CHelovek vodil napokaz obez'yanu, ibo byl nemnogo umnee ee, no on vozgordilsya i pochel sebya mnogo umnee semeryh mudrecov. Takov Svedenborg: on pokazal grehovnost' cerkvej i lozh' licemerov i vozomnil, chto on odin na zemle vyrvalsya iz setej religii. Vo-pervyh, Svedenborg ne otkryl ni odnoj novoj istiny. Vo-vtoryh, ego sochineniya - staraya lozh'. I vot prichina: Svedenborg besedoval s Angelami, kotorye lyubyat religiyu, no tshcheslavie ne pozvolilo emu besedovat' s D'yavolami, kotorye ee nenavidyat. Poetomu Svedenborg povtoryaet chuzhie mneniya i issleduet lish' nebesa - no ne bol'she. I vsyakij posredstvennyj chelovek sposoben iz knig Paracel'sa i YAkoba Beme proizvesti desyat' tysyach tomov ravnoj cennosti so Svedenborgom, a iz knig SHekspira i Dante - beschislennoe ih mnozhestvo. No, tak postupiv, pust' ne skazhet, chto prevzoshel svoih uchitelej, ibo on vsego lish' derzhit svechu pri solnechnom svete. -----

    A MEMORABLE FANCY

Once I saw a Devil in a flame of fire, who arose before an Angel that sat on a cloud, and the Devil utter'd these words: - 'The worship of God is: Honouring his gifts in other men, each according to his genius, and loving the greatest men best: those who envy or calumniate great men hate God; for there is no other God.' The Angel hearing this became almost blue; but mastering himself he grew yellow, and at last white, pink, and smiling, and then replied: - 'Thou Idolater! is not God One? and is not he visible in Jesus Christ? and has not Jesus Christ given his sanction to the law of ten commandments? and are not all other men fools, sinners, and nothings?' The Devil answer'd: 'Bray a fool in a mortar with wheat, yet shall not his folly be beaten out of him. If Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you ought to love Him in the greatest degree. Now hear how He has given His sanction to the law of ten commandments. Did He not mock at the sabbath, and so mock the sabbath's God; murder those who were murder'd because of Him; turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery; steal the labour of others to support Him; bear false witness when He omitted making a defence before Pilate; covet when He pray'd for His disciples, and when He bid them shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments. Jesus was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules.' When he had so spoken, I beheld the Angel, who stretched out his arms, embracing the flame of fire, and he was consumed, and arose as Elijah. _Note_. - This Angel, who is now become a Devil, is my particular friend. We often read the Bible together in its infernal or diabolical sense, which the world shall have if they behave well. I have also The Bible of Hell, which the world shall have whether they will or no. -----

    PAMYATNYJ SON

Odnazhdy ya videl, kak Angel sidel na oblake i pered nim vosstal D'yavol v plameni i skazal: "Poklonyat'sya Bogu - znachit chtit' dary ego v lyudyah, otdavat' kazhdomu dolzhnoe i bol'she drugih lyubit' velikih lyudej: kto zaviduet i vozvodit hulu na velikih, tot nenavidit Boga, ibo net vo vselennoj inogo Boga". Angel sdelalsya sinim, no sovladal s soboj, i sdelalsya zheltym, belym i, nakonec, rozovym, i s ulybkoj otvetil: "O tvorec Kumirov! Razve Bog ne Odin? Razve on vo ploti ne yavlyalsya Iisusom Hristom? Razve Iisus Hristos ne dal nam desyat' zapovedej? Razve prochie lyudi ne bezumcy, greshniki i nichtozhestva? " D'yavol otvetil: "Rastolki bezumca v stupe s pshenicej, i bezumie otletit ot nego. Raz Iisus Hristos byl samym velikim chelovekom, ty dolzhen lyubit' ego bol'she, chem vseh ostal'nyh chelovekov. Podumaj zhe, kak on dal svoi desyat' zapovedej. Razve ne nasmehalsya on nad subbotoyu i Bogom subboty? Razve ne ubival teh, kto ubity vo imya ego? Razve ne otvratil zakon ot bludnicy? Razve ne kral chuzhoj trud na propitan'e sebe? Razve ne lzhesvidetel'stvoval, kogda ne stal zashchishchat' sebya pered Pilatom? Razve ne soblaznyalsya, kogda molilsya ob uchenikah i kogda povelel im otryasti prah ot nog, vyhodya iz doma togo, kto ne prinyal ih? YA govaryu: dobrodetel' vsegda narushaet zapovedi. Iisus - dobrodetel' i dejstvoval ot dushi, a ne po zakonam". I tut ya uvidel, kak Angel proster svoi ruki, i obnyal plamya, i ischez v nem, i voznessya, kak Iliya. Zamet': etot Angel stal D'yavolom i nyne moj luchshij drug; my chasto vmeste chitaem bibliyu i nahodim v nej infernal'nyj, ili d'yavol'skij, smysl, i mir ego uznaet, esli togo zasluzhit. I eshche u menya est' Bibliya Ada, i smysl ee mir uznaet, hochet on togo ili net. ----- One Law for the Lion and Ox is Oppression. Tomlenie - obshchij zakon dlya L'va i Vola.

    A SONG OF LIBERTY

1. The Eternal Female groan'd! it was heard over all the Earth. 2. Albion's coast is sick, silent; the American meadows faint! 3. Shadows of Prophecy shiver along by the lakes and the rivers; and mutter across the ocean: France, rend down thy dungeon! 4. Golden Spain, burst the barriers of old Rome! 5. Cast thy keys, O Rome, into the deep down falling, even to eternity down falling. 6. And weep. 7. In her trembling hand she took the new born terror, howling. 8. On those infinite mountains of light, now barr'd out by the Atlantic sea, the new born fire stood before the starry king! 9. Flag'd with grey brow'd snows and thunderous visages, the jealous wings wav'd over the deep. 10. The speary hand burned aloft, unbuckled was the shield; forth went the hand of jealousy among the flaming hair, and hurl'd the new born wonder thro' the starry night. 11. The fire, the fire is falling! 12. Look up! look up! O citizen of London, enlarge thy countenance! O Jew, leave counting gold! return to thy oil and wine. O African! black African! (go, winged thought, widen his forehead.) 13. The fiery limbs, the flaming hair, shot like the sinking sun into the western sea. 14. Wak'd from his eternal sleep, the hoary element roaring fled away. 15. Down rush'd, beating his wings in vain, the jealous king; his grey brow'd councellors, thunderous warriors, curl'd veterans, among helms, and shields, and chariots, horses, elephants, banners, castles, slings, and rocks. 16. Falling, rushing, running! buried in the ruins, on Urthona's dens; 17. All night beneath the ruins; then, their sullen flames faded, emerge round the gloomy king. 18. With thunder and fire, leading his starry hosts thro' the waste wilderness, he promulgates his ten commands, glancing his beamy eye-lids over the deep in dark dismay. 19. Where the son of fire in his eastern cloud, while the morning plumes her golden breast, 20. Spurning the clouds written with curses, stamps the stony law to dust, loosing the eternal horses from the dens of night, crying:

    EMPIRE IS NO MORE!

AND NOW THE LION & WOLF SHALL CEASE Chorus Let the Priests of the Raven of dawn no longer, in deadly black, with hoarse note curse the sons of joy. Nor his accepted brethren - whom, tyrant, he calls free-lay the bound or build the roof. Nor pale religious letchery call that virginity that wishes but acts not! For every thing that lives is Holy.

    PESNX SVOBODY

1. Vozopila Vechnaya ZHenstvennost'! Ves' Mir uslyhal ee. 2. No breg Al'biona bezmolven; luga Ameriki daleki! 3. Zyblyutsya teni Prorochestva po ozeram i rekam, vzyvayut cherez Atlantiku: Razrush' temnicu, o Franciya! 4. Zolotaya Ispaniya, rvi okovy vethogo Rima! 5. I ty, o Rim, bros' klyuchi svoi v bezdnu, da kanut v vechnost'. 6. Zarydaj i skloni pochtennuyu sedinu. 7. Ibo novorozhdennyj uzhas vzyala ZHenstvennost' v slabye ruki i ukazala: 8. Na beskrajnih nagor'yah siyan'ya, za okeanom - novorozhdennoe plamya vosstalo pred okom alchnogo korolya. 9. V hmuryh snegah i groznyh viden'yah voron'i kryl'ya vzvilis' nad puchinoj. 10. No ruka s zanesennym kop'em gorit, ruhnul shchit; vzmetnulas' ruka alchnosti k vspyhnuvshim volosam i otbrosila v zvezdnuyu noch' novorozhdennoe divo. 11. Plamya, plamya s nebes! 12. Vvys', vvys' glyadite! Uvid', chto tvoritsya v mire, o gorozhanin Londona! Bros' schitat' zolotye monety, o Iudej, vernis' k biblejskomu ladanu i vinu! O Afrikanec! O chernyj Afrikanec! (Leti, krylataya mysl', rasshir' emu razum.) 13. Ruki i volosy v plameni, slovno vechernee solnce, skrylis' v zapadnom more. 14. Narushen vechnyj son drevnej stihii, s revom ona unositsya proch': 15. Ruhnul alchnyj korol', tshchetno kryl'yami bil on; sedye ego sovetniki, groznye voiny, drognuvshie veterany sred' shlemov, shchitov, kolesnic, konej, slonov i znamen, krepostej, lukov i strel 16. Mechutsya, padayut, gibnut! Pogrebeny pod ruinami v podzemel'yah Urtony; 17. Vsyu noch' pod ruinami; issyaklo mrachnoe plamya, tolpyatsya oni vkrug ugryumogo Korolya. 18. V ogne i grome vedet on ordy besplodnoj pustynej, provozglashaet desyat' voron'ih zapovedej, no v chernom unynii iz-pod vek kositsya on na vostok, 19. Gde v zlatoperom oblachke utra syn plameni 20. Razgonyaet tuchi, ischerchennye proklyat'yami, vozdvigaet stolp zakona na prahe, vypuskaet iz podzemelij nochi konej vechnosti i vozglashaet:

    IMPERIYA UMERLA!

OTNYNE SGINUT I LEV I VOLK! Pripev O ZHrecy voron'ego utra, teper' chernota vasha ne smertonosna, ne hulite zh synov vesel'ya! O priemnye brat'ya Vorona, - vas on, tiran, imenuet svobodnymi, - ne vozdvigajte sten, ne skryvajte kryshami nebesa! O blednyj cerkovnyj razvrat, sojdi s puti vol'nyh zhelanij devstva! Ibo vse zhivoe Svyashchenno. Perevod A. YA. Sergeeva

    VISIONS OF THE DAUGHTERS OF ALBION

VIDENIYA DSHCHEREJ ALXBIONA The Eye sees more than the Heart Knows Glaz vidit bol'she, CHem Serdce znaet.

    THE ARGUMENT

I loved Theotormon, And I was not ashamed; I trembled in my virgin fears, And I hid in Leutha's vale! I plucked Leutha's flower, And I rose up from the vale; But the terrible thunders tore My virgin mantle in twain.

    SMYSL

YA polyubila Teotormona I ne stydilas', chto lyublyu; YA trepetala v strahe devich'em I pryatalas' v doline Levty. YA sorvala cvetok nad Levtoyu I v put' pustilas' iz doliny; No groznyj grom odezhdu devich'yu Udarom nadvoe rassek.

    VISIONS

Enslav'd, the Daughters of Albion weep; a trembling lamentation Upon their mountains; in their valleys, sighs toward America. For the soft soul of America, Oothoon, wander'd in woe Along the vales of Leutha, seeking flowers to comfort her; And thus she spoke to the bright Marigold of Leutha's vale; - 'Art thou a flower? art thou a nymph? I see thee now a flower, Now a nymph! I dare not pluck thee from thy dewy bed!' The Golden nymph replied: 'Pluck thou my flower, Oothoon the mild! Another flower shall spring, because the soul of sweet delight Can never pass away.' She ceas'd, and clos'd her golden shrine. Then Oothoon pluck'd the flower, saying: 'I pluck thee from thy bed, Sweet flower, and put thee here to glow between my breasts; And thus I turn my face to where my whole soul seeks.' Over the waves she went in wing'd exulting swift delight, And over Theotormon's reign took her impetuous course. Bromion rent her with his thunders; on his stormy bed Lay the faint maid, and soon her woes appall'd his thunders hoarse. Bromion spoke: 'Behold this harlot here on Bromion's bed, And let the jealous dolphins sport around the lovely maid! Thy soft American plains are mine, and mine thy north and south: Stamp'd with my signet are the swarthy children of the sun; They are obedient, they resist not, they obey the scourge; Their daughters worship terrors and obey the violent. Now thou may'st marry Bromion's harlot, and protect the child Of Bromion's rage, that Oothoon shall put forth in nine moons' time.' Then storms rent Theotormon's limbs: he roll'd his waves around And folded his black jealous waters round the adulterate pair. Bound back to back in Bromion's caves, terror and meekness dwell: At entrance Theotormon sits, wearing the threshold hard With secret tears; beneath him sound like waves on a desert shore The voice of slaves beneath the sun, and children bought with money, That shiver in religious caves beneath the burning fires Of lust, that belch incessant from the summits of the earth. Oothoon weeps not; she cannot weep, her tears are locked up; But she can howl incessant, writhing her soft snowy limbs, And calling Theotormon's Eagles to prey upon her flesh. 'I call with holy voice! Kings of the sounding air, Rend away this defiled bosom that I may reflect The image of Theotormoti on my pure transparent breast.' The Eagles at her call descend and rend their bleeding prey: Theotormon severely smiles; her soul reflects the smile, As the clear spring, muddied with feet of beasts, grows pure and smiles. The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, and echo back her sighs. 'Why does my Theotormon sit weeping upon the threshold, And Oothoon hovers by his side, persuading him in vain? O cry: Arise, O Theotormon! for the village dog Barks at the breaking day; the nightingale has done lamenting; The lark does rustle in the ripe corn, and the eagle returns From nightly prey, and lifts his golden beak to the pure east, Shaking the dust from his immortal pinions to awake The sun that sleeps too long. Arise, my Theotormon! I am pure, Because the night is gone that clos'd me in its deadly black. They told me that the night and day were all that I could see; They told me that I had five senses to enclose me up; And they enclos'd my infinite brain into a narrow circle, And sunk my heart into the Abyss, a red, round globe, hot burning, Till all from life I was obliterated and erased. Instead of morn arises a bright shadow, like an eye In the eastern cloud; instead of night a sickly charnel-house, That Theotormon hears me not. To him the night and morn Are both alike; a night of sighs, a morning of fresh tears; And none but Bromion can hear my lamentations. 'With what sense is it that the chicken shuns the ravenous hawk? With what sense does the tame pigeon measure out the expanse? With what sense does the bee form cells? Have not the mouse and frog Eyes and ears and sense of touch? Yet are their habitations And their pursuits as different as their forms and as their joys. Ask the wild ass why he refuses burdens, and the meek camel Why he loves man. Is it because of eye, ear, mouth, or skin, Or breathing nostrils? No! for these the wolf and tiger have. Ask the blind worm the secrets of the grave, and why her spires Love to curl round the bones of death; and ask the rav'nous snake Where she gets poison, and the wing'd eagle why he loves the sun; And then tell me the thoughts of man, that have been hid of old. 'Silent I hover all the night, and all day could be silent, If Theotormon once would turn his loved eyes upon me. How can I be defil'd when I reflect thy image pure? Sweetest the fruit that the worm feeds on, and the soul prey'd on by woe, The new-wash'd lamb ting'd with the village smoke, and the bright swan By the red earth of our immortal river. I bathe my wings, And I am white and pure to hover round Theotormon's breast.' Then Theotormon broke his silence, and he answered: - 'Tell me what is the night or day to one o'erflow'd with woe? Tell me what is a thought, and of what substance is it made? Tell me what is a joy, and in what gardens do joys grow? And in what rivers swim the sorrows? And upon what mountains Wave shadows of discontent? And in what houses dwell the wretched, Drunken with woe, forgotten, and shut up from cold despair? 'Tell me where dwell the thoughts, forgotten till thou call them forth? Tell me where dwell the joys of old, and where the ancient loves, And when will they renew again, and the night of oblivion past, That I might traverse times and spaces far remote, and bring Comforts into a present sorrow and a night of pain? Where goest thou, O thought? to what remote land is thy flight? If thou returnest to the present moment of affliction, Wilt thou bring comforts on thy wings, and dews and honey and balm, Or poison from the desert wilds, from the eyes of the envier?' Then Bromion said, and shook the cavern with his lamentation: - 'Thou knowest that the ancient trees seen by thine eyes have fruit; But knowest thou that trees and fruits flourish upon the earth To gratify senses unknown-trees, beasts, and birds unknown; Unknown, not unperceiv'd, spread in the infinite microscope, In places yet unvisited by the voyager, and in worlds Over another kind of seas, and in atmospheres unknown? Ah! are there other wars, beside the wars of sword and fire? And are there other sorrows beside the sorrows of poverty? And are there other joys beside the joys of riches and ease? And is there not one law for both the lion and the ox? And is there not eternal fire, and eternal chains To bind the phantoms of existence from eternal life?' Then Oothoon waited silent all the day and all the night; But when the morn arose, her lamentation renew'd: The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, and echo back her sighs. 'O Urizen! Creator of men! mistaken Demon of heaven! Thy joys are tears, thy labour vain to form men to thine image. How can one joy absorb another? Are not different joys Holy, eternal, infinite? and each joy is a Love. 'Does not the great mouth laugh at a gift, and the narrow eyelids mock At the labour that is above payment? And wilt thou take the ape For thy counsellor, or the dog for a schoolmaster to thy children? Does he who contemns poverty, and he who turns with abhorrence From usury feel the same passion, or are they moved alike? How can the giver of gifts experience the delights of the merchant? How the industrious citizen the pains of the husbandman? How different far the fat fed hireling with hollow drum, Who buys whole corn-fields into wastes, and sings upon the heath! How different their eye and ear! How different the world to them! With what sense does the parson claim the labour of the farmer? What are his nets and gins and traps; and how does he surround him With cold floods of abstraction, and with forests of solitude, To build him castles and high spires, where kings and priests may dwell; Till she who burns with youth, and knows no fixed lot, is bound In spells of law to one she loathes? And must she drag the chain Of life in weary lust? Must chilling, murderous thoughts obscure The clear heaven of her eternal spring; to bear the wintry rage Of a harsh terror, driv'n to madness, bound to hold a rod Over her shrinking shoulders all the day, and all the night To turn the wheel of false desire, and longings that wake her womb To the abhorred birth of cherubs in the human form, That live a pestilence and die a meteor, and are no more; Till the child dwell with one he hates, and do the deed he loathes, And the impure scourge force his seed into its unripe birth, Ere yet his eyelids can behold the arrows of the day? 'Does the whale worship at thy footsteps as the hungry dog; Or does he scent the mountain prey because his nostrils wide Draw in the ocean? Does his eye discern the flying cloud As the raven's eye; or does he measure the expanse like the vulture? Does the still spider view the cliffs where eagles hide their young; Or does the fly rejoice because the harvest is brought in? Does not the eagle scorn the earth, and despise the treasures beneath? But the mole knoweth what is there, and the worm shall tell it thee. Does not the worm erect a pillar in the mouldering churchyard And a palace of eternity in the jaws of the hungry grave? Qver his porch these words are written: "Take thy bliss, O Man! And sweet shall be thy taste, and sweet thy infant joys renew!" 'Infancy! Fearless, lustful, happy, nestling for delight In laps of pleasure: Innocence! honest, open, seeking The vigorous joys of morning light, open to virgin bliss, Who taught thee modesty, subtil modesty, child of night and sleep? When thou awakest wilt thou dissemble all thy secret joys, Or wert thou not awake when all this mystery was disclos'd? Then com'st thou forth a modest virgin knowing to dissemble, With nets found under thy night pillow, to catch virgin joy And brand it with the name of whore, and sell it in the night In silence, ev'n without a whisper, and in seeming sleep. Religious dreams and holy vespers light thy smoky fires: Qnce were thy fires lighted by the eyes of honest morn. And does my Theotormon seek this hypocrite modesty, This knowing, artful, secret, fearful, cautious, trembling hypocrite? Then (s Oothoon a whore indeed! and all the virgin joys, Of life are harlots; and Theotormon is a sick man's dream; And Oothoon is the crafty slave of selfish holiness. 'But Oothoon is not so, a virgin fill'd with virgin fancies, Open to joy and to delight wherever beauty appears: If in the morning sun I find it, there my eyes are fix'd In happy copulation; if in evening mild, wearied with work, Sit on a bank and draw the pleasures of this free-born joy. 'The moment of desire! the moment of desire! The virgin That pines for man shall awaken her womb to enormous joys In the secret shadows of her chamber: the youth shut up from The lustful joy shall forget to generate, and create an amorous image In the shadows of his curtains and in the folds of his silent pillow Are not these the places of religion, the rewards of continence, The self-enjoyings of self-denial? Why dost thou seek religion? Is it because acts are not lovely that thou seekes't solitude, Where the horrible darkness is impressed with reflections of desire? 'Father of Jealousy, be thou accursed from the earth! Why hast thou taught my Theotormon this accursed thing, Till beauty fades from off my shoulders, darken'd and cast out, A solitary shadow wailing on the margin of nonentity? 'I cry: Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind! Can that be Love, that drinks another as a sponge drinks water, That clouds with jealousy his nights, with weepings all the day, To spin a web of age around him, grey and hoary, dark; Till his eyes sicken at the fruit that hangs before his sight? Such is self-love that envies all, a creeping skeleton, With lamplike eyes watching around the frozen marriage bed! 'But silken nets and traps of adamant will Oothoon spread, And catch for thee girls of mild silver, or of furious gold. I'll lie beside thee on a bank, and view their wanton play In lovely copulation, bliss on bliss, with Theotormon: Red as the rosy morning, lustful as the first-born beam, Oothoon shall view his dear delight; nor e'er with jealous cloud Come in the heaven of generous love, nor selfish blightings bring. 'Does the sun walk, in glorious raiment, on the secret floor Where the cold miser spreads his gold; or does the bright cloud drop On his stone threshold? Does his eye behold the beam that brings Expansion to the eye of pity; or will he bind himself Beside the ox to thy hard furrow? Does not that mild beam blot The bat, the owl, the glowing tiger, and the king of night? The sea-fowl takes the wintry blast for a cov'ring to her limbs, And the wild snake the pestilence to adorn him with gems and gold; And trees, and birds, and beasts, and men behold their eternal joy. Arise, you little glancing wings, and sing your infant joy! Arise, and drink your bliss, for everything that lives is holy!' Thus every morning wails Oothoon; but Theotormon sits Upon the margin'd ocean conversing with shadows dire. The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, and echo back her sighs.

    VIDENIYA

Rydayut v rabstve Dshcheri Al'biona, ston ih slyshen V dolinah i v gorah; k Amerike letyat ih vzdohi: Tam bezuteshnaya dusha Ameriki Utuna Brodila po doline Levty, i sebe v otradu Cvetok iskala, i, najdya, sprosila Margaritku: - Skazhi, cvetok il' nimfa ty? To vizhu ya cvetok, To nimfu. Razluchu l' tebya s tvoim rosistym lozhem? Zlataya nimfa ej v otvet: - Sorvi menya, Utuna! Drugoj cvetok vzrastet vzamen menya: dusha blazhenstva Bessmertna. - I ukrylas' nimfa v venchike zlatom. Utuna sorvala cvetok, skazav: - Ty razluchilas' S rosistym lozhem - tak siyaj zhe na moej grudi: S toboj mne veselo speshit', kuda vlechet dusha. I poletela na volnah krylatogo blazhenstva, Nad carstvom Teotormona pustilas' v bystryj put'. No gromom Bromion srazil ee; ona upala Na lozhe burnoe ego i voplem grom pronzila. Vozzval glumlivyj Bromion: - Vzglyani, v moih ob®yat'yah - Bludnica, i hranyat ee revnivye del'finy! Tvoya Amerika - moya, moi tvoj yug i sever, I vyzhzheno moe tavro na chernyh detyah solnca. Oni ne ropshchut i pokorny moemu bichu, Ih docheri drozhat menya i ustupayut sile. Beri moyu nalozhnicu, hrani moe ditya - Ty cherez devyat' mesyacev ego poluchish' v dar! No potryasennyj Teotormon otgonyaet buryu, I volny temnoj revnosti speshat k prelyubodeyu. Spinoj k spine v peshcherah Bromiona strah i sram. Pred vhodom, slezy zataiv, upornyj Teotormon; U nog ego, kak volny na pustynnom beregu, Vskipayut golosa rabov; ih prodayut za den'gi, V monasheskie nory zagnala ih zlaya pohot' - Ee, kak lavu, neprestanno izrygayut gory. Utuna slez ne l'et, ne mozhet: slezy v nej issyakli; No telo snezhnoe ee trepeshchet ot stenanij, Ona k sebe sklikaet Teotormonovyh ptic: - Ko mne, Orly, vladyki zvonkih tokov neba! Kogtyami rvite grud' moyu i obnazhite dushu, CHtob obraz Teotormona zapechatlelsya v serdce. Orly sletelis' i kogtili zhalobnuyu zhertvu; Surovo ulybnulsya Teotormon, i Utuna V dushe svoej zapechatlela gor'kuyu ulybku - Tak solnce posle buri otrazhaetsya v reke. Vzdyhayut Dshcheri Al'biona, slysha ston Utuny. - Zachem rydaet u peshcher moj groznyj Teotormon, Zachem dusha Utuny tshchetno molit o spasen'e? Vosstan', o Teotormon, ibo derevenskij pes Zalayal pred rassvetom, solovej okonchil pesnyu, I zhavoronok shelestit vo rzhi, i vozvratilsya S dobycheyu Orel, i podnyal klyuv k vostoku, I stryahivaet prah s bessmertnyh kryl'ev, i zovet Medlitel'noe solnce. Probudis', moj Teotormon, Menya pyatnala t'ma, no noch' proshla, i ya chista. Mne govoryat, chto tol'ko noch' i den' mogu ya videt', CHto pyat' moih ubogih chuvstv moyu zamknuli dushu I zaklyuchili v tesnyj krug moj bespredel'nyj razum, A serdca moego goryashchij shar nizvergli v Bezdnu; Mne govoryat, chto ya navek ottorzhena ot zhizni, CHto utrom dlya menya voshodit tucha, a ne solnce, I vecherom stupayu ya ne k nochi, a k mogile: Moj Teotormon mne ne vnemlet! Dlya ego dushi CHto svet - chto t'ma: noch' vzdohov ili utro svezhih slez, Lish' Bromion s usmeshkoj slyshit moj unylyj ston. CHto zastavlyaet kur bezhat' ot yastrebinoj zloby? CHto zastavlyaet golubej iskat' dorogu k domu, A pchel roit'sya v ul'e? Razve myshi i lyagushki Ne obladayut zreniem i sluhom? Otchego zhe Ih nravy, obitalishcha i radosti razlichny? I otchego osel upryam, i otchego verblyud Pokoren cheloveku? Ottogo li, chto u nih Est' zren'e, osyazan'e, obonyan'e, sluh i vkus? Net, ibo tem zhe nadelen ravno i tigr i volk. Sprosi chervej o tajne groba, otchego oni ZHivut sredi kostej? Sprosi kovarnuyu zmeyu, Otkuda v nej smertel'nyj yad; zatem orla sprosi, Zachem on lyubit vys' i solnce; i togda otkroj mne Izdrevle zataivshiesya mysli cheloveka. Kogda by Teotormon obratil ko mne svoj vzor, YA ne stenala by ves' den', vsyu noch' by ne stenala. Da est' li greh na mne, kogda vo mne tvoj chistyj obraz? Vseh slashche - plod, v kotorom cherv'; dusha, v kotoroj gore; YAgnenok, na kotorom dym kostra; i yarkij lebed' U krasnyh beregov reki bessmert'ya. YA omyla Kryla svoi i toroplyus' pril'nut' k tvoej grudi. Prerval svoe molchan'e Teotormon i otvetil: - Skazhi, chto znachat svet i t'ma v zemnoj yudoli gorya? I chto takoe mysl' i kakova ee priroda? I chto takoe radost', gde ona, v kakih sadah? V kakih potokah skorb' struitsya, na kakie gory Upala ten' toski i gde vlachat svoj vek stradal'cy, Kogo durman trudov spasaet ot samoubijstva? Skazhi, kem zizhdetsya zabytaya do sroka mysl' I gde zhivet bylaya radost' i minuvshaya lyubov'? Kogda oni vernutsya k nam, i sginet mrak zabven'ya, I ya smogu perenestis' skvoz' vremya i prostranstvo I oblegchit' segodnyashnyuyu bol', i mrak, i gore? Kuda ty uletaesh', mysl', v kakoj dalekij kraj, I esli vozvratish'sya v etot bedstvuyushchij mir, CHto prinesesh' ty na krylah - rosu, bal'zam i med Il' yad iz vodyanyh pustyn', iz vrazheskih ochej? Tut Bromion sotryas svoi peshchery groznym krikom: - Ty vidish' drevnie derev'ya i na nih plody - Uznaj zhe, chto derev'ya i plody proizrastayut Dlya chuvstv, ne vedomyh podnes'; chto pod vsesil'noj linzoj Predvidyatsya v inyh mirah, moryah i nebesah Takie tvari, o kakih ne myslil otkryvatel'. Znaj: vojny na zemle vedut ne tol'ko ogn' i mech; Znaj: bedstviya nesut ne tol'ko nishcheta i skorb', Ravno kak schast'e - ne odni bogatstvo i dovol'stvo! Pojmi zhe: ne odin zakon dlya l'va i dlya osla; Net vechnogo ognya, ravno kak vechnyh net cepej, Sposobnyh prizrak zhizni otreshit' ot vechnoj zhizni! V molchanii Utuna protomilas' den' i noch'; Kogda zhe vnov' nastal rassvet, to vnov' ona vzmolilas'. Vzdyhayut Dshcheri Al'biona, slysha ston Utuny. - O Urizen, tvorec lyudej, nebes nemudryj Demon, Votshche ty lyudyam dal svoj obraz: pogloshchayut slezy Ih radost'! Razve ty ne porodil inuyu radost' - Svyatuyu, bezgranichnuyu, bessmertnuyu Lyubov'? No razve alchnyj rot skupca ne preziraet shchedrost'? I razve uzkij glaz ne otvergaet beskoryst'ya? Voz'mesh' li ty v sovetchiki martyshku? Dash' li detyam V uchiteli sobaku? Ne odnoj i toj zhe strast'yu Podvignuty i te, kto otgonyaet zhalkih nishchih, I te, kto otvrashchaetsya ot zlyh rostovshchikov. O, razve shchedryj na dary pojmet vostorg torgovca? I razve gorozhanin znaet muki zemledel'ca? I razve s nimi shozh tupoj naemnik s barabanom - On prevrashchaet nivu v pustosh' i gorlanit pesni! Kakie raznye u vse miry, glaza i ushi! Kak smeet pastor trebovat' darov u hlebopashca, V kakie seti i silki on lovit prihozhan, Kak v dushi ih vlivaet otvlechennye ponyat'ya I zagonyaet v debri odinochestva i straha - I stroit hramy i dvorcy, dostojnye carej! Kakim zaklyat'em yunuyu neopytnuyu devu On sochetaet s nenavistnoj starost'yu? Dolzhna li V cepyah ustaloj pohoti ona prozhit' vsyu zhizn' I mertvennymi ledyanymi dumami zaveshivat' Prozrachnyj nebosvod svoej vesny, shodit' s uma, I vyanushchie plechi podstavlyat' bicham zimy, I po nocham kruzhit'sya v kolese pritvornoj strasti, I s otvrashcheniem rozhdat' nezrelyh, nezhelannyh Detej, podobnyh serafimam, no v lyudskom oblich'e. Nechistym semenem oni zachaty radi smerti - Kak im lyubit' roditelej, kak im cenit' svoj trud, Kogda v ih robkie glaza vonzilis' strely dnya? Skulit li kit golodnym psom u tvoego poroga? Vdyhaya vody okeana, mozhet li on chuyat' Dobychu vysoko v gorah, i tak zhe li, kak voron, On vidit oblaka i, kak stervyatnik, merit nebo? Pauk pletet li pautinu nad gnezdom orla? Pri vide polnyh zakromov poraduetsya li muha? Nuzhna l' orlu zemlya i vse podzemnye bogatstva? Zato ih znaet krot, o nih tebe rasskazhet cherv' - Ne on li vozdvigaet stolp nad ryhloj pochvoj tlen'ya I vechnyj svoj dvorec v nesytyh chelyustyah mogil? Ne na poroge l' groba nadpis': "CHelovek, poznaj Blazhenstvo i verni sebe mladencheskuyu radost'!" Mladenchestvo! Besstrashnoe, schastlivoe, svyatoe, Ty zhadno zhazhdesh' radostej i l'nesh' k grudi blazhenstva. Nevinnost'! CHestnaya, otkrytaya, ty strastno ishchesh' Vostorgov utra i vkushaesh' devstvennoe schast'e. Kto nauchil stydlivosti ditya nochnogo sna? Prosnuvshis', ne predash' li ty svoi prostye tajny, Il' vovse ne prosnesh'sya ty, kogda spadet zavesa? Togda ty vyjdesh' v mir surovoj licemernoj devoj, I devstvennuyu radost' budesh' ulovlyat' silkami, I zaklejmish' ee bludnicej, i prodash' za den'gi V nochi, v molchanii, bez shepota, v pritvornom sne. Svyatye zvezdy i vysokie mechty vzirayut Na dymnyj plamen', vspyhnuvshij odnazhdy chistym utrom. O Teotormon, ty li zhazhdesh' skromnosti poddel'noj, Iskusnogo, opaslivogo, zlogo licedejstva? Kol' tak, tvoya Utuna - shlyuha, devstvennaya radost' - Rasputnica, a sam ty, Teotormon, - bred bezumca. Uzhel' ya - hitraya rabynya nabozhnoj korysti? Net, ya ne takova: ya deva i lechu mechtami Navstrechu radosti i schast'yu. Na voshode solnca Otkrytye glaza moi v soglasii schastlivom, A vecherom, ustalaya, ya nahozhu otradu Na tihom beregu reki v pokoe i privol'e. O, mig vostorga! Mig vostorga! Vozhdeleet deva, CHtob yunosha ej chrevo probudil dlya naslazhden'ya V ukromnoj tishine, - inache yunost' pod zamkom Razuchitsya rozhdat' detej i myslit' milyj oblik V teni stydlivyh zanavesej na nemoj podushke. Zachem ty ishchesh' blagochest'ya? Razve v nem nagrada Za gody vozderzhaniya i samootrican'ya? Ty preziraesh' grubost' ploti i zovesh' k bezbrach'yu, V kotorom t'ma pronizana roeniem zhelanij? Bud' proklyat, Poroditel' gnusnoj Revnosti! Za chto Na Teotormona ty nalozhil svoe proklyat'e? Poka moi siyayushchie plechi ne pomerkli - YA - ten', rydayushchaya u granic nebytiya. I ya zovu: Lyubov'! Lyubov'! Schastlivaya Lyubov', Schastlivaya, svobodnaya, kak veter na vershinah! Ne ty, Lyubov', tumanish' noch' - somnen'em, den' - slezami; Ne ty setyami starosti nevolish' cheloveka, I on uzhe ne vidit plod, visyashchij pered nim. Ne ty, no Sebyalyubie, skelet s goryashchim vzorom, Revnivyj storozh nad chuzhim holodnym brachnym lozhem. No dev nezhno-serebryanyh i zharko-zolotyh V silki iz shelka ili v zapadni iz biryuzy Utuna dlya lyubimogo ulovit i, sama Schastlivaya, uvidit ih schastlivoe soit'e, Ih prihotlivuyu igru s toboj, moj Teotormon. Gorya zhelan'em, slovno pervyj alyj luch rassveta, Utuna budet sozercat' chuzhoj vostorg, i Revnost' Ne omrachit ej, beskorystnoj, nebesa Lyubvi. Sojdet li solnce v prazdnichnyh odezhdah v podzemel'e, Gde skryaga pryachet zoloto? Opustitsya li tuchka Na kamennyj porog ego? Uvidit li zlodushnyj Luchi dobra, chto rasshiryayut ochi sostradan'ya, Ili, kak vol, pojdet on po privychnoj borozde? Uzheli blagotvornye luchi bessil'ny protiv Sovy, Letuchej Myshi, Tigra i Vladyki Nochi? Morskaya ptica pryachetsya v nenastnom zimnem vetre, Zmeya k sebe primanivaet zoloto i zhemchug, A zlaki, zveri, pticy, lyudi vechno zhazhdut schast'ya. Vosstan'te zh i zachnite pesn' mladencheskomu schast'yu! Vosstan'te zh dlya blazhenstva, ibo vse zhivoe svyato! Tak stonet deva kazhdym utrom, ibo Teotormon Naprasno sporit s groznymi tenyami okeana. Vzdyhayut Dshcheri Al'biona, slysha ston Utuny. Perevod A. YA. Sergeeva

    THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

    BOOK THE FIRST

The dead brood over Europe: the cloud and vision descends over cheerful France; O cloud well appointed! Sick, sick, the Prince on his couch! wreath'd in dim And appalling mist; his strong hand outstretch'd, from his shoulder down the bone, Runs aching cold into the sceptre, too heavy for mortal grasp - no more To be swayed by visible hand, nor in cruelty bruise the mild flourish- ing mountains. Sick the mountains! and all their vineyards weep, in the eyes of the kingly mourner; Pale is the morning cloud in his visage. Rise, Necker! the ancient dawn calls us To awake from slumbers of five thousand years. I awake, but my soul is in dreams; From my window I see the old mountains of France, like aged men, fading away. Troubled, leaning on Necker, descends the King to his chamber of council; shady mountains In fear utter voices of thunder; the woods of France embosom the sound; Clouds of wisdom prophetic reply, and roll over the palace roof heavy. Forty men, each conversing with woes in the infinite shadows of his soul, Like our ancient fathers in regions of twilight, walk, gathering round the King: Again the loud voice of France cries to the morning; the morning prophesies to its clouds. For the Commons convene in the Hall of the Nation. France shakes! And the heavens of France Perplex'd vibrate round each careful countenance! Darkness of old times around them Utters loud despair, shadowing Paris; her grey towers groan, and the Bastille trembles. In its terrible towers the Governor stood, in dark fogs list'ning the horror; A thousand his soldiers, old veterans of France, breathing red clouds of power and dominion. Sudden seiz'd with howlings, despair, and black night, he stalk'd like a lion from tower To tower; his howlings were heard in the Louvre; from court to court restless he dragg'd His strong limbs; from court to courf curs'd the fierce torment unquell'd, Howling and giving the dark command; in his soul stood the purple plague, Tugging his iron manacles, and piercing thro' the seven towers dark and sickly, Panting over the prisoners like a wolf gorg'd. And the den nam'd Horror held a man Chain'd hand and foot; round his neck an iron band, bound to the impregnable wall; In his soul was the serpent coil'd round in his heart, hid from the light, as in a cleft rock: And the man was confin'd for a writing prophetic. In the tower nam'd Darkness was a man Pinion'd down to the stone floor, his strong bones scarce cover'd with sinews; the iron rings Were forg'd smaller as the flesh decay'd: a mask of iron on his face hid the lineaments Of ancient Kings, and the frown of the eternal lion was hid from the oppressed earth. In the tower named Bloody, a skeleton yellow remained in its chains on its couch Of stone, once a man who refus'd to sign papers of abhorrence; the eternal worm Crept in the skeleton. In the den nam'd Religion, a loathsome sick woman bound down To a bed of straw; the seven diseases of earth, like birds of prey, stood on the couch And fed on the body: she refus'd to be whore to the Minister, and with a knife smote him. In the tower nam'd Order, an old man, whose white beard cover'd the stone floor like weeds On margin of the sea, shrivell'd up by heat of day and cold of night; his den was short And narrow as a grave dug for a child, with spiders' webs wove, and with slime Of ancient horrors cover'd, for snakes and scorpions are his companions; harmless they breathe His sorrowful breath: he, by conscience urg'd, in the city of Paris rais'd a pulpit, And taught wonders to darken'd souls. In the den nam'd Destiny a strong man sat, His feet and hands cut off, and his eyes blinded; round his middle a chain and a band Fasten'd into the wall; fancy gave him to see an image of despair in his den, Eternally rushing round, like a man on his hands and knees, day and night without rest: He was friend to the favourite. In the seventh tower, nam'd the tower of God, was a man Mad, with chains loose, which he dragg'd up and down; fed with hopes year by year, he pined For liberty. - Vain hopes! his reason decay'd, and the world of attraction in his bosom Centred, and the rushing of chaos overwhelm'd his dark soul: he was confin'd For a letter of advice to a King, and his ravings in winds are heard over Versailles. But the dens shook and trembled: the prisoners look up and assay to shout; they listen, Then laugh in the dismal den, then are silent; and a light walks round the dark towers. For the Commons convene in the Hall of the Nation; like spirits of fire in the beautiful Porches of the Sun, to plant beauty in the desert craving abyss, they gleam On the anxious city: all children new-born first behold them, tears are fled, And they nestle in earth-breathing bosoms. So the city of Paris, their wives and children, Look up to the morning Senate, and visions of sorrow leave pensive streets. But heavy-brow'd jealousies lour o'er the Louvre; and terrors of ancient Kings Descend from the gloom and wander thro' the palace, and weep round the King and his Nobles; While loud thunders roll, troubling the dead. Kings are sick throughout all the earth! The voice ceas'd: the Nation sat; and the triple forg'd fetters of times were unloos'd. The voice ceas'd: the Nation sat; but ancient darkness and trembling wander thro' the palace. As in day of havoc and routed battle, among thick shades of discontent, On the soul-skirting mountains of sorrow cold waving, the Nobles fold round the King; Each stern visage lock'd up as with strong bands of iron, each strong limb bound down as with marble, In flames of red wrath burning, bound in astonishment a quarter of an hour. Then the King glow'd: his Nobles fold round, like the sun of old time quench'd in clouds; In their darkness the King stood; his heart flam'd, and utter'd a with'ring heat, and these words burst forth: 'The nerves of five thousand years' ancestry tremble, shaking the heavens of France; Throbs of anguish beat on brazen war foreheads; they descend and look into their graves. I see thro' darkness, thro' clouds rolling round me, the spirits of ancient Kings Shivering over their bleached bones; round them their counsellors look up from the dust, Crying: "Hide from the living! Our bonds and our prisoners shout in the open field. Hide in the nether earth! Hide in the bones! Sit obscured in the hollow scull!' Our flesh is corrupted, and we wear away. We are not numbered among the living. Let us hide In stones, among roots of trees. The prisoners have burst their dens. Let us hide! let us hide in the dust! and plague and wrath and tempest shall cease." He ceas'd, silent pond'ring; his brows folded heavy, his forehead was in affliction. Like the central fire from the window he saw his vast armies spread over the hills, Breathing red fires from man to man, and from horse to horse: then his bosom Expanded like starry heaven; he sat down: his Nobles took their ancient seats. Then the ancientest Peer, Duke of Burgundy, rose from the Monarch's right hand, red as wines From his mountains; an odour of war, like a ripe vineyard, rose from his garments, And the chamber became as a clouded sky; o'er the Council he stretch'd his red limbs Cloth'd in flames of crimson; as a ripe vineyard stretches over . sheaves of corn, The fierce Duke hung over the Council; around him crowd, weeping in his burning robe, A bright cloud of infant souls: his words fall like purple autumn on the sheaves: 'Shall this marble-built heaven become a clay cottage, this earth an oak stool, and these mowers From the Atlantic mountains mow down all this great starry harvest of six thousand years? And shall Necker, the hind of Geneva, stretch out his crook'd sickle o'er fertile France, Till our purple and crimson is faded to russet, and the kingdoms of earth bound in sheaves, And the ancient forests of chivalry hewn, and the joys of the combat burnt for fuel; Till the power and dominion is rent from the pole, sword and sceptre from sun and moon, The law and gospel from fire and air, and eternal reason and science From the deep and the solid, and man lay his faded head down on the rock Of eternity, where the eternal lion and eagle remain to devour? This to prevent, urg'd by cries in day, and prophetic dreams hovering in night, To enrich the lean earth that craves, furrow'd with ploughs, whose seed is departing from her, Thy Nobles have gather'd thy starry hosts round this rebellious city, To rouse up the ancient forests of Europe, with clarions of cloud-breathing war, To hear the horse neigh to the drum and trumpet, and the trumpet and war shout reply. Stretch the hand that beckons the eagles of heaven: they cry over Paris, and wait Till Fayette point his finger to Versailles-the eagles of heaven must have their prey!' He ceas'd, and burn'd silent: red clouds roll round Necker; a weeping is heard o'er the palace. Like a dark cloud Necker paus'd, and like thunder on the just man's burial day he paus'd. Silent sit the winds, silent the meadows; while the husbandman and woman of weakness And bright children look after him into the grave, and water his clay with love, Then turn towards pensive fields: so Necker paus'd, and his visage was cover'd with clouds. The King lean'd on his mountains; then lifted his head and look'd on his armies, that shone Thro' heaven, tinging morning with beams of blood; then turning to Burgundy, troubled: - 'Burgundy, thou wast born a lion! My soul is o'ergrown with distress For the Nobles of France, and dark mists roll round me and blot the writing of God Written in my bosom. Necker rise! leave the kingdom, thy life is surrounded with snares. We have call'd an Assembly, but not to destroy; we have given gifts, not to the weak; I hear rushing of muskets and bright'ning of swords; and visages, redd'ning with war, Frowning and looking up from brooding villages and every dark'ning city. Ancient wonders frown over the kingdom, and cries of women and babes are heard, And tempests of doubt roll around me, and fierce sorrows, because of the Nobles of France. Depart! answer not! for the tempest must fall, as in years that are passed away.' Dropping a tear the old man his place left, and when he was gone out He set his face toward Geneva to flee; and the women and children of the city Kneel'd round him and kissed his garments and wept: he stood a short space in the street, Then fled; and the whole city knew he was fled to Geneva, and the Senate heard it. But the Nobles burn'd wrathful at Necker's departure, and wreath'd their clouds and waters In dismal volumes; as, risen from beneath, the Archbishop of Paris arose In the rushing of scales, and hissing of flames, and rolling of sulphurous smoke: - 'Hearken, Monarch of France, to the terrors of heaven, and let thy soul drink of my counsel! Sleeping at midnight in my golden tower, the repose of the labours of men Wav'd its solemn cloud over my head. I awoke; a cold hand passed over my limbs, and behold! An aged form, white as snow, hov'ring in mist, weeping in the uncertain light. Dim the form almost faded, tears fell down the shady cheeks: at his feet many cloth'd In white robes, strewn in air censers and harps, silent they lay prostrated; Beneath, in the awful void, myriads descending and weeping thro' dismal winds; Endless the shady train shiv'ring desdended, from the gloom where the aged form wept. At length, trembling, the vision sighing, in a low voice like the voice of the grasshopper, whisper'd: "My groaning is heard in the abbeys, and God, so long worshipp'd, departs as a lamp Without oil; for a curse is heard hoarse thro' the land, from a godless race Descending to beasts; they look downward, and labour, and forget my holy law; The sound of prayer fails from lips of flesh, and the holy hymn from thicken'd tongues; For the bars of Chaos are burst; her millions prepare their fiery way Thro' the orbed abode of the holy dead, to root up and pull down and remove, And Nobles and Clergy shall fail from before me, and my cloud and vision be no more; The mitre become black, the crown vanish, and the sceptre and ivory staff Of the ruler wither among bones of death; they shall consume from the thistly field, And the sound of the bell, and voice of the sabbath, and singing of the holy choir Is turn'd into songs of the harlot in day, and cries of the virgin in night. They shall drop at the plough and faint at the harrow, unredeem'd, unconfess'd, unpardon'd; The priest rot in his surplice by the lawless lover, the holy beside the accursed, The King, frowning in purple, beside the grey ploughman, and their worms embrace together." The voice ceas'd: a groan shook my chamber. I slept, for the cloud of repose returned; But morning dawn'd heavy upon me. I rose to bring my Prince heaven-utter'd counsel. Hear my counsel, O King! and send forth thy Generals; the command of Heaven is upon thee! Then do thou command, O King! to shut up this Assembly in their final home; Let thy soldiers possess this city of rebels, that threaten to bathe their feet In the blood of Nobility, trampling the heart and the head; let the Bastille devour These rebellious seditious; seal them up, O Anointed! in everlasting chains.' He sat down: a damp cold pervaded the Nobles, and monsters of worlds unknown Swam round them, watching to be delivered-when Aumont, whose chaos-born soul Eternally wand'ring, a comet and swift-falling fire, pale enter'd the chamber. Before the red Council he stood, like a man that returns from hollow graves: - 'Awe-surrounded, alone thro' the army, a fear and a with'ring blight blown by the north, The Abbe de Sieyes from the Nation's Assembly, O Princes and Generals of France, Unquestioned, unhindered! Awe-struck are the soldiers; a dark shadowy man in the form Of King Henry the Fourth walks before him in fires; the captains like men bound in chains Stood still as he pass'd: he is come to the Louvre, O King, with a message to thee! The strong soldiers tremble, the horses their manes bow, and the guards of thy palace are fled!' Uprose awful in his majestic beams Bourbon's strong Duke; his proud sword, from his thigh Drawn, he threw on the earth: the Duke of Bretagne and the Earl of Bourgogne Rose inflam'd, to and fro in the chamber,' like thunder-clouds ready to burst. 'What damp all our fires, O spectre of Henry!' said Bourbon, 'and rend the flames From the head of our King? Rise, Monarch of France! command me, and I will lead This army of superstition at large, that the ardour of noble souls, quenchless, May yet burn in France, nor our shoulders be plough'd with the furrows of poverty.' Then Orleans, generous as mountains, arose and unfolded his robe, and put forth His benevolent hand, looking on the Archbishops, who changed as pale as lead, Would have risen but could not: his voice issued harsh grating; instead of words harsh hissings Shook the chamber; he ceas'd abash'd. Then Orleans spoke; all was silent. He breath'd on them, and said: 'O Princes of fire, whose flames are for growth, not consuming, Fear not dreams, fear not visions, nor be you dismay'd with sorrows which flee at the morning! Can the fires of Nobility ever be quench'd, or the stars by a stormy night? Is the body diseas'd when the members are healthful? can the man be bound in sorrow Whose ev'ry function is fill'd with its fiery desire? can the soul, whose brain and heart Cast their rivers in equal tides thro' the great Paradise, languish because the feet, Hands, head, bosom, and parts of love follow their high breathing joy? And can Nobles be bound when the people are free, or God weep when his children are happy? Have you never seen Fayette's forehead, or Mirabeau's eyes, or the shoulders of Target, Or Bailly the strong foot of France, or Clermont the terrible voice, and your robes Still retain their own crimson?- Mine never yet faded, for fire delights in its form! But go, merciless man, enter into the infinite labyrinth of another's brain Ere thou measure the circle that he shall run. Go, thou cold recluse, into the fires Of another's high flaming rich bosom, and return unconsum'd, and write laws. If thou canst not do this, doubt thy theories, learn to consider all men as thy equals, Thy brethren, and not as thy foot or thy hand, unless thou first fearest to hurt them.' The Monarch stood up; the strong Duke his sword to its golden scabbard return'd; The Nobles sat round like clouds on the mountains, when the storm is passing away: - 'Let the Nation's Ambassador come among Nobles, like incense of the valley!' Aumont went out and stood in the hollow porch, his ivory wand in his hand; A cold orb of disdain revolv'd round him, and covered his soul with snows eternal. Great Henry's soul shuddered, a whirlwind and fire tore furious from his angry bosom; He indignant departed on horses of heav'n. Then the Abbe de Sieyes rais'd his feet On the steps of the Louvre; like a voice of God following a storm, the Abbe follow'd The pale fires of Aumont into the chamber; as a father that bows to his son, Whose rich fields inheriting spread their old glory, so the voice of the people bowed Before the ancient seat of the kingdom and mountains to be renewed. 'Hear, O heavens of France! the voice of the people, arising from valley and hill, O'erclouded with power. Hear the voice of valleys, the voice of meek cities, Mourning oppressed on village and field, till the village and field is a waste. For the husbandman weeps at blights of the fife, and blasting of trumpets consume The souls of mild France; the pale mother nourishes her child to the deadly slaughter. When the heavens were seal'd with a stone, and the terrible sun clos'd in an orb, and the moon Rent from the nations, and each star appointed for watchers of night, The millions of spirits immortal were bound in the rains of sulphur heaven To wander enslav'd; black, depress'd in dark ignorance, kept in awe with the whip To worship terrors, bread from the blood of revenge and breath of desire In bestial forms, or more terrible men; till the dawn of our peaceful morning, Till dawn, till morning, till the breaking of clouds, and swelling of winds, and the universal voice; Till man raise his darken'd limbs out of the caves of night. His eyes and his heart Expand-Where is Space? where, O Sun, is thy dwelling? where thy tent, O faint slumb'rous Moon? Then the valleys of France shall cry to the soldier: "Throw down thy sword and musket, And run and embrace the meek peasant." Her Nobles shall hear and shall weep, and put off The red robe of terror, the crown of oppression, the shoes of contempt, and unbuckle The girdle of war from the desolate earth. Then the Priest in his thund'rous cloud Shall weep, bending to earth, embracing the valleys, and putting his hand to the plough, Shall say: "No more I curse thee; but now I will bless thee: no more in deadly black Devour thy labour; nor lift up a cloud in thy heavens, O laborious plough; That the wild raging millions, that wander in forests, and howl in law-blasted wastes, Strength madden'd with slavery, honesty bound in the dens of superstition, May sing in the village, and shout in the harvest, and woo in pleasant gardens Their once savage loves, now beaming with knowledge, with gentle awe adorned; And the saw, and the hammer, the chisel, the pencil, the pen, and the instruments Of heavenly song sound in the wilds once forbidden, to teach the laborious ploughman And shepherd, deliver'd from clouds of war, from pestilence, from night-fear, from murder, From filling, from stifling, from hunger, from cold, from slander, discontent and sloth, That walk in beasts and birds of night, driven back by the sandy desert, Like pestilent fogs round cities of men; and the happy earth sing in its course, The mild peaceable nations be opened to heav'n, and men walk with their fathers in bliss." Then hear the first voice of the morning: "Depart, O clouds of night, and no more Return; be withdrawn cloudy war, troops of warriors depart, nor around our peaceable city Breathe fires; but ten miles from Paris let all be peace, nor a soldier be seen!"' He ended: the wind of contention arose, and the clouds cast their shadows; the Princes Like the mountains of France, whose aged trees utter an awful voice, and their branches Are shatter'd; till gradual a murmur is heard descending into the valley, Like a voice in the vineyards of Burgundy when grapes are shaken on grass, Like the low voice of the labouring man, instead of the shout of joy; And the palace appear'd like a cloud driven abroad; blood ran down the ancient pillars. Thro' the cloud a deep thunder, the Duke of Burgundy, delivers the King's command: - 'Seest thou yonder dark castle, that moated around, keeps this city of Paris in awe? Go, command yonder tower, saying: "Bastille, depart! and take thy shadowy course; Overstep the dark river, thou terrible tower, and get thee up into the country ten miles. And thou black southern prison, move along the dusky road to Versailles; there Frown on the gardens" - and, if it obey and depart, then the King will disband This war-breathing army; but, if it refuse, let the Nation's Assembly thence learn That this army of terrors, that prison of horrors, are the bands of the murmuring kingdom.' Like the morning star arising above the black waves, when a shipwreck'd soul sighs for morning, Thro' the ranks, silent, walk'd the Ambassador back to the Nation's Assembly, and told The unwelcome message. Silent they heard; then a thunder roll'd round loud and louder; Like pillars of ancient halls and ruins of times remote, they sat. Like a voice from the dim pillars Mirabeau rose; the thunders subsided away; A rushing of wings around him was heard as he brighten'd, and cried out aloud: 'Where is the General of the Nation?' The walls re-echo'd: 'Where is the General of the Nation?' Sudden as the bullet wrapp'd in his fire, when brazen cannons rage in the field, Fayette sprung from his seat saying 'Ready!' Then bowing like clouds, man toward man, the Assembly Like a Council of Ardours seated in clouds, bending over the cities of men, And over the armies of strife, where their children are marshall'd together to battle, They murmuring divide; while the wind sleeps beneath, and the numbers are counted in silence, While they vote the removal of War, and the pestilence weighs his red wings in the sky. So Fayette stood silent among the Assembly, and the votes were given, and the numbers numb'red; And the vote was that Fayette should order the army to remove ten miles from Paris. The aged Sun rises appall'd from dark mountains, and gleams a dusky beam On Fayette; but on the whole army a shadow, for a cloud on the eastern hills Hover'd, and stretch'd across the city, and across the army, and across the Louvre. Like a flame of fire he stood before dark ranks, and before expecting captains: On pestilent vapours around him flow frequent spectres of religious men, weeping In winds; driven out of the abbeys, their naked souls shiver in keen open air; Driven out by the fiery cloud of Voltaire, and thund'rous rocks of Rousseau, They dash like foam against the ridges of the army, uttering a faint feeble cry. Gleams of fire streak the heavens, and of sulphur the earth, from Fayette as he lifted his hand; But silent he stood, till all the officers rush round him like waves Round the shore of France, in day of the British flag, when heavy cannons Affright the coasts, and the peasant looks over the sea and wipes a tear: Over his head the soul of Voltaire shone fiery; and over the army Rousseau his white cloud Unfolded, on souls of war, living terrors, silent list'ning toward Fayette. His voice loud inspir'd by liberty, and by spirits of the dead, thus thunder'd: - 'The Nation's Assembly command that the Army remove ten miles from Paris; Nor a soldier be seen in road or in field, till the Nation command return.' Rushing along iron ranks glittering, the officers each to his station Depart, and the stern captain strokes his proud steed, and in front of his solid ranks Waits the sound of trumpet; captains of foot stand each by his cloudy drum: Then the drum beats, and the steely ranks move, and trumpets rejoice in the sky. Dark cavalry, like clouds fraught with thunder, ascend on the hills, and bright infantry, rank Behind rank, to the soul-shaking drum and shrill fife, along the roads glitter like fire. The noise of trampling, the wind of trumpets, smote the Palace walls with a blast. Pale and cold sat the King in midst of his Peers, and his noble heart sunk, and his pulses Suspended their motion; a darkness crept over his eyelids, and chill cold sweat Sat round his brows faded in faint death; his Peers pale like mountains of the dead, Cover'd with dews of night, groaning, shaking forests and floods. The cold newt, And snake, and damp toad on the kingly foot crawl, or croak on the awful knee, Shedding their slime; in folds of the robe the crown'd adder builds and hisses From stony brows: shaken the forests of France, sick the kings of the nations, And the bottoms of the world were open'd, and the graves of archangels unseal'd: The enormous dead lift up their pale fires and look over the rocky cliffs. A faint heat from their fires reviv'd the cold Louvre; the frozen blood reflow'd. Awful uprose the King; him the Peers foliow'd; they saw the courts of the Palace Forsaken, and Paris without a soldier, silent. For the noise was gone up And follow'd the army; and the Senate in peace sat beneath morning's beam.

    END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

    FRANCUZSKAYA REVOLYUCIYA

    KNIGA PERVAYA

Smert' nad Evropoj navisla; viden'ya i tuchi na Franciyu pali - Slavnye tuchi! Nichtozhnyj korol' zametalsya na mechenom smert'yu Lozhe, okutan mogil'nym tumanom; oslabla desnica; i holod, Pryanuv iz plech po kostyam, vlilsya v skipetr, chrezmerno tyazhelyj dlya smertnoj Dlani - bessil'noj otnyne terzat' i krovavit' cvetushchie gory. Gory bol'nye! Stenayut v otvet korolevskoj toske vertogrady. Tucha vo vzore ego. Nekker, vstan'! Nastupilo zloveshchee utro. Pyat' tysyach let my prospali. YA vstal, no dusha prebyvaet vo dreme; Vizhu v okne, kak sedymi staruhami stali francuzskie gory. ZHalkij, za Nekkera derzhitsya, vhodit Korol' v zal Bol'shogo Soveta. Gory tenistye gromom, lesa tihim grayan'em stonut vo strahe. Tucha prorocheskih izoblichenij navisla nad kryshej dvorcovoj. Sorok muzhej, zatochennyh pechal'yu v temnicu dushi korolevskoj, Kak praotcy nashi - v sumerkah vechnyh, obstali bol'nogo vladyku, Franciyu perekrichat' obrechenno pytayas', vozzvavshuyu k tuche. Ibo plebei uzhe sobralis' v Zale Nacij. Strana sodrognulas'! Nebo francuzskoe nedoumenno drozhit vkrug rasteryannyh. Temen' Pervovremen potryasaet Parizh, sotryasaet Bastilii steny; Strazh i Pravitel' vo mgle nablyudayut, strashas', narastayushchij uzhas; Tysyacha vernyh soldat dyshit tuchej krovavoj Poryadka i Vlasti; CHernoj pechal'yu CHumlennyj zaryskal, kak lev, po chudovishchnym tyur'mam, Ryk ego slyshen i v Luvre, ne gasnet pod vetrom sudilishcha fakel; Moshchnye myshcy trudya, on petlyaet, ognem opalyaet Zakony, Harkaet chernoyu krov'yu zavetov, krovavoj chumoyu ohvachen, Silyas' porvat' vse tesnej i bol'nej ego telo shchemyashchie cepi, Polupridushennym volkom, k zhil'cam Semi Bashen vzyvaya, hripit on. V Bashne po imeni Uzhas byl uznik za ruki, i nogi, i sheyu S kamnem povenchan cepyami; Zmij v dushu zapolz i zapryatalsya v serdce, Sveta strashas', kak v rasshcheline skal'noj, - prorochestvo stalo Proroku Vechnym proklyat'em. A v Bashne po imeni T'ma byl odet kandalami (Zven'ya kovalis' vse mel'che, ved' plot' ustupala zhelezu - i zhalo Goluyu kost') korolevich ZHeleznaya Maska - Lev Vechnyj v nevole. V Bashne po imeni Zverstvo skelet, otyagchennyj cepyami, prostersya, Dozhelta vygryzen Vechnym CHervem za otkaz opravdat' prestuplen'ya. V Bashne po imeni Cerkov' nevinnosti mstili, kotoraya skverne Ne pokorilas': nozhom presekla rastlevayushchij natisk prelata, - Nyne, kak hishchnye pticy, terzali ej telo Sem' Pytok Geenny. V Bashne po imeni Pravoporyadok v noru s detskij grob vtisnut starec. Vsya zarosla, kak lianami melkoe more, sedoj borodoyu Kamera, gde v hlad nochnoj i v dnevnuyu zharu sliz' davnishnego straha Schityval on so steny v pis'menah pautiny - sosed skorpionov, Zmej i chervej, ravnodushno vdyhavshih muchen'em zagazhennyj vozduh: On po veleniyu sovesti s kafedry v grade Parizhe pomerkshim Dusham veshchal chudesa. Zatochen byl silach, palachom osleplennyj, V Bashne po imeni Rok - otsekli emu ruki i nogi, skovali Cep'yu, nispushchennoj sverhu, seredku, - i tol'ko providcheskoj siloj On oshchushchal, chto otchayan'e - ryadom, otchayan'e polzaet vechno, Kak chelovek - na loktyah i kolenyah... A byl - favorit favorita. Nu, a v sed'moj, samoj merzostnoj, Bashne, kotoraya nazvana Bozh'ej, Plot' o zheleza sodrav, god za godom metalsya po krugu bezumec, Tshchetno k Svobode vzyvaya - na tom on uma i lishilsya, - i gluho Volny Bezum'ya i Haosa bilis' o bereg dushi; byl vinoven On v oskorblen'e velichestva, pamyatnom v Luvre i slyshnom v Versale. Drognuli steny temnic, i iz treshchin poslyshalis' probnye klichi. Smolkli. Poslyshalsya smeh. Smolk i on. Nachal svet polyhat' vozle bashen. Ibo plebei uzhe sobralis' v Zale Nacij: goryuchie iskry S fakela solnca v pustynyu nesut krasoty zhivotvornoe plamya, V gorod myatushchijsya. Otbleski lovyat mladency i plakat' konchayut Na materinskoj, s Zemlej samoj shozhej, grudi. I povsyudu v Parizhe Prezhnie stony stihayut. Ved' mysl' o Sobran'e neschastnym dovleet, CHtoby izgnat' proch' iz dum, s ulic proch' rokovye koshmary Bylogo. No pod tyazheloj zavesoj skryt Luvr: i kovarnyj Korol', i klevrety; Drevnie strahi vlastitelej vhodyat syuda, i tolpyatsya, i plachut. V chas, kogda gromom trevozhit groby, Korolej vsej zemli lihoradit. K tuche vozzvala strana - alchet voli, - i cepi trojnye nispali. K tuche vozzvala strana - alchet voli, - t'ma drevnyaya brodit po Luvru, Slovno vo dni razorenij, proigrannyh bitv i pozora, tolpyatsya ZHirnye teni, otchayan'em smytye dyuny, vokrug gosudarya; Strah otpechatan zhelezom na licah, otdavleny mramorom ruki, V plameni krasnogo gneva i v nedoumenii tyazhkom bezmolvny. Vspyhnul Korol', no, kak chernye tuchi, tolpoj priblizhennye vstali, T'moyu okutav svetilo, no bryznul ogon' vencenosnogo serdca. Molvil Korol': "|to pyat' tysyach let potaennogo straha vernulis' Razom, chtob peretryasti nashe Nebo i razvoroshit' pogreben'ya. Slyshu, skvoz' tyazhkie tuchi neschastiya, drevnih monarhov prizyvy. Vizhu, oni podnimayutsya v savanah, svita vstaet vsled za nimi. Stonut: begi ot beschinstva zhivushchih! vse uzniki vyrvalis' nashi. V zemlyu zarojsya! Zapryach'sya v skelet! Zaberis' v zapechatannyj cherep! My poistleli. Nas net. My ne znachimsya v spiskah zhivushchih. Speshi k nam V kamni i korni derev zatait'sya. Ved' uzniki vyrvalis' nyne. K nam pospeshi, k nam vo prah - gnev, bolezn', i bezum'e, i burya minuyut!" Molvil, i smolk, i chelo pochernelo zabotoj, nasupilis' brovi, - A za oknom, na holmah, on uzrel, zagorelos', kak fakely, vojsko Protiv prisyagi, ogon' pobezhal ot soldata k soldatu, - i nebom, Tugo natyanutym, grud' ego stala; on sel; seli drevnie pery. Starshij iz nih, Dyuk Burgundskij, podnyalsya togda odesnuyu vladyki, Krasen licom, kak vino iz ego vertograda; pahnulo vojnoyu Iz ego krasnyh odezhd, on vozdel svoyu strashnuyu krasnuyu ruku, Strashnuyu krov' vozveshchaya, i, kak vertograd nad snopami pshenicy, Volya krovavaya Dyuka navisla nad blednym bessil'nym Sovetom, - Kuchka detej, tuchka svetlaya slezy lila v plamen' mantii krasnoj, - Rech' ego, slovno purpurnaya Osen' na pole pshenicy, upala. "Stanet li, - molvil on, - mramornyj Neba chertog glinobitnoj zemlyankoj, Gruboj skam'eyu - Zemlya? ZHatvu v shest' tysyach let soberut li muzhlany? V silah li Nekker, zhenevskij prostak, svoim zhalkim serpom zamahnut'sya Na plodorodnuyu Franciyu i dinasticheskij purpur, svyazuya Carstva zemnye v snopy, drevnij Rycarstva les vyrubaya pod koren', Radost' srazhen'ya - vragu, vlast' - sud'be, mech i skipetr otdavaya sozvezd'yam, Veru i pravo ognyu predavaya, vekami ispytannyj razum V glubi zemli horonya i lyudej ostavlyaya nagimi na skalah Vechnosti, gde Vechnyj Lev i Orel nenasytno terzayut dobychu? CHto zhe vy sdelali, pery, chtob slezy i veshchie sny obmanuli, CHtoby protivu zemli ne vosstal ee vechnyj posev sornym cvetom? CHto zhe predprinyali v chas, kogda gorod myatezhnyj uzhe okruzhili Zvezdnye duhi? Vash drevnij voinstvennyj klich probudil li Evropu? Koni zarzhali l' pri vozglasah trub? Potyanulis' k oruzhiyu l' ruki? V nebe parizhskom kruzhatsya orly, ozhidaya pobednogo znaka, - Tak nazovi im dobychu, Korol', - ukazhi na Versal' Lafajetu!" Smolk, plameneya v molchan'e. Krovavym tumanom podernutyj Nekker (Kriki i bran' za oknom,) promolchal, no kak grom nad grobami molchan'e. Molcha lezhali luga, molcha stoyali vetra, i dvoe molchashchih - Pahar' i zhenshchina v slabosti - trup ego slov obmyvali lyubov'yu, Deti glyadeli v mogilu - tak Nekker molchal, tak lico pryatal v tuchu. Vstal, opirayas' na gory, Korol' i vzglyanul na velikoe vojsko, V nebe zatmivshee krov'yu sverkan'e zakata, i molvil Burgundcu: "Istinnyj Lev ese ti! Ty odin uteshen'e v velikoj kruchine, Ibo francuzskaya znat' uzh ne verit v menya, pis'mena Valtasara V serdce moem prochitav. Nekker, proch'! Ty - lovec, stavshij nyne dobychej. Ne dlya glumlen'ya nad nami sozvali my SHtaty. Ne na porugan'e Rozdali nashi dary. Slyshu: tochat mechi, slyshu: ladyat mushkety, Vizhu: glaza nalivayutsya krov'yu reshimosti v gradah i vesyah, Drevnih chudes nad stranoj opechaleny vzory, rydayut povsyudu Deti i zhenshchiny, smerchi somnenij royatsya, pechal' ogneveet, V rycaryah - robost'. Molchi i proshchaj! Smerchi stihnut, kak drevle stihali!" S tem on umolk, plameneya, - na Nekkera krasnye tuchi naplyli. Placha, Starik pospeshil udalit'sya v toske po rodimoj ZHeneve. Detskij i zhenskij zvuchal emu vsled plach unylyj vdol' ulic parizhskih. No v Zale Nacij mgnovenno proznali ob etom pozornom izgnan'e. Vse zh ne umerilsya gnev blagorodnyh, a tuchej vskipel grozovoyu. Gromche zhe vseh vozopil, proklinaya Parizh, ego Arhiepiskop. V sernom dymu on predstal, v klokotan'e ognej i v krovavoj odezhde. "Slyshish', Lyudovik, ugrozy Nebes! Tak ispej, poka est' eshche vremya, Mudrosti nashej! YA spal v bashne zlatoj, no deyaniya zlobnye cherni Tuchej navisli nad snom - ya prosnulsya - menya razbudilo viden'e: Holodnorukoe, dryahloe, snega belee, tryasyas' i mercaya, Taya tumanom promozglym i slezy ronyaya na chahlye shcheki, Prizraki mel'che u nog ego v savanah kroshechnyh roem mel'kali, Arfu derzhali v molchan'e odni, i mahali kadilom drugie; Tret'i lezhali mertvy, miriady chetvertyh vdali golosili. Vzorom okinuv siyu verenicu pozora, rek starshij iz duhov Golosom rezche i tishe kuznechika: "Plach moj vnimayut v abbatstvah, Ibo Gospod', pochitavshijsya vstar', stal otnyne lampadoj bez masla, Ibo proklyat'e gremit nad stranoyu, kotoruyu plemya bezbozhnyh Nynche terzaet, kak hishchniki, vzory tupya, i trudyas', i otvergnuv Svyatost' zakonov moih, yazykom zabyvaya zvuchan'e molitvy, Splyunuv Osannu iz ust. Dveri Haosa tresnuli, t'my nepodobnyh Vyrvalis' vihrem ognya - i svyashchennye groby pozorno razversty, Znat' omertvela, i Cerkov' padet vsled za neyu, i stanet pustynya: CHernoyu - mitra, i mertvoj - korona, a skipetr i carstvennyj posoh S grudoj kostej gosudarevyh vkupe istleyut v chas unichtozhen'ya; Zvon kolokol'nyj, i golos subboty, i penie angel'skih sonmov Dnem - p'yanoj pesnej rasputnic, a noch'yu - nevinnosti voplyami stanet; Vyronyat plug, i padut v borozdu - nechestny, neprostimy, neblagi, Mytar' razvratnyj zamenit vo hrame zhreca; tot, kto proklyat, - svyatogo; Nishchij i Car' lyagut ryadom, i chervi, ih glozha, spletutsya v ob®yat'e!" Tak molvil prizrak - i grom sotryasal moyu kel'yu. No tuchej pokoya Son snizoshel na menya. A s utra ya uzrel porugan'e derzhavy I, sodrogayas', poshel k gosudaryu s otecheskim Neba sovetom. Slushaj menya, o Korol', i veli svoim marshalam - v delo! Gospodne Slushaj reshen'e: speshi sokrushit' v ih poslednem pribezhishche SHtaty, Daj soldatne ovladet' etim gradom myatezhnym, gde krov'yu dvoryanstva Nogi reshili omyt', rastoptav emu grud' i chelo; pust' poglotit |tih bezumcev Bastiliya, Miropomazannik, vechnoyu t'moyu!" Molvil i sel - i holodnaya drozh' ohvatila vel'mozh, i ochnulis' Monstry bezvestnyh mirov, ozhidaya, kogda ih spasut i okliknut; Vstal dyuk Omon, ch'ya dusha, kak kometa, ne vedaya celi, ni srokov, V mire nosilas' haosorozhdennoj, nesya porugan'e i gibel', - Kak iz mogily vosstav, on predstal v etot mig pred krovavym Sovetom: "Brosheny armiej, predany naciej, mecheny skoroyu smert'yu, Slushajte, pery, i slushaj, prelat, i vnemli, o Korol'! Iz mogily Vyrvalsya prizrak Navarrca, razbuzhen abbatom Sijesom iz SHtatov. Tam, gde prohodit, spesha vo dvorec, vse nemeyut i chuvstvuyut uzhas, Znaya o tom, dlya chego on mogilu pokinul do Sudnogo chasa. Besyatsya koni, trepeshchut geroi, dvorcovaya strazha bezhala!" Tut podnyalsya samyj sil'nyj i smelyj iz otpryskov krovi Burbonskoj, Gercog Bretanskij i gercog Burgonskij, mechom potryasaya otcovskim, Plamennosushchij i gromom gotovyj, kak chernaya tucha, vzorvat'sya: "Genrih! kak plamya otvest' ot glavy gosudarya? Kak plamenem vyzhech' Korni vosstan'ya? Veli - i vozglavlyu ya voinstvo predubezhden'ya, Daby dvoryanskogo gneva ogon' polyhal nad stranoyu velikoj, Daby nikto ne posmel polozhit' blagorodnye vyi pod lemeh". Dyuk Orleanskij vozdvigsya, kak gornye kryazhi, moguch i gromaden, Glyadya na Arhiepiskopa - tot stal belee svinca, - popytalsya Vstat', da ne smog, zakrichal - vyshlo sipom, slova prevratilis' v shipen'e, Drognul - i drognula zala, - i zamer, - i zagovoril Orleanec: "Mudrye pery, vladyki ognya, ne zadut', a razdut' ego dolzhno! Snov i videnij ne bojtes' - nochnye pechali prohodyat s rassvetom! Burya l' polnochnaya - zvezdam ugroza? Muzhlany li - plameni znati? Telo l' bol'no, kogda vse ego chleny zdorovy? Unyn'yu li vremya, Esli zhelaniya zhguchie oburevayut? Dushe li tomit'sya, - Serdce kotoroj i mozg v dve reki ravnomerno struyatsya po Rayu, - Lish' ottogo, chto konechnosti, grud', golova i prichinnoe mesto Ognennym schast'em ob®yaty? Tak mozhet li stat' ugnetennym dvoryanstvo, Esli svoboden narod? Il' vosplachet Gospod', esli schastlivy lyudi? Ili prezreem my vzor Mirabo i reshitel'nyj vid Lafajeta, Plechi Tarzhe, i osanku Baji, i Klermona otchayannyj golos, Ne postupivshis' velich'em? CHto, krome kak plamya, otradno petarde? Net, o Bezdushnyj! Sperva labirintom projdi beskonechnym chuzhogo Mozga, potom uzh prorochestvuj. V gordoe plamya, holodnyj zatvornik, Serdca chuzhogo vojdi, - ne sgori, - a potom uzh tolkuj o zakonah. Esli ne smozhesh' - otrin' svoj zavet i nachni privykat' postepenno Dumat' o nih, kak o ravnyh, - o brat'yah tvoih, a ne chlenah telesnyh, Vlasti soznan'ya pokornyh. I prezhde vsego nauchis' ih ne ranit'". S mesta podnyalsya Korol'; mech v zlatye nozhny vozvratil Orleanec. Znat' kolyhalas', kak tucha nad kryazhem, kogda porasseetsya burya. "Vyslushat' nuzhno poslanca tolpy. Svezhest' myslej nam budet kak ladan!" V nishe pustoj vstal Omon i potryas svoim posohom kosti slonovoj; Zlost' i prezren'e vilis' vkrug nego, slovno tuchi vkrug gor, zastilaya Vechnymi snegami dushu. I Genrih, istorgnuv iz serdca plamen'ya, Gnevno hlestnul ispolinskih nebesnyh konej i pokinul sobran'e. V zalu abbat de Sijes podnyalsya po dvorcovym stupenyam - i srazu, Kak vsled za gromom i molniej golos gnevlivyj gryadet Iegovy, Blednyj Omona ogon' pretvoril v sataninskoe plamya svyashchennik; Slovno otec, uveshchayushchij vzdornogo syna, sgubivshego nivu, On obratilsya k Prestolu i drevnim goram, uprezhdaya brozhen'e. "Nebo Otchizny, vnemli glasu teh, kto vzyvaet s holmov i iz dolov, Zastlany tuchami sily. Vnemli poselyanam, vnemli gorozhanam. Grady i vesi vosstali, daby unichtozhit' i grady, i vesi. Pahar' pri zvukah rozhka zarydal, ibo v pen'e nebesnoj fanfary - Smert' krotkoj Francii; mat' svoe chado rastit dlya ubijstvennoj bojni. Zryu, nebesa zapechatany kamnem i solnce na strashnoj orbite, Zryu zagashennoj lunu i pomerkshimi vechnye zvezdy nad mirom, V koem likuyut besschetnye duhi na sernistyh neba oblomkah, Osvobozhdennye, chernye, v temnom nevezhestve nesokrushimy, Obozhestvlyaya ubijstvo, plodyas' ot vozmezd'ya, dysha vozhdelen'em, V zverskom oblich'e il' v oblike mnogo strashnej - v chelovecheskoj persti, Tak do teh por, poka utro Pokoya i Mira, Zari i Rassveta, Mirnoe utro ne snidet, i tuchi ne sginut, i Glas ne razdastsya Vseobnimayushchij - i chelovek iz peshchery u Nochi ne vyrvet CHleny svoi zatenennye, okom i serdcem prostranstvo pronzaya, - Tshchetno! Ni Solnca! Ni zvezd!.. I k soldatu vosplachut francuzskie doly: "Mech i mushket uroni, pobratajsya s krest'yaninom krotkim!" I, placha, Snimut dvoryane s Otchizny krovavuyu mantiyu zverstva i straha, I pritesnen'ya venec, i botforty prezren'ya, - i poyas razvyazhut Alyj na tele Zemli. I togda iz gromovyya tuchi Svyashchennik, Zemlyu laskaya, polya obnimaya, kasayas' naperstviem pluga, Molvit, vosplakav: "Snimayu s vas, chada, proklyat'e i blagoslovlyayu. Nyne vash trud izo t'my izoshel, i nad plugom net tuchi nebesnoj, Ibo bluzhdavshie v chashchah i vyvshie v proklyatyh bogom pustynyah, Vechno bezumnye v rabstve i v doblesti plenniki predubezhdenij Nyne poyut v derevnyah, i smeyutsya v polyah, i gulyayut s podruzhkoj; Ran'she dikarskaya, stala ih strast', svetom znan'ya luchas', blagorodnoj; Molot, rezec i soha, karandash, i bumaga, i zvonkaya flejta Nyne zvuchat nevozbranno povsyudu i chestnogo paharya uchat I pastuha - dvuh spasennyh ot tuchi voennoj, chumy i razboya, Strahov nochnyh, udusheniya, goloda, holoda, lzhi i dosady, Zveryu i ptice nochnoj vechno svojstvennyh - i otletevshih otnyne Vihrem chumnym ot zhilishcha lyudej. I zemlya na schastlivoj orbite Mirnye nacii prosit k blazhenstvu prizvat', kak ih predkov, u Neba". Vsled za svyashchennikom Utro samo vozzovet: "Da rasseyutsya tuchi! Tuchi, chrevatye gromom vojny i pozharom ubijstv i nasilij! Da ne ostanetsya dole vo Francii ni odnogo ratoborca!" Konchil - i veter razdora po Zale pronessya, i tuchi sgustilis'; Byli vel'mozhi, kak gory, kak gornye chashchi, tryasomye vihrem; I, nezametno v shatan'e derev, v treske such'ev, ros shepot v doline Ili zhe shoroh - kak budto sryvalis' v travu vinogradnye grozd'ya, Ili zhe golos - natruzhennyj krik zemlepashca, ne vozglas vostorga. Tuche, chrevatoj ognem, upodobilsya Luvr, zastruilas' po drevnim Mramoram alaya krov'; Dyuk Burgundskij dozhdalsya monarshego slova: "Vidish' tot zamok nad rvom, chto vnushaet Parizhu opasku? Skomanduj |toj gromade: "Bastiliya pala! Soshel zamok prizrachnyj s mesta, Tronulsya v put', cherez reku shagnul, otoshel ot Parizha na desyat' Mil'. Tvoj chered, nepristupnaya YUzhnaya krepost'. Naprav'sya k Versalyu, Hmuro vzglyani v te sady!" I kol' vypolnit eto ona, my raspustim Armiyu nashu, chto dyshit vojnoj, a kol' net -my vnushim Assamblee: Armiya strahov i tyur'my muchenij sut' cepi strane vozroptavshej". Slovno zvezda, vozveshchaya rassvet poterpevshim korablekrushen'e, Molcha napravilsya gorestnyj vestnik pred Nacional'nym sobran'em S gorestnoj vest'yu predstat'. Molcha slushali. Molcha, no gromkie gromy Gromche i gromche gremeli. Oblomki kolonn, prah vremen - tak molchali. Slovno iz drevnih ruin, k nim vozzval Mirabo - gromy stihli mgnovenno, Hlopan'e kryl bylo vkrug ego krika: "Uslyshat' hotim Lafajeta!". Steny otkliknulis' ehom: "Uslyshat' hotim Lafajeta!". I v plamya, - Molnienosno, kak pulya, chto vzvizgnula v znak ob®yavleniya boya, - S mesta sorvavshis', "Pora!" zakrichal Lafajet. I Sobran'e V tuchah zastylo bezmolvno, kolchan, polnyj molnij, nad gradami zhizni. Gradami zhizni i ratyami shvatki, gde deti ih shli drug na druga; Golosovali, shepchas', - vihr' u nog, - golosa podschitali v molchan'e, I otkazali vojne, i CHuma krasnokrylaya v nebo metnulas'. Molcha pred nimi stoyal Lafajet, ozhidaya ishoda ih tyazhby, - I prikazali vojskam otojti za chertu v desyat' mil' ot Parizha. Staroe solnce, sadyas' za goroj, ozarilo luchom Lafajeta, No v glubochajshej teni bylo vojsko: s vostochnyh holmov naplyvala I prostiralas' nad gorodom, armiej, Luvrom gigantskaya tucha. Plameni svetloyu dolej stoyal on nad plameni temnoyu dolej; Tam besnovalis' ryady deputatov i zhdali reshen'ya soldaty, Placha, chumnoj verenicej struilis' viden'ya priverzhencev very - Golye dushi, iz chernyh abbatstv vyryvayas' besstydno na bozhij Svet, gde krovavaya tucha Vol'tera, i groznye skaly ZHan-ZHaka Mir zatenyali, oni razbivalis', kak volny, o vystupy vojska. Nebo zardelos' ognem, i zemlya sernym dymom sokrylas' ot vzora, Ibo vosstal Lafajet, no v molchan'e po-prezhnemu, a oficery Bilis' v nego, razbivayas', kak volny o Francii mysy v godinu Bitvy s Britaniej, krovi i vzora krest'yanskoj slezy cherez more. Ibo nad nim vosparyal, plameneya, Vol'ter, a nad vojskom - ZHan-ZHaka Belaya tucha plyla, i, razbuzheny, vojnorozhdennye zverstva L'nuli ko gromu rechej, vdohnovlennyh svobodoj i mysl'yu o mertvyh: "Kol' poreshili vy v Nacional'nom sobran'e vojskam udalit'sya, Tak i postupim. No zhdem ot Sobran'ya i Nacii novyh prikazov!" Stronulos' vojsko zheleznoe s ognennym gromom i grohotom s mesta; ZHdali signal'noj truby oficery, vskochili v sedlo vestovye; Bliz barabanshchikov vernyh stoyali, skorbya, kapitany pehoty; Podan byl znak, i doros do nebes, i otpravilos' vojsko v dorogu. CHernye vsadniki - tuchi, chrevatye gromom, - i pestroj pehoty Dvinulis' tolpy - pri zvukah truby i fanfary, pod boj barabannyj. Topot i grohot, fanfary i truby kachnuli dvorcovye steny. Blednyj i zhalkij, Korol' vossedal v okruzhen'e ispugannyh perov, Serdce ne bilos', i krov' ne struilas', i t'ma opechatala veki CHernoj pechat'yu; predsmertnoj isparinoj telo i chleny pokrylis'; Pery vokrug gromozdilis', kak mertvye gory, kak mertvye chashchi, Ili kak mertvye reki. Tritony, i zhaby, i zmei vozilis' Vozle derzhavnyh kolen i skvoz' pal'cy derzhavnoj nogi podpolzali, Blizhe k derzhavnoj gadyuke, zabravshejsya v mantiyu, daby ottuda S kamennym vzorom shipet', potryasaya francuzskie chashchi; nastalo Vseotvoren'e Vsemirnogo Dna i vosstan'e arhangelov spyashchih; Vstal ispolinskij mertvec i razdul nado vsemi ih blednoe plamya. ZHar ego szheg steny Luvra, rastayala mertvaya krov', zastruilas'. V gneve ochnulsya Korol' i dremotnye pery, uzrev zapusten'e: Luvr bez edinoj dushi, i Parizh bez soldat i v glubokom molchan'e, Ibo shum s vojskom propal, i Senat v tishine dozhidalsya rassveta. Perevod V. L. Toporova

    AMERICA

    A PROPHECY

    PRELUDIUM

The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Ore, When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode: His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron. Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless Female stood; A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night, When pestilence is shot from heaven-no other arms she need! Invulnerable tho' naked, save where clouds roll round her loins Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night; For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise, But dumb till that dread day when Ore ussay'd his fierce embrace. 'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy Youth, 'Thy father stern, abhorr'd, Rivets my tenfold chains, while still on high my spirit soars; Sometimes an eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a lion Stalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a whale, I lash The raging fathomless abyss; anon a serpent folding Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs On the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds; For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest food I howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face - In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight. Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy, The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire; Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb; It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile, As when a black cloud shows its lightnings to the silent deep. Soon as she saw the Terrible Boy, then burst the virgin cry:- 'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go: Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa, And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death. On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions Endur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep. I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love, In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru; I see a Whale in the South Sea, drinking my soul away. O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent. This is Eternal Death, and this the torment long foretold!' The stern Bard ceas'd, asham'd of his own song; enrag'd he swung His harp aloft sounding, then dash'd its shining frame against A ruin'd pillar in glittering fragments; silent he turn'd away, And wander'd down the vales of Kent in sick & dream lamentings.

    AMERIKA

    PROROCHESTVO

    PRELYUDIYA

Vidit Urtony dshcher' tenistaya Orka v krovi. Nosit emu edu chetyrnadcat' plamennyh solnc. Kormit ona ego: v zheleznom kuvshine pit'e, V chashe zheleznoj yastva; kosy carevny temny; Plamenem poln kolchan - v ruke u nee, pod rukoj - Luk okayannoj nochi, strely smertel'ny - i vse! Bol'shego ej ne nado! Neuyazvima ona, Hot' i nagaya, - tuchi lastyatsya k chreslam eya; T'moyu stoit bezmolvnoj, zvuka ne vedal yazyk; Probil postydnyj chas - zhazhdet ob®yatiya Ork! "Temnaya Deva, - rek vlasatyj, - otec tvoj skoval Cepi velikie telu - no duh moj parit V nebe orlom svobodnym, ryskaet yarostnym l'vom V gornyh ushchel'yah, mchitsya moshchnym kitom v glubinu. Volnami vshlestnut, zmiem v'yus' ya k Urtone v chertog, CHleny tvoi nagie laskoj derzayu obvit' V myslyah! Kanadskih pustyn' plennik, ya sohnu, plenen, Vlastny li cepi Duh moj strasti lishit'? CHut' pridesh', ZHadno revu, krovavym vzorom tebya poznayu - Tshchetno! Ty, v tuchah skryta, lozha bezhish' moego". Molcha, kak strast' bezum'ya, grozno, kak revnost' mirov, Dikie plechi cepi sbrosili - podlinna moshch'! CHudnye chresla roznyal, k lonu, likuya, pripal - Radostno lono, pyshet zharom, i tuchi ushli - Ognennyj vzor ego prozheg ih molchashchuyu glub'. Devstvennyj krik otvetil yarostnoj strasti samca: "Znayu tebya, nashla tebya, nikogda ne ujdu! Detishche bozh'e, zhilec Afriki vechno nochnoj, Pal ty, daruya mne zhizn' v temnoj yudoli smertej! YArost' ya chuyu, zlost', Ameriki shvatku i ston, Gorest' kornej, scepivshih ruki v podzemnoj bor'be. Vizhu ya Zmiya dnes', v Kanade on slyubit menya! V Meksike shvatit Grif! I Lev pohotlivyj - v Peru! Vizhu Kita u brega, dushu mne vyp'et do dna! O, chto za bol'! Moj moroz v plameni stayal tvoem! Bol' i pozor naveki - v borozdah molnij tvoih! Vot ona, Smert', nastala! Vot on, predskazannyj gnev!" Strogij Pevec umolknul, pesni svoej ustydyas', v beshenstve brosil on Arfu svoyu navstrechu zvukam ee - k vershinam, a zatem prelomil Plamennyj ostov ee o ruiny kolonny i, molcha nasupyas', Proch' zashagal v bol'nyh i strashnyh svoih pechalyah po Kentskomu dolu.

    A PROPHECY

The Guardian Prince of Albion burns in his nightly tent: Sullen fires across the Atlantic glow to America's shore, Piercing the souls of warlike men who rise in silent night. Washington, Franklin, Paine, and Warren, Gates, Hancock, and Green Meet on the coast glowing with blood from Albion's fiery Prince. Washington spoke: 'Friends of America! look over the Atlantic sea; A bended bow is lifted in Heaven, and a heavy iron chain Descends, link by link, from Albion's cliffs across the sea, to bind Brothers and sons of America; till our faces pale and yellow, Heads depress'd, voices weak, eyes downcast, hands work-bruis'd, Feet bleeding on the sultry sands, and the furrows of the whip Descend to generations, that in future times forget.' The strong voice ceas'd; for a terrible blast swept over the heaving sea: The eastern cloud rent: on his cliffs stood Albion's wrathful Prince, A dragon form, clashing his scales: at midnight he arose, And flam'd red meteors round the land of Albion beneath; His voice, his locks, his awful shoulders, and his glowing eyes Appear to the Americans upon the cloudy night. Solemn heave the Atlantic waves between the gloomy nations, Swelling, belching from its deeps red clouds and raging fires. Albion is sick! America faints! Enrag'd the Zenith grew. As human blood shooting its veins all round the orbed heaven, Red rose the clouds from the Atlantic in vast wheels of blood, And in the red clouds rose a Wonder o'er the Atlantic sea- Intense! naked! a Human fire, fierce glowing, as the wedge Of iron heated in the furnace; his terrible limbs were fire, With myriads of cloudy terrors, banners dark, and towers Surrounded: heat but not light went thro' the murky atmosphere. The King of England looking westward trembles at the vision. Albion's Angel stood beside the Stone of Night, and saw The Terror like a comet, or more like the planet red, That once enclos'd the terrible wandering comets in its sphere. Then, Mars, thou wast our centre, and the planets three flew round Thy crimson disk; so, ere the Sun was rent from thy red sphere, The Spectre glow'd, his horrid length staining the temple long With beams of blood; and thus a voice came forth, and shook the temple: - 'The morning comes, the night decays, the watchmen leave their stations; The grave is burst, the spices shed, the linen wrapped up; The bones of death, the cov'ring clay, the sinews shrunk and dry'd Reviving shake, inspiring move, breathing, awakening, Spring like redeemed captives, when their bonds and bars are burst. Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field, Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bright air; Let the enchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing, Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years, Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open; And let his wife and children return from the oppressor's scourge. They look behind at every step, and believe it is a dream, Singing: "The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher morning, And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night; For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall cease."' In thunders ends the voice. Then Albion's Angel wrathful burnt Beside the Stone of Night; and, like the Eternal Lion's howl In famine and war, reply'd: 'Art thou not Ore, who serpent-form'd Stands at the gate of Enitharmon to devour her children? Blasphemous Demon, Antichrist, hater of Dignities, Lover of wild rebellion, and transgressor of God's Law, Why dost thou come to Angel's eyes in this terrific form?' The Terror answer'd: T am Ore, wreath'd round the accursed tree: The times are ended; shadows pass, the morning 'gins to break; The fiery joy, that Urizen perverted to ten commands, What night he led the starry hosts thro' the wide wilderness, That stony Law I stamp to dust; and scatter Religion abroad To the four winds as a torn book, and none shall gather the leaves; But they shall rot on desert sands, and consume in bottomless deeps, To make the deserts blossom, and the deeps shrink to their fountains, And to renew the fiery joy, and burst the stony roof; That pale religious lechery, seeking Virginity, May find it in a harlot, and in coarse-clad honesty The underfil'd, tho' ravish'd in her cradle night and morn; For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life; Because the soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd. Fires enwrap the earthly globe, yet Man is not consum'd; Amidst the lustful fires he walks; his feet become like brass, His knees and things like silver, and his breast and head like gold. 'Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels! Loud howls the Eternal Wolf! the Eternal Lion lashes his tail! America is dark'ned; and my punishing Demons, terrified, Crouch howling before their caverns deep, like skins dry'd in the wind. They cannot smite the wheat, nor quench the fatness of the earth; They cannot smite with sorrows, nor subdue the plough and spade; They cannot wall the city, nor moat round the castle of princes; They cannot bring the stubbed oak to overgrow the hills; For terrible men stand on the shores, and in their robes I see Children take shelter from the lightnings: there stands Washington, And Paine, and Warren, with their foreheads rear'd toward the East - But clouds obscure my aged sight. A vision from afar! Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels! Ah, vision from afar! Ah, rebel form that rent the ancient Heavens! Eternal Viper self-renew'd, rolling in clouds, I see thee in thick clouds and darkness on America's shore, Writhing in pangs of abhorred birth; red flames the crest rebellious And eyes of death; the harlot womb, oft opened in vain, Heaves in enormous circles: now the times are return'd upon thee, Devourer of thy parent, now thy unutterable torment renews. Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels! Ah, terrible birth! a young one bursting! Where is the weeping mouth, And where the mother's milk? Instead, those ever-hissing jaws And parched lips drop with fresh gore: now roll thou in the clouds; Thy mother lays her length outstretch'd upon the shore beneath. Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels! Loud howls the Eternal Wolf! the Eternal Lion lashes his tail!' Thus wept the Angel voice, and as he wept the terrible blasts Of trumpets blew a loud alarm across the Atlantic deep. No trumpets answer; no reply of clarions or of fifes: Silent the Colonies remain and refuse the loud alarm. On those vast shady hills between America and Albion's shore, Now barr'd out by the Atlantic sea, call'd Atlantean hills, Because from their bright summits you may pass to the Golden World, An ancient palace, archetype of mighty Emperies, Rears its immortal pinnacles, built in the forest of God By Ariston, the King of Beauty, for his stolen bride. Here on their magic seats the Thirteen Angels sat perturb'd, For clouds from the Atlantic hover o'er the solemn roof. Fiery the Angels rose, and as they rose deep thunder roll'd Around their shores, indignant burning with the fires of Ore; And Boston's Angel cried aloud as they flew thro' the dark night. He cried: 'Why trembles honesty; and, like a murderer, Why seeks he refuge from the frowns of his immortal station? Must the generous tremble, and leave his joy to the idle, to the pestilence That mock him? Who commanded this? What God? What Angel? To keep the gen'rous from experience till the ungenerous Are unrestrain'd performers of the energies of nature; Till pity is become a trade, and generosity a science That men get rich by; and the sandy desert is giv'n to the strong? What God is he writes laws of peace, and clothes him in a tempest? What pitying Angel lusts for tears, and fans himself with sighs? What crawling villain preaches abstinence and wraps himself In fat of lambs? No more I follow, no more obedience pay!' So cried he, rending off his robe and throwing down his sceptre In sight of Albion's Guardian; and all the Thirteen Angels Rent off their robes to the hungry wind, and threw their golden sceptres Down on the land of America; indignant they descended Headlong from out their heav'nly heights, descending swift as fires Over the land; naked and flaming are their lineaments seen In the deep gloom; by Washington and Paine and Warren they stood; And the flame folded, roaring fierce within the pitchy night, Before the Demon red, who burnt towards America, In black smoke, thunders, and loud winds, rejoicing in its terror, Breaking in smoky wreaths from the wild deep, and gath'ring thick In flames as of a furnace on the land from North to South, What time the Thirteen Governors, that England sent, convene In Bernard's house. The flames cover'd the land; they rouse; they cry; Shaking their mental chains, they rush in fury to the sea To quench their anguish; at the feet of Washington down fall'n They grovel on the sand and writhing lie, while all The British soldiers thro' the Thirteen States sent up a howl Of anguish, threw their swords and muskets to the earth, and run From their encampments and dark castles, seeking where to hide From the grim flames, and from the visions of Ore, in sight Of Albion's Angel; who, enrag'd, his secret clouds open'd From North to South, and burnt outstretch'd on wings of wrath, cov'ring The eastern sky, spreading his awful wings across the heavens. Beneath him roll'd his num'rous hosts, all Albion's Angels camp'd Darken'd the Atlantic mountains; and their trumpets shook the valleys, Arm'd with diseases of the earth to cast upon the Abyss- Their numbers forty millions, must'ring in the eastern sky. In the flames stood and view'd the armies drawn out in the sky, Washington, Franklin, Paine, and Warren, Allen, Gates, and Lee, And heard the voice of Albion's Angel give the thunderous command; His plagues, obedient to his voice, flew forth out of their clouds, Falling upon America, as a storm to cut them off, As a blight cuts the tender corn when it begins to appear. Dark is the heaven above, and cold and hard the earth beneath: And, as a plague-wind, fill'd with insects, cuts off man and beast, And, as a sea o'erwhelms a land in the day of an earthquake, Fury, rage, madness, in a wind swept through America; And the red flames of Ore, that folded roaring, fierce, around The angry shores; and the fierce rushing of th' inhabitants together! The citizens of New York close their books and lock their chests; The mariners of Boston drop their anchors and unlade; The scribe of Pennsylvania casts his pen upon the earth; The builder of Virginia throws his hammer down in fear. Then had America been lost, o'erwhelm'd by the Atlantic, And Earth had lost another portion of the Infinite; But all rush together in the night in wrath and raging fire. The red fires rag'd! The plagues recoil'd! Then roll'd they back with fury On Albion's Angels: then the Pestilence began in streaks of red Across the limbs of Albion's Guardian; the spotted plague smote Bristol's, And the Leprosy London's Spirit, sickening all their bands: The millions sent up a howl of anguish and threw off their hammer'd mail, And cast their swords and spears to earth, and stood, a naked multitude: Albion's Guardian writhed in torment on the eastern sky, Pale, quiv'ring toward the brain his glimmering eyes, teeth chattering, Howling and shuddering, his legs quivering, convuls'd each muscle and sinew: Sick'ning lay London's Guardian, and the ancient mitred York, Their heads on snowy hills, their ensigns sick'ning in the sky. The plagues creep on the burning winds, driven by flames of Ore, And by the fierce Americans rushing together in the night, Driven o'er the Guardians of Ireland, and Scotland and Wales. They, spotted with plagues, forsook the frontiers; and their banners, sear'd With fires of hell, deform their ancient Heavens with shame and woe. Hid in his caves the Bard of Albion felt the enormous plagues, And a cowl of flesh grew o'er his head, and scales on his back and ribs; And, rough with black scales, all his Angels fright their ancient heavens. The doors of marriage are open, and the Priests, in rustling scales, Rush into reptile coverts, hiding from the fires of Ore, That play around the golden roofs in wreaths of fierce desire, Leaving the Females naked and glowing with the lusts of youth. For the Female Spirits of the dead, pining in bonds of religion, Run from their fetters; reddening, and in long-drawn arches sitting, They feel the nerves of youth renew, and desires of ancient times Over their pale limbs, as a vine when the tender grape appears. Over the hills, the vales, the cities rage the red flames fierce: The Heavens melted from North to South; and Urizen, who sat Above all heavens, in thunders wrapp'd, emerg'd his leprous head From out his holy shrine, his tears in deluge piteous Falling into the deep sublime; flagg'd with grey-brow'd snows And thunderous visages, his jealous wings wav'd over the deep; Weeping in dismal howling woe, he dark descended, howling Around the smitten bands, clothed in tears and trembling, shudd'ring, cold. His stored snows he poured forth, and his icy magazines He open'd on the deep, and on the Atlantic sea, white, shiv'ring; Leprous his limbs, all over white, and hoary was his visage; Weeping in dismal howlings before the stern Americans, Hiding the Demon red with clouds and cold mists from the earth; Till Angels and weak men twelve years should govern o'er the strong; And then their end should come, when France receiv'd the Demon's light. Stiff shudderings shook the heav'nly thrones! France, Spain, and Italy In terror view'd the bands of Albion, and the ancient Guardians, Fainting upon the elements, smitten with their own plagues! They slow advance to shut the five gates of their law-built Heaven, Filled with blasting fancies and with mildews of despair, With fierce disease and lust, unable to stem the fires of Ore. But the five gates were consum'd, and their bolts and hinges melted; And the fierce flames burnt round the heavens, and round the abodes of men.

    PROROCHESTVO

Knyaz' plameneet, Strazh, u vrat Al'biona v shatre; Plamya pylaet; groz v Amerike grom zagremel, Dushi vzryvaya bdyashchih bitvy muzhej, a ne spyat Vashington, Franklin, Pejn, Uorren, Gejts, Henkok i Grin; Bregi krovavy Knyaz' s vysot Al'biona slepit. Vashington molvil, hmur: "Otechestvo, vzor za morya Kin': v nebe luk natyanut i visnet tyazhkaya cep'; Zven'ev i zven'ev rzhav' so skal Al'biona syuda V'etsya: vyazat' narod Ameriki, dushi sushit', Nurit' glavy, nemotu nest', obezdolivat' duh, Ochi i nogi zhech', remni syromyatny rukam, Rabstvo - synam i vnukam, rabstva i pravnukam gnet!" Molvil moguchij, smolk, i vetr zavihrennyj vzvilsya, Tucha Vostoka vkloch', sam Knyaz' Al'biona, so skal, Gneven, glyadit drakonom, zhdet, probudivshis' vo t'me, Kamnem vedet nebesnym vlasti pylayushchij krug; Vzor ego, kosmy, plech bugry, ustrashayushchij glas V uzhas povergnut' chayut Novogo Sveta zhil'cov. Tyazhkie dybit volny more mezh nacij vojny, Krasnye tuchi, smerchi plameni mechet ono. Nedug postig Al'bion. Obmorok - Novyj Svet! Ogn' Pyshet v Zenite Neba! Krov' iz arterij Sud'by. Krovi kolesa - tuchi - katyatsya chrez okean, V tuchah krovavyh CHudo yavleno gordoe dnes': YArostno! golo! Ogn', pobedno zazhzhennyj lyud'mi! ZHarkij brusok zheleza - v kuzne rozhden CHelovek. Gnev - ego chleny, strah - dyhan'e, nevolya - kupel', Mozhet on szhech' dotla - ne nesushchij sveta Ogon'! Mrachen Korol' Anglijskij, Zapad pugaet ego. Anglii Angel, v Nishe Nochi tayashchijsya, zrit: Uzhas kometoj vys' ob®yal, razrastayas', - vernej, Krasnoj planetoj, popavshej pod zhernova komet. Mars, ty byl centr sistemy, v plennicy ty zaluchil Tri planety, pokuda Solnce ne otorvalos' Ot tvoej krasnoj moshchi, Spektra ognya, - i togda V krasnyh luchah zaalel Hram i zagrohotal Glas: "Utro voshodit, noch' uhodit, i Strazhi begut, Tresnuli groby, ladan vysoh i savan istlel. Golye kosti, prah, ponikshij, kazalos', navek, Vspryali, prosnuvshis', - ZHizn' dyhan'em opyat' v nih voshla, Sbrosiv pobedno cepi, uzy i yadra tyur'my. Fabrik raby, speshite - volya i pole vas zhdut! Nebo ocham otkrojte - vozduh, i smeh, i prostor! Serdcu velite (vzdohi vedomy Gorya emu, Za tridcat' let ni razu ne ulybnulis' usta) Vskryt'sya navstrechu zhizni, gde net ni Vrat, ni Cepej, Detyam i zhenam chtob nadsmotrshchika bich ne grozil. Pust' ih ne veryat. Vera pozzhe pridet: ne vo sne Vse eto. Pesn' vostorga gryanet: "Ishodom iz t'my Solnce vzoshlo, luna siyaet v blazhennoj nochi, Vlast' izoshla - teper' ne budet ni Volka, ni L'va!" V groma raskatah smolk. No Anglii Angel, vzbeshen, V Nishe Nochnoj gorit, rycha izgladavshimsya l'vom; Vechnyj voitel' klichet Zmiya: "CHudovishchnyj Ork! Ty li razdor poseyal, chaya mladencev pozhrat' Materi |nitarmon? Bes, Antihrist, Buntar', Smuty Samec, Rastlitel', Skot, Bogomerzkaya Tvar'. Angelu smeesh', Ork, v oblich'e uzhasnom predstat'?" Uzhas ZHivoj v otvet: "YA zmij, cep'yu skovannyj Ork, S drevom obvenchan. Vek tot konchilsya, etot - bud' moj! Ognennyj smeh Urizen v zapovedi prevratil - V desyat' svoih zavetov, - zvezdy v pustynyu vpustiv. Nyne skrizhal' sotru, religiyu broshu vetram Knizhicej dranoj! Ha! nikto ne podymet listov: Skroshatsya te v peske, bessledno potonut v moryah, Cvetom pojdut pustyni, morya omeleyut v ruch'i, Radost' v ogne roditsya, krysha mirov zatreshchit; Budet svyatosham tyazhko, Devstvennost' vzdumaj iskat', Krome kak v shlyuhe, - sram devichij utratit' speshit Doch' v kolybeli, - noch'yu temnoj, bezoblachnym dnem. Ibo ZHivoe svyato, i zhizni zhelaet ZHizn', Skverny v Vesel'e netu, v Schast'e sama CHistota: Plamya planetu zhret, no smertnyj - i tut nevredim, Plamya emu poteha, bronzovoj stala pyata, Bedra - iz serebra, glava zolotoyu i grud'!" "Gryan'te, fanfary! v boj, trinadcati angelov sonm! Vechnyj Volchishche vzvyl! Vz®yarivshijsya Lev vozrevel! Demony derzki, chuya novyj Ameriki chin, Voyut iz bezdn, trepeshchut - kozha v dubil'ne vetrov. Niv ne pozhech' im, zlaki tuchnye ne zasushit', Plug i motygu v porch' volshboj ne vvesti im i v rzhav'. Grad ne postroit' im, ne vyryt' pod mirom rva, Sornym pobegom hmelya pole ne opustoshit'. Ibo stoyat na brege strashnye troe - ya zryu - Vashington, Pejn, Uorren - v dlinnyh odezhdah svoih CHada ot molnij pryacha, - gnevno pytayut Vostok. Tuchi moj vzor zatmili. Gore mne! - starcheskij vzor! Gryan'te, fanfary! v boj, trinadcati angelov sonm! Tuchi moj vzor zatmili! Smut Predvoditel' sozhret Nebo Vostoka! D'yavol! Novorozhdennyj! I On, V tuchah i v tuchah, breg Ameriki sglozhet ognem, Korchas' v muchen'yah. O, ublyudok krovavyj, ne zrya Smerti ochami zrish': Bludnicyno lono opyat' Krugom poshlo - teper' ne popustu - vspyat' vremena! ZHresh' ty Otca, no zdes' k tebe podbiraetsya bol'. Gryan'te, fanfary! v boj, trinadcati angelov sonm! Merzostnyj! Gryaz' rozhdena! Greh! Gde sleza hot' odna? Mleko grudnoe gde? Lish' past', da kamen'ya zubej, Guby v krovi; nebesna noch' - kolybel' Satany; V tuchah ty vysish'sya, mat' - prosterta na beregu. Gryan'te, fanfary! v boj, trinadcati angelov sonm! Vechnyj Volchishche vzvyl! Vz®yarivshijsya Lev vozrevel!" Plakal tak Angel. Grom fanfar byl otvetom emu, Golos trevogi ros, Atlantiki tyazhkaya glub' Zakolyhalas'. Molcha vnemlet Amerika, spit, Uhu kolonij gluho ehom volnen'ya zvucha. Angliyu s Novym Svetom svyazala gryada holmov; Nyne nad neyu - More, tol'ko vershiny vidny. S etih vershin vzojdesh' v Atlantov Zlatuyu Stranu, V drevnij dvorec - proobraz moguchih zemnyh derzhav. Bashni bessmertny vvys' vozneslis' (takovy Ariston, Car' Krasoty, pohishchennoj deve v pamyat' vozvel). Zdes', v volshebnom dvorce, - trinadcati angelov sonm. Mrachno sidyat - pod svody tuchi vpolzayut, cherny. Gnevno vosstali vse, i grom zagremel tyazhelo Nad beregami, plamya Orka kotorye zhret; Bostona Angel rek v polete nad mirom nochnym: "CHestnost' otvergnut', - vskrichal, - chtoby ubijce pol'stit'? CHtoby ubijca bezhal ot pokayan'ya syuda? Blago zabyt' li? Otdat' radost' razbojnoj chume, CHtob ne draznit' ee? Kto - Bog, povelevshij sie? Blago skryt' ot poznan'ya, chtob vremya dat' neblagim Sily prirodnyh energij pakostno izvratit'? CHtob kuplej-prodazhej lyubov' stala, i Blago - zlom? CHtob chelovek bogatel, nad sovestiyu glumyas'? Kto zhe tot Bog, o mire tverdyashch i nesushch grozu? Kto zhe tot Angel, slez alchushch i vzdohov zemnyh? Kto vozderzhan'e smeet slavit', blazhenstvuya sam V masle, v zhiru? Dovol'no! Bol'she ya vam ne sluga!" Tak on vskrichal, razdrav odezhdy i skipetr uroniv. Strah Al'bion ob®yal - trinadcati angelov sonm Skinul, razdrav, odezhdy, skiptry svoi pobrosal. Nazem' upalo plamya. Angely pali na breg, Strashnye, strashnoj klyatvoj nyne ob®edineny. Goloe plamya - tak ih liki goreli vo t'me. Vashington, Pejn, Uorren gotovy vstretit' gostej. Vskinulos' plamya noch'yu, rykaya krov'yu chumy, Demon gorel vdali, Ameriku strahom strashchal; Plamya na plamya, dym na dym, gromyhan'e na grom V shvatke soshlis': zadymlen breg s Okeana, s Zemli, Kuznej strana pylaet - Sever, i YUg, i Vostok. V Bernarda dom mezh tem trinadcat' Gubernskih Vladyk Anglii vhodyat, bdyat, boyatsya i derzhat sovet. V strahe velikom - ogn' povsyudu - oni ne vol'ny, Vashington, past' k nogam tvoim i poshchady prosit'. Stelyutsya, plachut, lezha polzayut, vojsko zhe ih Gromche gromov revet - trinadcati shtatam na smeh, - Nazem' mechi i mushkety v strahe brosiv svoi, Zaperlis' v krepost', tshchas' spasenie tam obresti; YArost' i Prizrak Orka gonyat nazad, a vpered - Anglii Angel, shlyushchij tajnye tuchi bedy S YUga na Sever, zhgushchij, gneva prostershi kryla, Nebo Vostoka, spryatav Solnce v ih chernoj teni. Vojsko vstaet polzkom - Atlantiki gory i breg, Angely, lyudi - vse, kogo Al'bion snaryadil. Truby, fanfary - v boj! Ameriku - v bezdnu, na dno! Sorok mil'onov bylo Zapada vojsko - narod. Ognennym okom vidyat vojsko nebesno v ogne Vashington, Franklin, Pejn, Uorren, Gejts, Allen i Li. Anglii Angel kinul polchishcham klich boevoj; Vernye vihri vspryali, tuchi bedy polilis' Novym potopom - smyat' Ameriku v more, sgubit', - Tak vot zerno voskovo slizhet pozhar i pozhret. T'ma v nebesah, vnizu - Zemlya holodna i tverda; Vihrem chumnym smetaet lyudej i zverej s zemli, Zemletryasen'ya smerchi za den' nad mirom proshlis'. Zloba! vrazhda! bezum'e! vgryzlis' Amerike v krov'. Orka pylalo plamya! plamya revelo! rvalos'! Bregi ob®yav ubijstvom, rozn'yu, razdorom, reznej! ZHitel' N'yu-Jorka zaper shkaf i Pisan'e na klyuch, Bostonskij kormchij gruza na bort barkasa ne bral, Stryapchij iz Del'fi vylil sklyanku kontorskih chernil, Brosil virginskij plotnik poludostroennyj dom. Tak by i sginut' ej, Amerike, v lyutom ogne, I beskonechnost' Zemli stala b chut' men'she togda, - Derzkoj ne bud' otvagi! YArosti gnevnoj ne bud'! Plameni molnij! Sily! - sily otvadit' chumu, Povorotit' iz Anglii gost'yu v Angliyu vspyat': Strazham - bubony! yazvy - Anglii detishcham! hvor' - Jorku, Bristolyu! lepru - Londonu! morok - vojskam! Vzvyli mil'ony, laty sbrosili, rzhav' ih razdrav, Sabli i kop'ya proch'; predstali nagoyu tolpoj. Strazh Al'biona, skryuchas', skorchas', kricha i rycha, Sil'nym stenaya stonom, v krov' skrezheshcha chelyust'mi, Drozh'yu drozha, sucha nogami, zadavlennyj, zrit: Hvori London krutyat i drevnij episkopskij Jork - Glavy gniyut v predgor'yah, telo v doline gniet, - Gnevom i gnevom veet Ork i pozharom na nih; Armii grozny Noch' Ameriki szhala v kulak - Skottov krushit' i rushit', saksov, irlandcev, Uel's. Te, neschastlivcy, s fronta - zhalok razdrannyj - begut; Znamya poniklo, glozhet Ad loskuty na vetru; Vechnyj peshchernik, gordyj Bard Al'biona, poznav Uzhas, obros kulyami sala, hvostom, cheshuej; Vse v cheshue predstali angely, Zvezd Sramota, Braka vrata razverzlis', Pastyr' poros cheshuej, Szhavshis' reptiliej zhalkoj, lish' by Orka ne zret', - Plamenem plyashet tot, pylayushchej pohot'yu zhzhet - ZHeny nagie rdeyut, kinuty navznich' skottom. Ibo bessmertny Duhi-Devy, religii Ad Nyne pokinuv i uzy sbrosiv, alym cvetut, Polnyat pobedoj pohot' yunosti, zhazhdu vekov, Blednye nogi stali penny, kak chashi vina. Grady, i vesi, holmy, doly i dali - v ogne, Plavitsya nebo, kaplet plamenem, plavitsya sam Vechnyj Urizen, plachet, pryachet prokazu v dymu, Krikom krichit, potopom plachet, pechalitsya: Mir CHut' shevelitsya - snegom, prizrakom Zla, zameten; Grom oglushitel'nyj gryanul, krikov revnivyh ditya. ZHalko unizhen, vniz Urizen soshel, vopiya: Vojsko razbito, slezy bleshchut, smyaten'e i hlad. Sneg on sogreb, zheleznye vytryas, stenaya, groba Nad Atlantidoj - bezdna mrachno glotala dary. Bolen prokazoj, dryahl Urizen - zemlisto glyadit, Diko revya, horonit demona bitvy vo sklep - Amerikancy, strogi, smotryat vo sklep, k mertvecam. Angel i Slabost' pravyat - Sila dvenadcat' let spit, Slabost' svesti - vzojdet vo Francii Demon Ognya. Trony nebes tryasutsya! Nemec, ispanec, francuz Vidyat gibel' v muchen'yah moshchi anglijskoj byloj - Prahom ona poshla, chumoj umerla iznutri. Proch' pospeshili vse - spasti Nebesa, zaperet' Hram pyativratnyj, Veru, grezy durnye prognat', Rzhu otchayan'ya smyt'... No s Orkom ne sladyat oni, Vrat ne uberegut - ved' v ogne rasteksya zasov. Dikoe plamya Nebo, Zemlyu i Dushu pozhret. Perevod V. L. Toporova

    EUROPE

    A PROPHECY

'Five windows light the cavern'd Man: thro' one he breathes the air; Thro' one hears music of the spheres; thro' one the Eternal Vine Flourishes, that he may receive the grapes; thro' one can look And see small portions of the Eternal World that ever groweth; Thro' one himself pass out what time he please, but he will not; For stolen joys are sweet, and bread eaten in secret pleasant.' So sang a Fairy, mocking, as he sat on a streak'd tulip, Thinking none saw him: when he ceas'd I started from the trees, And caught him in my hat, as boys knock down a butterfly. 'How know you this,' said I, 'small Sir? where did you learn this song?' Seeing himself in my possession, thus he answer'd me: 'My Master, I am yours! command me, for I must obey.' 'Then tell me, what is the Material World, and is it dead?' He, laughing, answer'd: 'I will write a book on leaves of flowers, If you will feed me on love-thoughts, and give me now and then A cup of sparkling poetic fancies; so, when I am tipsy, I'll sing to you to this soft lute, and show you all alive The World, when every particle of dust breathes forth its joy.' I took him home in my warm bosom: as we went along Wild flowers I gathered; and he show'd me each Eternal Flower: He laugh'd aloud to see them whimper because they were pluck'd. They hover'd round me like a cloud of incense. When I came Into my parlour and sat down, and took my pen to write, My Fairy sat upon the table, and dictated EUROPE.

    EVROPA

    PROROCHESTVO

"Pyat' Okon u Dushi tvoej, v temnicu zatochennoj, - Lietsya vozduh skvoz' odno, muzyka sfer - v drugoe, A v tret'e - Vechnoe Vino techet blagoslovenno, CHetvertoe - otkryto v mir, vechnorastushchij, vechnyj. Est' pyatoe - daby dusha iz tela vyryvalas' V lyubuyu poru: sladok hleb, vkushaemyj ukradkoj". Takuyu pesnyu raspeval |l'f okolo tyul'pana I dumal: netu nikogo poblizosti. Vnezapno YA, vyskochiv iz-za derev, nakryl malyutku shlyapoj, Kak babochku. "Otkuda znat' tebe, druzhok, ob etom?" Moj plennik ponyal, chto emu ne izbezhat' nevoli. "Moj gospodin, - on zapishchal, - ya ves' k tvoim uslugam". "Togda skazhi mne, chto est' Mir Materii - i mertv li?" Smeyas', otvetil on: "Traktat, nachertannyj na list'yah, YA napisat' gotov, kol' ty menya vskormish' lyubov'yu, Da podnesesh' mne kubok-dva iskryashchihsya fantazij. YA, zahmelev chutok, spoyu tebe o zhizni mira, Gde radost' dyshit i zhivet v lyuboj pylinke praha". Prigrel ego ya na grudi, a on mne po doroge Na vse bessmertnye cvety ukazyval perstochkom. On ob®yasnil mne trepet ih v tot mig, kak ih sryvayut. Ih aromat menya ob®yal, bozhestvennyj, kak ladan. Kogda vernulsya ya domoj i sel k stolu rabotat', Moj |l'f, posmeivayas', mne prodiktoval "Evropu".

    PRELUDIUM

The nameless Shadowy Female rose from out the breast of Ore, Her snaky hair brandishing in the winds of Enitharmon; And thus her voice arose: - 'O mother Enitharmon, wilt thou bring forth other sons, To cause my name to vanish, that my place may not be found? For I am faint with travel, Like the dark cloud disburden'd in the day of dismal thunder. 'My roots are brandish'd in the heavens, my fruits in earth beneath Surge, foam, and labour into life, first born and first consum'd! Consumed and consuming! Then why shouldst thou, Accursed Mother, bring me into life? 'I wrap my turban of thick clouds around my lab'ring head, And fold the sheety waters as a mantle round my limbs; Yet the red sun and moon And all the overflowing stars rain down prolific pains. 'Unwilling I look up to heaven, unwilling count the stars: Sitting in fathomless abyss of my immortal shrine I seize their burning power, And bring forth howling terrors, all-devouring fiery kings, 'Devouring and devoured, roaming on dark and desolate mountains, In forests of Eternal Death, shrieking in hollow trees. Ah, mother Enitharmon! Stamp not with solid form this vig'rous progeny of fires. 'I bring forth from my teeming bosom myriads of flames, And thou dost stamp them with a signet; then they roam abroad, And leave me void as death. Ah! I am drown'd in shady woe and visionary joy. 'And who shall bind the Infinite with an eternal band To compass it with swaddling bands? and who shall cherish it With milk and honey? I see it smile, and I roll inward, and my voice is past.' She ceas'd, and roll'd her shady clouds Into the secret place.

    PRELYUDIYA

Tenistaya Dshcher' vosstala s Orkova lozha lyubvi. Zmeepodobnye kosy veyut na lyutom vetru. Golos ee zvuchit: "Mater' |nitarmon! Kogo porodish' ty eshche, CHtoby moe unizhen'e stalo by smerti pod stat'? Hvatit mne etih muk! Tuche obychnoj legko l', kogda zagremit adskij grom? Korni moi na nebe, chahnut v pochve moi plody, V zhizn' vpadaya, kak v more, chtob navek rastvorit'sya v nej. Umeret' i ubit'! Bud' zhe ty proklyata, Mat', za to, chto menya rodila! Na golovu ya odela kromeshnoj tuchi tyurban, YA chleny moi sokryla pod savanom chernyh vod, No l'yut Solnce s Lunoj Vechnyh muchenij liven' na slaboe telo moe. Ponevole glyazhu ya v nebo, ponevole ya chtu Zvezdy v moej nedole, v besprosvetnoj zhizni moej. Vizhu: ih svet krovav. Vizhu: oni chrevaty smert'yu, uzhasom i ognem. YA vizhu: zhgut i goryat. Vizhu: zhgut i goryat vezde - Na potaennyh vershinah i v chashchah posmertnyh dnej. Mater' moya, zachem? Zachem iz drozhashchih ognej tverdynyu zhizni kuesh'? Iz grudi istorgayu svirepoe plamya tvoe. Tshchetno! ego ty puskaesh' ischadiem yarosti v zhizn'. Vot ya pusta, kak smert', V prizrachnom gore i v prizrachnom schast'e pogrebena. Kto zhe teper' smenit Vechnosti mokrye peleny? Vechnye mokrye peleny? Kto nakormit ee Mlekom i medom? Ah! Vot ulybnulas', prosnulas', i k nej sejchas pobegu!" Umolkla, tuchi za soboj Vedya v bezvestnyj put'.

    A PROPHECY

The deep of winter came, What time the Secret Child Descended through the orient gates of the Eternal day: War ceas'd, and all the troops like shadows fled to their abodes. Then Enitharmon saw her sons and daughters rise around; Like pearly clouds they meet together in the crystal house; And Los, possessor of-ihe Moon, joy'd in the peaceful night, Thus speaking, while his num'rous sons shook their bright fiery wings: - 'Again the night is come, That strong Urthona takes his rest; And Urizen, unloos'd from chains, Glows like a meteor in the distant North. Stretch forth your hands and strike the elemental strings! Awake the thunders of the deep! 'The shrill winds wake, Till all the sons of Urizen look out and envy Los. Seize all the spirits of life, and bind Their warbling joys to our loud strings! Bind all the nourishing sweets of earth To give us bliss, that we may drink the sparkling wine of Los! And let us laugh at war, Despising toil and care, Because the days and nights of joy in lucky hours renew. 'Arise, O Ore, from thy deep den! First-born of Enitharmon, rise! And we will crown thy head with garlands of the ruddy vine; For now thou art bound, And I may see thee in the hour of bliss, my eldest-born.' The horrent Demon rose, surrounded with red stars of fire, Whirling about in furious circles round the Immortal Fiend. Then Enitharmon down descended into his red light, And thus her voice rose to her children: the distant heavens reply: - 'Now comes the night of Enitharmon's joy! Who shall I call? Who shall I send, That Woman, lovely Woman, may have dominion? Arise, O Rintrah! thee I call, and Palamabron, thee! Go! tell the Human race that Woman's love is Sin; That an Eternal life awaits the worms of sixty winters, In an allegorical abode, where existence hath never come. Forbid all Joy; and, from her childhood, shall the little Female Spread nets in every secret path. 'My weary eyelids draw towards the evening; my bliss is yet but new. 'Arise! O Rintrah, eldest-born, second to none but Ore! O lion Rintrah, raise thy fury from thy forests black! Bring Palamabron, horned priest, skipping upon the mountains, And silent Elynittria, the silver-bowed queen. Rintrah, where hast thou hid thy bride? Weeps she in desert shades? Alas! my Rintrah, bring the lovely jealous Ocalythron. 'Arise, my son! bring all thy brethren, O thou King of Fire! Prince of the Sun! I see thee with thy innumerable race, Thick as the summer stars; But each, ramping, his golden mane shakes, And thine eyes rejoice because of strength, O Rintrah, furious King!' Enitharmon slept Eighteen hundred years. Man was a dream, The night of Nature and their harps unstrung! She slept in middle of her nightly song Eighteen hundred years, a Female dream. Shadows of men in fleeting bands upon the winds Divide the heavens of Europe; Till Albion's Angel, smitten with his own plagues, fled with his bands. The cloud bears hard on Albion's shore, Fill'd with immortal Demons of futurity: In council gather the smitten Angels of Albion; The cloud bears hard upon the council-house, down rushing On the heads of Albion's Angels. One hour they lay buried beneath the ruins of that hall; But as the stars rise from the Salt Lake, they arise in pain, In troubled mists, o'erclouded by the terrors of struggling times. In thoughts perturb'd they rose from the bright ruins, silent following The fiery King, who sought his ancient temple, serpent-form'd, That stretches out its shady length along the Island white. Round him roll'd his clouds of war; silent the Angel went Along the infinite shores of Thames to golden Verulam. There stand the venerable porches, that high-towering rear Their oak-surrounded pillars, form'd of massy stones, uncut With tool, stones precious!-such eternal in the heavens, Of colours twelve (few known on earth) give light in the opaque, Plac'd in the order of the stars; when the five senses whelm'd In deluge o'er the earth-born man, then turn'd the fluxile eyes Into two stationary orbs, concentrating all things: The ever-varying spiral ascents to the Heavens of Heavens Were bended downward, and the nostrils' golden gates shut, Turn'd outward, barr'd, and petrify'd against the Infinite. Thought chang'd the Infinite to a Serpent, that which pitieth To a devouring flame; and Man fled from its face and hid In forests of night; then all the eternal forests were divided Into earths, rolling in circles of Space, that like an ocean rush'd And overwhelmed all except this finite wall of flesh. Then was the Serpent temple form'd, image of Infinite, | Shut up in finite revolutions, and Man became an Angel, Heaven a mighty circle turning, God a tyrant crown'd. Now arriv'd the ancient Guardian at the southern porch, That planted thick with trees of blackest leaf, and in a vale Obscure enclos'd the Stone of Night; oblique it stood, o'erhung With purple flowers and berries red, image of that sweet South, Once open to the heavens, and elevated on the human neck, Now overgrown with hair, and cover'd with a stony roof. Downward 'tis sunk beneath th' attractive North, that round the feet, A raging whirlpool, draws the dizzy enquirer to his grave. Albion's Angel rose upon the Stone of Night. He saw Urizen on the Atlantic; And his brazen Book, That Kings and Priests had copied on Earth, Expanded from North to South. And the clouds and fires pale roll'd round in the night of Enitharmon, Round Albion's cliffs and London's walls: still Enitharmon slept. Rolling volumes of grey mist involve Churches, Palaces, Towers; For Urizen unclasp'd his Book, feeding his soul with pity. The youth of England, hid in gloom, curse the pain'd heavens, compell'd Into the deadly night to see the form of Albion's Angel. Their parents brought them forth, and Aged Ignorance preaches* canting, On a vast rock, perceiv'd by those senses that are clos'd front thought ------- Bleak, dark, abrupt it stands, and overshadows London city. They saw his bony feet on the rock, the flesh consum'd in flames; They saw the Serpent temple lifted above, shadowing the Island white; They heard the voice of Albion's Angel, howling in flames of Ork, Seeking the trump of the Last Doom. Above the rest the howl was heard from Westminster, louder and louder: The Guardian of the secret codes forsook his ancient mansion, Driven out by the flames of Ore; his furr'd robes and false locks Adhered and grew one with his flesh and nerves, and veins shot thro' them. With dismal torment sick, hanging upon the wind, he fled Grovelling, along Great George Street, thro' the Park gate: all the soldiers Fled from his sight: he dragg'd his torments to the wilderness. Thus was the howl thro' Europe! For Ore rejoie'd to hear the howling shadows; But Palamabron shot his lightnings, trenching down his wide back; And Rintrah hung with all his legions in the nether deep. Enitharmon laugh'd in her sleep to see (O woman's triumph!) Every house a den, every man bound: the shadows are fill'd With spectres, and the windows wove over with curses of iron: Over the doors 'Thou shalt not,' and over the chimneys 'Fear' is written: With bands of iron round their necks fasten'd into the walls The citizens, in leaden gyves the inhabitants of suburbs Walk heavy; soft and bent are the bones of villagers. Between the clouds of Urizen the flames of Ore roll heavy Around the limbs of Albion's Guardian, his flesh consuming: Howlings and hissings, shrieks and groans, and voices of despair Arise around him in the cloudy heavens of Albion. Furious, The red-limb'd Angel seiz'd in horror and torment The trump of the Last Doom; but he could not blow the iron tube! Thrice he assay'd presumptuous to awake the dead to Judgement. A mighty Spirit leap'd from the land of Albion, Nam'd Newton: he seiz'd the trump, and blow'd the enormous blast! Yellow as leaves of autumn, the myriads of Angelic hosts Fell thro' the wintry skies, seeking their graves, Rattling their hollow bones in howlings and lamentation. Then Enitharmon woke, nor knew that she had slept; And eighteen hundred years were fled As if they had not been. She call'd her sons and daughters To the sports of night Within her crystal house, And thus her song proceeds: - 'Arise, Ethinthus! tho' the earth-worm call, Let him call in vain, Till the night of holy shadows And human solitude is past! 'Ethinthus, Queen of Waters, how thou shinest in the sky! My daughter, how do I rejoice! for thy children flock around, Like the gay fishes on the wave, when the cold moon drink" dew. Ethinthus! thou art sweet as comforts to my fainting soul, For now thy waters warble round the feet of Enitharmon. 'Manatha-Varcyon! I behold thee flaming in my halls. Light of thy mother's soul! I see thy lovely eagles round; Thy golden wings are my delight, and thy flames of soft delusion. 'Where is my luring bird of Eden? Leutha, silent love! Leutha, the many-colour'd bow delights upon thy wings! Soft soul of flowers, Leutha! Sweet smiling Pestilence! I see thy blushing light; Thy daughters, many changing, Revolve like sweet perfumes ascending, O Leutha, Silken Queen! 'Where is the youthful Antamon, Prince of the Pearly Dew? O Antamon! why wilt thou leave thy mother Enitharmon? Alone I see thee, crystal form, Floating upon the bosom'd air, With lineaments of gratified desire. My Antamon! the seven churches of Leutha seek thy love. 'I hear the soft Oothoon in Enitharmon's tents; Why wilt thou give up woman's secrecy, my melancholy child? Between two moments Bliss is ripe. O Theotormon! robb'd of joy, I see thy salt tears flow Down the steps of my crystal house. 'Sotha and Thiralatha! secret dwellers of dreamful caves, Arise and please the horrent Fiend with your melodious songs; Still all your thunders, golden-hoof d, and bind your horses black. Ore! smile upon my children, Smile, son of my afflictions! Arise, O Ore, and give our mountains joy of thy red light! She ceas'd; for all were forth at sport beneath the solemn moon Waking the stars of Utizen with their immortal songs; That Nature felt thro' all her pores the enormous revelry, Till Morning oped the eastern gate; Then every one fled to his station, and Enitharmon wept. But terrible Ore, when he beheld the morning in the East, Shot from the heights of Enitharmon, And in the vineyards of red France appear'd the light of his fury. The Sun glow'd fiery red! The furious Terrors flew around On golden chariots, raging with red wheels, dropping with blood! The Lions lash their wrathful tails! The Tigers couch upon the prey and suck the ruddy tide; And Enitharmon groans and cries in anguish and dismay. Then Los arose: his head he rear'd, in snaky thunders clad; And with a cry that shook all Nature to the utmost pole, Call'd all his sons to the strife of blood.

    PROROCHESTVO

Vo glubine zimy Tainstvennoe Ditya spustilos' na Zemlyu Skvoz' Vostochnye vrata Vechnogo dnya. Vojna konchilas', i soldaty, podobno nochnym tenyam, bezhali v ukrytiya. |nitarmon okinula vzorom svoih synovej s docheryami. V dome hrustal'nom oni, kak zhemchuzhnye tuchi, soshlis' dlya besedy. Los, predvoditel' Luny, likovan'ya ne sderzhival mirnoyu noch'yu, Tak vozveshchaya synam, potryasavshim luchistymi kryl'yami yaro: "Snova nastala noch'. Bestrevozhno Urtona vkushaet otdyh; Urizen zhe, osvobodivshis' ot put, Pylaet na dal'nem Severe ognem. Ruki prostrite i kosnites' svoimi perstami stihiej ispolnennyh strun, Gryan'te gromom glubin! Rezkij vetr zasvistal. Syny Urizena s zavist'yu vnemlyut Losu. Pokorim Duhov ZHizni, zastavim ih Otdat' potajnuyu neukrotimuyu radost' nashim plamennosushchim strun_a_m! Da prebudet vostorg Vselennoj - veseliem nashim i chashej Losa, Otnyne iskryashchejsya mirnym vinom, Prezritel'nym smehom pomyanem vojnu, Trud i trevogi, - ved' Radosti nochi i dni vozvernutsya v svoj chas nepremenno. Ork-peshchernik, vosstan'! Prosnis', pervorozhdennyj syn |nitarmon! My uvenchaem hmelem tvoyu glavu. Hochu, moj pervenec, uvidet' tebya: Hochu v chas blazhenstva uvidet' tebya, kak ty est', moj zakovannyj v cepi gordec!" YArostnyj demon vosstal v okruzhenii krasnyh sozvezdij ognya, Mysl'yu i vzorom chertya vkrug Vraga Neizbyvnogo beshenyj krug. |nitarmon opustilas' k nemu i stupila v krovavoe plamya. K chadam svoim obratilas', i Nebom podhvacheny byli prizyvy: "Noch' Svershen'ya prishla! Kogo pozvat' mne, kogo, skazhite, poslat' mne, Kak postupit', chtob ZHenshchine dali vlast'? Rintra, moj syn, vosstan'! Vstan', Palamabron! Ty li povedaesh' miru, chto netu dlya ZHenskoj lyubvi drugogo slova, chem Greh? I zhdet shest'desyat let CHervya, chtob vospryanut' dlya Vechnoj ZHizni, telo? I radost' zemnaya - zapretnoe Zlo? I Deva roditsya zatem tol'ko, chtoby rasstavit' kapkany na tropah blagih? Veki ustalo smykayu, ne zhdu peremen, ne zhelayu takogo blazhenstva. Rintra, pervenec, vstan'! Starshe tebya lish' Ork. L'vom vozrevi iz chashchi, Palamabrona-zhreca s soboj voz'mi I |linitriyu - s lukom serebryanym molchalivuyu korolevu- sestru. Gde nevesta tvoya? Rintra, otvet', gde gnevnaya Okalitron? Vse li v pustyne gor'ko plachet ona? Uvy, tak i est'. Privedi ee, Rintra, syuda, privedi ee, Rintra, ko mne! Vstan', vladyka ognya! Brat'ev svoih privedi, solncelikij vityaz'. Plemya moih synovej zret' ya hochu! Slovno letnie zvezdy, goryat oni! Kazhdyj grivoj svoeyu tryaset zlatoj! Rintra, groznyj korol', ty likuesh' v soznanii moshchi svoej, vziraya na nih". |nitarmon spit Vosemnadcat' vekov: CHelovek - ee greza! Noch' Prirody i rvanye struny arf! Spit posredine pesni svoej nochnoj, Vosemnadcat' vekov zhenstvennym snom spit. Teni lyudej v istonchivshihsya kandalah, v peretlevshih putah vitayut vverhu: Nebo Evropy vkloch'. Angelu Al'biona uzhe ne do gneva: Strashno stuchitsya tucha v britanskij breg, Nyne ne gnetom, a slavoyu, gryadushchej svobodoyu chrevata i - navsegda. Angelov glozhet erah. V Zale Soveta oni, no stuchitsya tucha Strashnym stukom i v Zalu Soveta. Grom Gryanul nad golovami zastupnikov Al'biona; oni pali nazem', vo prah. CHas lezhali oni, Zamurovany v ruhnuvshej Zale. No slovno Zvezdy nad mertvym morem, providya Smert', Bitvy gryadushchie i porazhen'ya, - vosstali v tumane i strahe nad mirom, Molcha posledovav za Vlastelinom Ognya proch' iz pyshnyh razvalin V zmiepodobnyj i Zmiyu vozdvignutyj hram na vershine, s kotoroj On zatmeval nebo Anglii, ten'yu svoeyu mracha belyj ostrov. V tuchah, chrevatyh vojnoyu, stupal ognenosnyj Vladyka po svetu, Angely sledom vdol' Temzy bregov beskonechnyh v sobor pospeshali; Tam, v Verulame, svyashchennye svetochi yarko goreli po stenam; Tam dragocennye kamni - netlenny, kak te, chto na nebe, - struili Svet v dvunadesyat' cvetov, na zemle iz kotoryh izvestno premalo, V tu ravnozvezdnuyu t'mu, pyati organam chuvstv zapovednuyu temen', CHto, kak Potop, zatoplyaet soznan'e zhivushchim i ochi vvergaet V dve postoyannyh orbity, ob®yavshie razom i veshchi, i mysli, - Dubom obshity - po dubu rez'ba - iz massivnogo kamnya kolonny; Byli zdes' zakrepleny zven'ya nizhnie vechno zybuchej spirali, V Nebo Nebes uhodyashchej; i Nozdri Zlatye vorot zatvorilis' I ne vbirali iznankoyu izgolodavsheyusya Beskonechnost'. Mysl' pretvorit' vozmogla Beskonechnost' zhivuyu v kovarnogo Zmiya, V plameni vsepozhirayushchem miru predstavshego, - i cheloveki, Placha, bezhali ot vzora ego v Sokrovennogo Mraka chashchoby, Ibo iz Vechnyh Lesov poluchilis' premnogie smertnye Zemli, V vihre prostranstva vrashchayas', potopleny, kak v okeane, - i tol'ko Ploti vershiny poslednie chut' podnimalis' nad chernoj vodoyu. Zmiepodobnyj vozdvignut' vo slavu Kovarnogo Hram poreshili, - Ten' Beskonechnosti, nyne raz®yatoj na cikly konechnyh vrashchenij, Angelom stal CHelovek, Nebo krugom, Gospod' - vencenosnym tiranom. Nyne prishel drevnij Strazh v etot Hram i vzoshel on na yuzhnuyu papert', Vsyu okruzhennuyu naichernejshih listov chernolistom, v doline, Gluho i skryto obstavshej Naklonnuyu Nochi Kolonnu, zavetnym Purpurnym cvetom porosshuyu - obrazom sladko-kovarnogo YUga, Nekogda k Nebu vznesennuyu gordoj glavoj CHeloveka, a nyne Kryshkoj prikrytuyu, kak volosataya i bezgolovaya SHeya, - Nochi Kolonnu, naklonnuyu v storonu Severa, ibo ottuda, Vodovorot toshnotvornyj, glyadela, zvala i manila Pogibel'. Anglii Angel vstal Nad Kolonnoyu Nochi, Urizena vidya, Urizena s Mednoyu knigoj ego, Kotoruyu koroli i zhrecy perepisali, daby ustrashit' eyu mir, Sever i YUg kaznya. Blednyj ogon' i tuchi tyazhelo katilis' v nochi |nitarmon, Vkrug Al'biona utesov i londonskih sten; |nitarmon spala. Kluby gustye sedogo tumana - Religiya, Vojsko i Carstvo, - Tayali, ibo Urizen reshil knigu raskryt', stradan'em ispolnyas'. Tyazhko proklinala izmuchennye Nebesa britanskaya yunost', Ibo sploshnoj mrak nastupil, podobayushchij Angelu Al'biona. Roditeli ottaskivali ih proch', i Prestarelaya Nevinnost' Propovedovala, polzaya po sklonu Skaly, lishayushchej myslej, - Kosti Prestareloj Nevinnosti skol'zili po sklonu, plot' shipela ognem, Zmiyu vozdvignutyj Hram, v vozduh vzmyv, zatenyal i mrachil belyj Ostrov; Angela Al'biona rydaniya prozvuchali v plameni Orka, Tshchetno trubya o nachale Sudnogo dnya. Plach - i vse gromche i gromche - stoyal i v Vestminstere; vylo abbatstvo; Tajnogo Znan'ya hranitel' pokinul svoyu vekovuyu obitel', Plamenem Orka gonim: meh na ryase toporshchilsya, vors i volos'ya Iz parika vstali dybom i s plot'yu i mozgom sroslis' voedino. V dikih muchen'yah on mchalsya po ulicam, yarostnym vetrom gonimyj, k vorotam Parka; soldaty sharahalis'; vopli ego raznosilis' v pustyne. Krik nad Evropoj, rev! Skovannyj Ork stenaniyam vnemlet, likuya, No Palamabron potryasaet svoim Pylayushchim fakelom; Rintra zhe derzhit v podzemnyh glubinah svoi legiony do vernoj pory. |nitarmon smeetsya vo sne (torzhestvo ee zhenskogo znan'ya!), Vidya, chto v tyur'my zhilishcha, i v uznikov lyudi teper' prevratilis'; Prizraki, teni i spektry povsyudu, a okna - v proklyat'yah reshetok; Strashnoe "Bog nakazhet" nachertano na dveryah i "Strashis'!" - v Nebe; V tyazhkih okovah v zastenke lezhit gorozhanin; i zhitel' predmest'ya V tyazhkih okovah bredet; i krest'yanina kosti treshchat i kroshatsya. V tuchah Urizena Orkovo plamya pobedno bushuet, szhiraya Plot' Al'bionova Strazha i nezhnye moshchnye chleny kalecha; Kriki i stony, stenan'ya i plachi, otchayan'ya zhalkie rechi O gibeli Strazha nad Al'bionom povisli. I tshchetno vzyvaet Ognennyj Angel v pozore besslavnom svoem i v bezmernom muchen'e K Sudnomu dnyu: on trubit chto est' sily - truba ostaetsya bezzvuchna! Trizhdy pytaetsya on Strashnyj sud vozvestit', voskreshaya usopshih. Ochnulsya moshchnyj duh Po imeni N'yuton - podnyal trubu i dunul S chudovishchnoj siloj vo ves' Al'bion! Kak list'ya Oseni, zhelty i mertvy, Miriady Angelov pali s Nebes, Ishcha svoi zemnye mogily, treshcha polymi kostyami i zhalko kricha. Togda prosnulas' |nitarmon, ne vedaya bol'she o tom, chto ona spala. Vosemnadcat' vekov Minovali, kak budto ih ne bylo vovse. Synovej s docher'mi ona prizvala Na prazdnestvo pyshnyh polnochnyh zabav V ee hrustal'nyj dom, Takuyu Pesn' zapev: "Docher' |tinta, vstan'! Pust' ugrozhaet CHerv' - On tebya ne pozhret, poka ne projdet Noch', Noch' Svyashchennyh tenej, Kogda odinok chelovek. Docher' |tinta, Carica Vod, kak v nebesah ty siyaesh' prekrasno! Docher' |tinta, skol' schastliva ya zret' tvoi chada vmeste s toboyu! Rezvye rybki v lunnoj dorozhke - malye chada tvoi, |tinta! Docher' moya, ty dushe ugodna, bol' ee ran ty zagovorish' - Docher' moya, dolgozhdannoj laskoj nogi omyla |nitarmon! Manata-Varkion! Svet materinskoj dushi, plameneesh' v dome. S toboj, zlatokrylym, tvoi orly. Plamya nezhnogo zabluzhdeniya, vymolvit' trudno, naskol'ko ty mne zhelanen! Gde moya rajskaya ptica soblazna, Leuta, dvuedinstvo lyubvi s molchan'em? Leuta, radugi mnogocvet'e na kryl'yah! Leuta, mat' cvetov! S nezhnoj ulybkoj CHuma! Vizhu tvoj svet! Dshcheri tvoi, o Dshcher', Peretekayut odna v druguyu, perelivayutsya, kak sladkie zapahi. Vstan' i ty, Antamon! YUnyj korol' serebristoj rosy, ne medli! Pochemu ty pokinul Mater' svoyu? YA vizhu odna, kak gorish' hrustalem, YA vizhu, kak l'esh'sya v efire mirov, Sulya ispolnen'e zhelanij serdcam. Moj Antamon! sem' Hramov sestry tvoej Leuty istovo ishchut tvoej lyubvi! Sladkoj Utuny glas Slyshu otnyne pod krovom |nitarmon. Tajnu zhenshchin zachem ty otkryla vsem? Uvy, moe pechal'noe ditya, naslazhdenie mgnoven'e spustya uvyanet. Teotormon! Moj syn, Schast'ya lishennyj, ya vizhu, ty gor'ko plachesh'! Sota i Tiralata! zhil'cy peshcher, Vosstan'te iz tajnoj t'my i utesh'te moguchego Vraga plenitel'noj pesnej! Ukrotite vashi zlatopodkovannye gromy i sderzhite chernyh konej! Ork, na brat'ev vzglyani! Ork, s ulybkoj vzglyani! Ulybnis', moj iz serdca rozhdennyj syn, svoim krovavym siyaniem gory zalej! S etim umolkla, i chada ee prinyalis' vozle pyshnosti lunnoj Zvezdy budit', plennic Losa, svoi raspevaya bessmertnye gimny, V zhilah prirody vzygralo vino nebyvaloj razgul'noj Pirushki; Utro otkrylo Vrata Vostoka - bezhali Kazhdyj na prezhnee mesto svoe. I |nitarmon vozrydala. I tol'ko strashnyj Ork, Uvidev Voshod, ne pozhelal vozvratit'sya. Nizvergnut s nedavnej vershiny, on pal Na vinogradniki Francii, tut zhe zaplamenevshie krov'yu, gromom, ognem. Solnce v ogne, v krovi! Uzhas stoit krugom! Zolotye kolesnicy pokatilis' na krasnyh kolesah po krasnoj krovi. Gnevnyj Lev udaril hvostom po zemle! Tigr vykralsya iz tumana, ishcha dobychu! Mater' zaplakala. I togda groznyj Los V grome i grohote predstal pered vsem mirom I krikom, pronzivshim Prirodu naskvoz', Sozval svoih synovej, vozveshchaya im srazhen'e do poslednej kapli krovi. Perevod V. L. Toporova

    FROM "MILTON"

    IZ PO|MY "MILXTON"

    x x x

And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic Mills? Bring me my Bow of burning gold: Bring me my Arrows of desire: Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold! Bring me my Chariot of fire. I will not cease from Mental Fight, Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green & pleasant Land.

    x x x

Na etot gornyj sklon krutoj Stupala l' angela noga? I znal li agnec nash svyatoj Zelenoj Anglii luga? Svetil li skvoz' tuman i dym Nam lik gospodnij s vyshiny? I byl li zdes' Erusalim Mezh temnyh fabrik satany? Gde vernyj mech, kop'e i shchit, Gde strely molnij dlya menya? Pust' tucha groznaya primchit Mne kolesnicu iz ognya. Moj duh v bor'be nesokrushim, Nezrimyj mech vsegda so mnoj. My vozvedem Erusalim V zelenoj Anglii rodnoj.

    x x x

Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring. The Lark sitting upon his earthy bed, just as the morn Appears, listens silent; then springing from the waving Cornfield, loud He leads the Choir of Day: trill, trill, trill, trill, Mounting upon the wings of light into the Great Expanse, Reechoing against the lovely blue & shining heavenly Shell, His little throat labours with inspiration; every feather On throat & breast & wings vibrates with the effluence Divine All Nature listens silent to him, & the awful Sun Stands still upon the Mountain looking on this little Bird With eyes of soft humility & wonder, love & awe, Then loud from their green covert all the Birds begin their Song: The Thrush, the Linnet & the Goldfinch, Robin & the Wren Awake the Sun from his sweet reverie upon the Mountain. The Nightingale again assays his song, & thro' the day And thro' the night warbles luxuriant, every Bird of Song Attending his loud harmony with admiration & love. This is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.

    x x x

Ty slyshish', pervyj solovej zavodit pesn' vesny - Mezh tem kak zhavoronok rannij na zemlyanoj posteli Sidit, prislushivayas' molcha, edva zabrezzhit svet. No skoro, vyporhnuv iz morya volnuyushchejsya rzhi, Vedet on hor veselyj dnya - Trel'-trel', trel'-trel', trel'-trel', - Vzvivayas' vvys' na kryl'yah sveta - v bezmernoe prostranstvo. I zvuki ehom otdayutsya, stokrat otrazheny Nebesnoj rakovinoj sinej. A malen'koe gorlo Rabotaet, ne ustavaya, i kazhdoe pero Na gorle, na grudi, na kryl'yah trepeshchet ot priliva Bozhestvennogo toka. Vsya priroda, Umolknuv, slushaet. I solnce na grebne dal'nih gor Ostanovilos' i glyadit na malen'kuyu ptichku Glazami straha, udivlen'ya, smiren'ya i lyubvi. No vot iz-pod zelenoj krovli svoj golos podayut Vse probudivshiesya pticy dnevnye - chernyj drozd, Malinovka i konoplyanka, shchegol i korolek - I budyat solnce na vershine ot sladostnogo sna. A tam uzh snova solovej zal'etsya shchedroj trel'yu, Zashchelkaet na vse lady s zakata do utra. I vsyudu - v roshchah i polyah - s lyubov'yu, s izumlen'em Pered garmoniej ego umolknet ptichij hor.

    x x x

Thou perceivest the Flowers put forth their precious Odours, And none can tell how from so small a center comes such sweets, Forgetting that within that Center Eternity expands Its ever during doors that Og & Anak fiercely guard. First, e'er the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery bosoms, Joy even to tears, which the Sun rising dires, first the Wild Thyme And Meadow-sweet, downy & soft waving among the reeds, Light springing on the air, lead the sweet Dance: they wake The Honeysuckle sleeping on the Oak; the flaunting beauty Revels along upon the wind; the White-thorn, lovely May, Opens her many lovely eyes listening; the Rose still sleeps None dare to wake her; soon she bursts her crimson curtain'd bed And comes forth in the majesty of beauty; every Flower, The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation, The Jonquil, the mild Lilly, opes her heavens; every Tree And Flower & Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable Dance, Yet all in order sweet & lovely. Men are sick with Love, Such is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.

    x x x

Ty zamechaesh', chto cvety l'yut zapah dragocennyj. No neponyatno, kak iz centra stol' malogo kruzhka Ishodit stol'ko aromata. Dolzhno byt', my zabyli, CHto v etom centre - beskonechnost', ch'i tajnye vrata Hranit nevidimaya strazha bessmenno den' i noch'. Edva rassvet zabrezzhit, radost' vsyu dushu raspahnet Blagouhayushchuyu. Radost' do slez. Potom ih solnce Do kapli vysushit. Sperva tim'yan i kashka Pushistaya kachnutsya i, vsporhnuv Na vozduh, nachinayut tanec dnya I budyat zhimolost', chto spit, ob®emlya dub. Vsya krasota zemli, razviv po vetru flagi, Likuet. I, glaza besschetnye raskryv, Boyaryshnik drozhit, prislushivayas' k plyaske, A roza spit eshche. Ee budit' ne smeet Nikto do toj pory, poka ona sama, Rastorgnuv pred soboj purpurnyj polog, Ne vyjdet v carstvennom velich'e krasoty. Togda uzh vse cvety - gvozdika, i zhasmin, I liliya v tishi - svoe raskroyut nebo. Lyuboe derevo, lyuboj cvetok, trava Napolnyat vozduh ves' raznoobraznoj plyaskoj. No vse zhe v lad, v poryadke strogom. Lyudi Bol'ny lyubov'yu... Perevod S. YA. Marshaka KOMMENTARII {*} {* Nastoyashchie kommentarii opirayutsya na sleduyushchie issledovaniya: Damon S. F. The Blake Dictionary: The Ideas and Symbols of William Blake, Providence, 1965; Beer, John. Blake's Visionary Universe, Manchester, 1969; Erdman D. V. Blake: Prophet Against Empire, N. Y., 1977. Ispol'zovany takzhe primechaniya A. Ostrajker v izdanii The Complete Poems of William Blake, Ed. by Alicia Ostriker, Penguin Books, 1977.} Pervye posmertnye izdaniya Blejka otnosyatsya k seredine XIX veka. V osnovnom, oni byli osushchestvleny uchastnikami "Prerafaelitskogo bratstva". Osobenno veliki zaslugi brat'ev Rossetti i Aleksandra Gilkrista (em. predislovie, s. 6-7). Nauchnoe izdanie Blejka bylo vpervye podgotovleno v 1925 g. serom Dzh. Kinsom, posvyativshim izucheniyu ego tvorchestva v celom okolo shestidesyati let. Uchenyj osushchestvil i faksimil'nye perepechatki vseh doshedshih do nas nagravirovannyh samim Blejkom proizvedenij. Itogom raboty Dzh. Kinsa nad tvorchestvom Blejka yavilis' ego izdaniya 60-h godov: Geoffrey Keynes (Ed.). The Complete Writing of William Blake, Oxford, 1966; Geoffrey Keynes (Ed.). The Letters of William Blake, Hart-Davis, 1968. Iz drugih sovremennyh izdanij ukazhem odnotomniki pod redakciej U. B. Jetsa {The Poems of William Blake, Ed. by W. B. Yeats, Lnd. 1905), A. Kejzina {The Portable Blake, Ed. by A. Kazin, N. Y., 1946) i novejshee izdanie A. Ostrajker. V Rossii pervoe upominanie o Blejke poyavilos' v 1834 g., kogda v zhurnale "Teleskop" byla perepechatana iz kakogo-to anglijskogo zhurnala zametka, harakterizovavshaya poeta v duhe togdashnih predstavlenij kak "bezumca". Pervye stihotvornye perevody iz Blejka byli sdelany v 1900 g. K. Bal'montom (voshli v ego knigu "Iz mirovoj poezii", Berlin, 1921). S 10-h godov Blejka nachal perevodit' S. Marshak, periodicheski vozvrashchavshijsya k nemu na protyazhenii desyatiletij i sdelavshij ego tvorchestvo dostoyaniem shirokogo kruga russkih chitatelej. V 1965 g. vyshel ego itogovyj sbornik "Vil'yam Blejk v perevodah S. Marshaka". Mnogie perevody S. Marshaka bez izmenenij perepechatyvalis' v posleduyushchih izdaniyah: "Poeziya anglijskogo romantizma" ("Biblioteka vsemirnoj literatury", M., 1975) i odnotomnik, podgotovlennyj k 150-letiyu so dnya smerti Blejka (Vil'yam Blejk. Stihi, M., 1978). |ti dva izdaniya otrazili i rabotu drugih poetov-perevodchikov, obrativshihsya k Blejku v poslednie gody (daty pervyh publikacij perevodov nami v dal'nejshem ne otmechayutsya; special'no otmecheny tol'ko perevody, publikuemye v dannom izdanii vpervye). Teksty originalov v nastoyashchem izdanii dany po knige The Poetical Works of William Blake, Ed. with an Introduction and Textual Notes by John Sampson, Lnd., Oxford University Press, 1934. V izdanii Dzh. Sempsona orfografiya i punktuaciya, kak pravilo, privedeny v sootvetstvie s sovremennoj normoj, hotya sohraneny narusheniya grammaticheskih norm, naibolee harakternye dlya Blejka, a takzhe sushchestvennye dlya ego metriki i ritmiki. Poeticheskij yazyk Blejka v celom sootvetstvuet normam anglijskoj literaturnoj rechi konca XVIII - nachala XIX veka. Arhaichnost' skazyvaetsya v shirokom upotreblenii ustarevshih glagol'nyh i mestoimennyh form (art, doth, hast, wilt, canst, seeketh i t. p.; thou, thee, thy, thyself), v osobennostyah napisaniya nekotoryh slov (desart, thro, giv'n, watry, eyne i dr.), poroyu vyzvannyh trebovaniyami tak naz. "vizual'noj rifmy" (eye-rhyme), a takzhe v ottenkah semantiki, ne vsegda sootvetstvuyushchej' sovremennym znacheniyam slov. Pomimo sluchaev naibolee trudnyh i vazhnyh dlya ponimaniya teksta, podobnye otstupleniya ot utverdivshejsya v sovremennom yazyke normy ne ogovarivayutsya, kak i primery tipichnoj dlya poeticheskogo yazyka sintaksicheskoj inversii ("And builds a Hell in Heavens despite" i t. p.). Osnovnye trudnosti dlya chitatelya sozdaet obilie neobychnyh imen iz oblasti blejkovskoj mifologii, a takzhe ne vsegda ulovimye specificheskie znacheniya ryada ponyatij filosofii Blejka. Ocherk vazhnejshih ponyatij takogo roda daetsya vo vstupitel'noj stat'e. Sredi mnogochislennyh obrazov blejkovskoj mifologii vazhnejshee znachenie imeyut: Urizen (Urizen) - simvol mehanicheskogo Razuma, nepriemlemogo dlya Blejka, voploshchenie tiranicheskogo nachala, nasiliya i nesvobody; Los (Los, anagramma latinskogo sol - "solnce") - "Vechnyj prorok", olicetvoryayushchij Tvorcheskij Genij; Ork (Ore, anagramma latinskogo cor - "serdce") - simvol vol'nosti i revolyucii. |ti i drugie personazhi obladayut v mire Blejka svoimi |manaciyami (sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Spektr i |manaciya"). Filosofskie motivy i funkcii, vypolnyaemye v blejkovskoj mifologii otdel'nymi ee personazhami i ih emanaciyami, dalee raz®yasnyayutsya tol'ko v neobhodimyh sluchayah primenitel'no k tekstu kommentiruemogo stihotvoreniya. Raskryty takzhe naibolee sushchestvennye mifologicheskie, biblejskie i literaturnye (osobenno shekspirovskie i mil'tonovskie) reminiscencii, kotorymi izobiluet poeziya Blejka.

    POETICAL SKETCHES

PO|TICHESKIE NABROSKI Sbornik otpechatan v 1783 g. na sredstva, predostavlennye Dzh. Flaksmenom (John Flaxman) i svyashchennikom |. Met'yu (A. S. Mathew), bez vedoma Blejka redaktirovavshim nekotorye stihotvoreniya. Sushchestvuet versiya, soglasno kotoroj Blejk, nedovol'nyj vmeshatel'stvom Met'yu, zabral iz tipografii ves' tirazh, namerevayas' ego unichtozhit', i sohranilis' lish' 22 ekzemplyara iz chisla podarennyh avtorom svoim znakomym. Odnako najdeny i ekzemplyary s darstvennymi nadpisyami Dzh. Flaksmena i ego zheny; eto zastavlyaet predpolozhit', chto tirazh polnost'yu postupil v rasporyazhenie Flaksmena i Met'yu, oplativshih rashody po izdaniyu. Novejshimi issledovaniyami ustanovleno, chto kniga byla otpechatana v tipografii izvestnogo izdatelya Dzhona Nikolsa, specializirovavshegosya na perepechatkah raritetov i pervym predprinyavshego izdanie srednevekovyh rukopisej i hronik.

    1. SONG

1. PESNYA Odno iz pervyh stihotvorenij Blejka, napisannyh, kogda emu bylo okolo 14 let. the Prince of Love - |ros, ili Kupidon my golden wing - veroyatno, imeetsya v vidu Psiheya, neredko izobrazhavshayasya v vide babochki ili molodoj zhenshchiny s kryl'yami babochki Privodim perevod A. Parina: Nesli bezzabotnye kryl'ya moi Menya po lugam, po dolinam, Poka ya ne vstretila knyazya lyubvi I stal on moim vlastelinom. I on pletenicej uvil mne chelo I v volosy vplel mne lilei, I v sad, gde vse zolotom bujnym cvelo, Voshla ya, ot schast'ya hmeleya. I majskie rosy kropili kryla, I pela ya pesni, likuya, - SHelkovaya set' mne kryla oplela, Popala ya v klet' zolotuyu. I lyubo s ulybkoj u kletki sidet' I slushat' menya charodeyu, Na kryl'ya moi zolotye glyadet', Glumyas' nad nevolej moeyu.

    2. TO SPRING

2. K VESNE Pervoe stihotvorenie iz tak naz. "Stihov o vremenah goda", gde u Blejka vpervye vyrazhena ideya ciklichnosti chelovecheskoj: zhizni i princip chetyrehstupenchatogo postroeniya, vazhnyj dlya ego kosmogonii (sm. komment. k "Stranstviyu" i "Brakosochetaniyu Raya i Ada"). ...languish'd head - citata iz Mil'tona (John Milton, 16081674): "Komus" (Comus, 1634, 1. 744); "Samson Borec" {Samson Agonistes, 1671, 1. 119)

    5. TO WINTER

5. K ZIME mount Hecla - Gekla, vulkan v Islandii

    6. MAD SONG

6. BEZUMNAYA PESNYA Naveyano chteniem "Korolya Lira", prezhde vsego monologami |dgara. V sbornike Tomasa Persi (Thomas Percy, 1729-1811) "Relikty drevneanglijskoj poezii" (Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, 1765), s kotorym Blejk, po vsej vidimosti, byl horosho znakom, est' cikl iz shesti stihotvorenij pod obshchim zaglaviem "Bezumnye pesni". Schitaetsya odnim iz pervyh proizvedenij Blejka, v kotoryh vyrazilos' nepriyatie uzkoracionalisticheskogo materializma XVIII v. ...the night is a-cold - sr. v "Korole Lire" (akt III, sc. 4): "Poor Tom's a-cold" Like a fiend in a cloud - u Blejka oblako - simvol tela, yavlyayushchegosya temnicej dushi (sm. v "Pesnyah Nevedeniya" "Vstuplenie" i "CHernyj mal'chik", a takzhe v "Pesnyah Poznaniya" - "Ditya-gore")

    7. TO THE MUSES

7. K MUZAM Ida - Ida, gora na o. Krit, mesto rozhdeniya Zevsa; po drugim mifam, eta gora nahodilas' v okrestnostyah Troi i na nej proishodil sud Parisa Fair Nine - Devyat' muz antichnoj mifologii 8. BLIND MAN'S BUFF 8. IGRA V ZHMURKI Ritmika stihotvoreniya i obraznost' pervyh strok navodyat na predpolozhenie, chto pered nami podrazhanie komedii SHekspira "Naprasnye usiliya lyubvi" {Love's Labour's Lost, Act V, Sc. 2): "When icicles hang by the wall / And Dick the shepherd blows his nail."

    9. GWIN, KING OF NORWAY

9. KOROLX GVIN Syuzhet ballady pozaimstvovan u Tomasa CHattertona (Thomas Chatterton, 1752-1770), ch'i proizvedeniya predstavlyayut soboj imitacii srednevekovoj fol'klornoj poezii. V sbornike CHattertona "Vsyakaya vsyachina" (Miscellanies in Prose and Verse, 1778 est' ballada "Gordred Koven" (Gordred Covan), povestvuyushchaya o norvezhskom tirane, pokorivshem Ostrov cheloveka. D. |rdman polagaet, chto v etom stihotvorenii Blejk otkliknulsya na sobytiya amerikanskoj revolyucii 1776 g. Kak i nekotorye drugie kommentatory, on schitaet Gordreda proobrazom Orka iz "prorocheskih knig" (sm. komment. k "Amerike"). Like blazing comets - vozmozhno, zaimstvovanie iz pervoj chasti "Genriha IV" (akt I, sc. 1), gde armii shodyatsya "like the meteors of a troubled heaven"

    10. FROM "KING EDWARD THE THIRD"

10. PESNYA MENESTRELYA Otryvok (sc. VI) iz nezavershennoj dramy "|duard III", naveyannoj shekspirovskimi hronikami, glavnym obrazom, "Genrihom V". Osnovnym istochnikom dlya Blejka posluzhila, vidimo, kniga Tomasa Kuka (Thomas Cooke. Life of King Edward III of England, Lnd., 1734), izobrazhavshaya |duarda III "proslavlennym obhoditel'nym ubijcej" ("a gallant and illustrious Murderer"), hotya obraz, sozdannyj Blejkom, protivostoit takoj traktovke istoricheskogo personazha. V drame vpervye poyavlyayutsya simvoly, razvitye v "prorocheskih knigah": Orel - voploshchenie Geniya, Al'bion - simvol chelovechestva, poraboshchennogo mehanicheskim razumom (sm. takzhe komment. k "Amerike"). Trojan Brutus - imeetsya v vidu Brut, kotoryj, soglasno mifu, bezhal iz Troi i, pobediv gigantov, naselyavshih Britanskie ostrova, polozhil nachalo nacii brittov prevented - zd. prefigured, anticipated

    11. FROM "AN ISLAND IN THE MOON"

11. STIHI IZ "OSTROVA NA LUNE" Neokonchennaya rukopis' Blejka v proze i stihah, svoego roda satiricheskoe obozrenie v tradiciyah literatury XVIII v., byla sozdana primerno k 1784 g. Po zamyslu dolzhna byla izobrazhat' zhitelej Luny kak obshchestvo, "imeyushchee nekotoroe shodstvo s Angliej". V personazhah proizvedeniya parodijno zapechatleny nekotorye druz'ya Blejka i on sam. Publikuyutsya pesni iz 9-j i 11-j glav etoj rukopisi: oni ispolnyayutsya filosofom Kvidom po prozvishchu Cinik (imeetsya v vidu Blejk) i miss Dzhittipin (veroyatno, imeetsya v vidu zhena Dzhona Flaksmena, sm. komment. k "Poeticheskim nabroskam"). Sir Isaac Newton - na N'yutona Blejk bezosnovatel'no vozlagal vinu za vocarenie mehanisticheskogo razuma kak normy myshleniya i povedeniya Doctor South / Or Sherlock upon Death - Podrazumevayutsya avtory religioznyh traktatov Robert Saut (1634-1716) i Uil'yam SHerlok (1641-1707); poslednemu, v chastnosti, prinadlezhit sochinenie A Practical Discourse concerning Death, 1689. Sutton - Tomas Satton (1532-1611), filantrop, osnovavshij na nachalah blagotvoritel'nosti muzhskuyu shkolu i priyut dlya prestarelyh "CHarterhaus".

    SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE

Shewing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul

    PESNI NEVEDENIYA I POZNANIYA,

izobrazhayushchie dva protivopolozhnyh sostoyaniya chelovecheskoj dushi "Pesni Nevedeniya" sozdavalis' priblizitel'no mezhdu 1784-1790 gg., vpervye nagravirovany v 1789 g. (31 list, sohranilsya 21 ekzemplyar). Stihotvoreniya "Nyanyushkina pesnya", "Zabludivshijsya mal'chik", "Svyatoj chetverg" pervonachal'no vhodili v rukopis' "Ostrova na Lune". "Pesni Poznaniya" sozdavalis' v osnovnom mezhdu 17901792 gg., vpervye nagravirovany sovmestno s "Pesnyami Nevedeniya" v 1794 g. (54 lista, sohranilos' 27 ekzemplyarov). V dal'nejshem gravirovalis' tol'ko vmeste s pervym ciklom. Pri okonchatel'nom redaktirovanii iz "Pesen Nevedeniya" v "Pesni Poznaniya" byli pereneseny 4 stihotvoreniya: "Zabludshaya doch'", "Obretennaya doch'", "SHkol'nik", "Golos drevnego barda". Stihotvorenie "K Tirze" dobavleno ne ranee 1803 g. Ideya ob®edineniya "Pesen" v edinoe celoe mogla byt' podskazana Blejku ego lyubimym poetom Mil'tonom, izdavshim v 1645 g. v vide diptiha svoi yunosheskie poemy L'Allegro i L Penseroso, gde odin i tot zhe geroj izobrazhen na dvuh stadiyah svoego duhovnogo razvitiya. Shodnyj princip kompozicii primenen Ajzekom Uottsom (Isaac Watts, 1674-1748) v ego "Bozhestvennyh pesnyah dlya detej na prostom yazyke" {Divine Songs Attempted in Easy Language for the Use of Children, 1715). Po svoemu soderzhaniyu, odnako, stihi Blejka libo ochen' daleki ot poezii Uottsa, libo polemichny po otnosheniyu k nej. V izdanii Dzh. Sempsona stihi raspolozheny soglasno blejkovskomu izdaniyu 1794 g. V dal'nejshem poryadok raspolozheniya menyalsya, okonchatel'nyj variant ustanovlen serom Dzh. Kinsom i prinyat vo vseh novejshih izdaniyah, vklyuchaya i nastoyashchee.

    SONGS OF INNOCENCE PESNI NEVEDENIYA

13. INTRODUCTION 13. VSTUPLENIE Stihotvorenie soderzhit osnovnuyu mysl' vsego cikla: ot bezmyatezhnosti Nevedeniya cherez gorech' Poznaniya k vysshemu zhiznepriyatiyu. Privodim perevod V. Toporova: S dudkoj ya brodil v lesah, Dul v zelenoe zherlo. Vizhu: s tuchki v nebesah Svesilos' ditya malo. - Pro yagnenka mne sygraj! - YA sygral, kak mne velyat. - Ah! i snova nachinaj! - Vizhu: bozhij mal'chik rad. - Esli v pesne est' slova, Ih, schastlivec, ne tai! - Spel ya, chto igral sperva. Hvalit on slova moi. - V knizhku pesnyu pomesti, CHtoby vse prochest' mogli! - I uzh oblachko v puti... Vzyal ya prigorshnyu zemli, Eyu vodu zamutil I trostinku polomal: Bez pera i bez chernil Detyam knigu napisal.

    15. THE ECHOING GREEN

15. ZELENOE AU Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Smeyushcheesya eho Solnce vzoshlo, I v mire svetlo. CHist nebosvod. Zvon s vyshiny Slavit prihod Novoj vesny. V chashche lesnoj Radostnyj gam Vtorit vesnoj Kolokolam. A my, detvora, CHut' svet na nogah, Igraem s utra Na veshnih lugah, I vtorit nam eho Raskatami smeha. Vot dedushka Dzhon. Smeetsya i on. Sidit on pod dubom So starym narodom, Takim zhe bezzubym I sedoborodym. Nateshivshis' nashej Veseloj igroj. Sedye papashi Bormochut poroj: - Kazhis', ne vchera li Na etom lugu My tozhe igrali, Smeyas' na begu, I vzryvami smeha Nam vtorilo eho! A posle zakata Pora po domam. Tesnyatsya rebyata Vokrug svoih mam. Tak v sumerkah veshnih Skvorchata v skvoreshnyah, Gotovyas' ko snu, Hranyat tishinu. Ni krika, ni smeha Vpot'mah na lugu. Ustalo i eho. Molchit, ni gugu.

    16. THE LAMB

16. YAGNENOK V stihotvorenii soderzhitsya evangel'skaya reminiscenciya: "Na drugoj den' vidit Ioann idushchego k nemu Iisusa i govorit: Vot Agnec Bozhij, Kotoryj beret na Sebya greh mira" (Ot Ioanna, I, 29). Sr. takzhe zaklyuchitel'nye stroki traktata Blejka "Ne sushchestvuet estestvennoj religii" {There is No Natural Religion): "Therefore God becomes as we are, that we may be as He is." Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Agnec Agnec, agnec belyj! Kem ty, agnec, sdelan? Kto pastis' tebya privel V nash zelenyj veshnij dol, Dal tebe volnistyj puh, Golosok, chto nezhit sluh? Kto on, agnec milyj? Kto on, agnec milyj? Slushaj, agnec krotkij, Moj rasskaz korotkij. Byl, kak ty, on slab i mal. On sebya yagnenkom zval. Ty - yagnenok, ya - ditya. On takoj, kak ty i ya. Agnec, agnec milyj, Bog tebya pomiluj!

    17. THE LITTLE BLACK BOY

17. NEGRITENOK V stihotvoreniyah Uottsa (sm. komment. na s. 503) Praise for Birth and Education in a Christian Land i Praise for the Gospel anglijskij mal'chik blagodarit Boga za to, chto rodilsya hristianinom, a ne yazychnikom. Stihotvorenie Blejka utverzhdaet ravenstvo vseh obitayushchih v carstve Nevedeniya. Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: CHernyj mal'chik Mne zhizn' v pustyne mat' moya dala, I cheren ya - odna dusha bela. Anglijskij mal'chik svetel, slovno den', A ya chernej, chem temnoj nochi ten'. Uchila mat' pod derevom menya I, preryvaya laskami urok, V siyan'e rannem plamennogo dnya Mne govorila, glyadya na vostok: - Vzglyani na Solnce - tam gospod' zhivet, On ozaryaet mir svoim ognem. Trave, zveryam i lyudyam on daet Blazhenstvo utrom i otradu dnem. My poslany syuda, chtob glaz privyk K lucham lyubvi, k siyaniyu nebes. I eto tel'ce, etot chernyj lik - Ved' tol'ko tuchka il' tenistyj les. Kogda glazam ne strashen budet den', Rastaet tuchka. Skazhet on: "Pora! Pokin'te, deti, listvennuyu sen', Rezvites' zdes', u moego shatra!" Tak govorila chasto mat' moya. Anglijskij mal'chik, slushaj, esli ty Iz beloj tuchki vyporhnesh', a ya Osvobozhus' ot etoj chernoty, - YA zaslonyu tebya ot znoya dnya I budu gladit' zolotuyu pryad', Kogda, golovku svetluyu klonya, V teni shatra ty budesh' otdyhat'. to bear the beams of love - sr. stihotvorenie Uottsa Grace Shining and Nature Fainting: "Nor is my soul refined enough / To bear the beaming of his love, / And feel his warmer smiles." Is but a cloud - sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Bezumnaya pesnya"; sr. takzhe Dante "CHistilishche", II, st. 122-123

    19. THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER

19. MALENXKIJ TRUBOCHIST Stihotvorenie predstavlyaet soboj otklik Blejka na prizyvy peredovoj obshchestvennosti Anglii zapretit' ekspluataciyu detskogo truda. |ta tema togda shiroko obsuzhdalas' v anglijskoj pechati (sm., v chastnosti, "|sse o trubochistah" CHarl'za Lema - Charles Lamb, 1775-1834). V 1824 g. stihotvorenie bylo perepechatano v sostavlennom Dzh. Montgomeri al'manahe Chimney Sweepers' Friend and Climbing Boys Album. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Malen'kij trubochist Byl ya kroshkoj, kogda umerla moya mat'. I otec menya prodal, edva lepetat' Stal moj detskij yazyk. YA nevzgody terplyu, Vashi truby ya chishchu, i v sazhe ya splyu. Strigli davecha kudri u nas novichku, Belokuruyu zhivo obstrigli bashku. YA skazal emu: - Polno! Ne trat' svoih slez. Sazha, bratec, ne lyubit kurchavyh volos! Tom zabylsya, utih i, ujdya na pokoj, V tu zhe samuyu noch' son uvidel takoj: Budto my, trubochisty, -Dik, CHarli i Dzhim, - V chernyh grobikah tesnyh, svernuvshis', lezhim. No yavilsya k nam angel, - rasskazyval Tom, - Nashi grobiki otper blestyashchim klyuchom, I stremglav po lugam my pomchalis' k reke, Smyli sazhu i grelis' v goryachem peske. Nagishom, nalegke, bez tyazhelyh meshkov, My vzobralis', smeyas', na gryadu oblakov, I smeyushchijsya angel skazal emu: "Tom, Bud' horoshim - i bog tebe budet otcom!" V eto utro my shli na rabotu vpot'mah, Kazhdyj s chernym meshkom i s metloyu v rukah. Utro bylo holodnym, no Tom ne prodrog. Tot, kto chesten i pryam, ne boitsya trevog. 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! - ironicheski obygryvaetsya tipichnoe dlya togo vremeni razgovornoe proiznoshenie slova "sweep"

    20. THE LITTLE BOY LOST

20. ZABLUDIVSHIJSYA MALXCHIK Nekotorymi kommentatorami stihotvorenie rassmatrivaetsya kak predvestie pozdnejshih filosofskih proizvedenij Blejka o chelovechestve, okazavshemsya v plenu ploskoracionalisticheskih predstavlenij i utrativshem Boga. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: "Gde ty, otec moj? Tebya ya ne vizhu, Trudno bystrej mne idti. Da govori zhe so mnoj, govori zhe, Ili sob'yus' ya s puti!" Dolgo on zval, no otec byl daleko. Sumrak byl strashen i pust. Nogi tonuli v tine glubokoj, Par vyletal iz ust. And away the vapour flew - Slovo "vapour" upotrebleno zdes' v znachenii "bluzhdayushchij ogonek", podobnyj bolotnym ognyam (sr. will-o'-the wisp), i neposredstvenno svyazano s "wandr'ng light" sleduyushchego stihotvoreniya. List, na kotorom nagravirovany eti stihi, izobrazhaet mal'chika, protyagivayushchego ruki k luchu sveta: on predchuvstvuet priblizhenie Otca.

    21. THE LITTLE BOY FOUND

21. MALXCHIK NAJDENNYJ Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Malen'kij mal'chik, ustalo bredushchij Vsled za bolotnym ognem, Zvat' perestal. No otec vezdesushchij Byl neotluchno pri nem. Mal'chika vzyal on i kratkoj dorogoj, V sumrake yarko svetya, Vyvel tuda, gde s toskoj i trevogoj Mat' ozhidala ditya.

    23. A CRADLE SONG

23. KOLYBELXNAYA Po svoej metricheskoj organizacii "Kolybel'naya" blizka stihotvoreniyu Uottsa Cradle Hymn. Odnako, esli v stihotvorenii Uottsa blagopoluchie mladenca protivopostavleno bespriyutnosti Iisusa, po predaniyu rodivshegosya v hlevu ("How much better thou'rt attended / Than the Son of God could be... Here's no ox anear thy bed"), to Blejk skoree podcherkivaet blizost' rebenka i tvorca ("Sweet babe once like thee, / Thy maker lay and wept for me").

    24. THE DIVINE IMAGE

24. PO OBRAZU I PODOBIYU all must love - V dannom sluchae slovo "must" ukazyvaet ne tol'ko dolzhenstvovanie, no i sushchestvovanie, vystupaya sinonimom kak should, tak i do.

    25. HOLY THURSDAY

25. SVYATOJ CHETVERG Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Kuda idut ryady detej, umytyh, chistyh, yasnyh, V naryadnyh plat'yah - golubyh, zelenyh, sinih, krasnyh? Sedye dyad'ki vperedi. Tolpa techet pod svody Svyatogo Pavla, v gulkij hram, shumya, kak Temzy vody. Kakoe mnozhestvo detej - tvoih cvetov, stolica! Oni sidyat nad ryadom ryad, i svetyatsya ih lica. Rastet v sobore smutnyj shum, nevinnyj gul yagnyat. Ladoni podnyaty u vseh, i golosa zvenyat. Kak burya, pen'e ih letit vverh iz predelov tesnyh, Gremit, kak garmonichnyj grom sredi vysot nebesnyh. Sedye pastyri vnizu. Lelejte zhe sirot, CHtob dobryj angel ne ushel ot zapertyh vorot. Holy Thursday - Den' Vozneseniya v anglikanskoj cerkvi (pervyj chetverg maya). V londonskom sobore sv. Pavla v etot den' na torzhestvennuyu sluzhbu sobirali sirot. mighty wind - sr. Acts, II, 2-4

    26. NIGHT

26. NOCHX Privodim perevod V. Toporova, publikuemyj vpervye: Noch' Vzoshla, hot' vse eshche zakat, Vechernyaya zvezda. Umolkshi, v gnezdah pticy spyat, Lish' ya lishen gnezda. Luna, kak rastenie, V nebesnom cvetenii Lyubuetsya t'moj S ulybkoj nemoj. Pokojny travy i stoga, Otrada dn_e_vnyh stad. YAgnyata dremlyut. Na luga Zastupniki speshat. Oni, svetozarnye, Vol'yut v blagodarnye Zemnye sozdaniya Svoe likovanie. Oni obstanut tihost' gnezd I mir zverinyh nor, Nochnyh derev neslyshnyj rost I sonnyj plesk ozer. A vstretyat nespyashchego I zhalko krichashchego - Prebudut pri nem Zabven'em i snom. Gde krovoalchny Volk i Lev, Oni vzdymayut ston O tom, chtob sginul glad i gnev I agnec byl spasen. A zver' ne otstupitsya - Pred bogom zastupyatsya Za tvar' ubiennuyu, Za dushu bescennuyu. I v raj vedut ovcu so l'vom, No lev uzhe ne tot: Iz ognennyh ochej ruch'em Zlatye slezy l'et. "Moe prevrashchenie - V ego vseproshchenii, I krotost' ego - Moe estestvo! Teper', yagnenok, ya pasus' S toboyu naravne I Agncu Bozh'emu molyus' V nebesnoj vyshine. V blazhennom raskayan'e Sbylis' moi chayan'ya, Noch' stala blagoj, A griva - zlatoj!" And now beside thee... - sr. Isajya, II, 6: "Togda volk budet zhit' vmeste s yagnenkom, i bars budet lezhat' vmeste s kozlenkom; i telenok, i molodoj lev, i vol budut vmeste, i maloe ditya budet vodit' ih" ...life's river - sr. Otkrovenie Ioanna Bogoslova, 22,1: "I pokazal mne chistuyu reku vody zhizni, svetluyu, kak kristall, ishodyashchuyu ot prestola Boga i Agnca"

    30. A DREAM

30. SON V sbornike Uottsa imeetsya stihotvorenie The Ant, or Emmet po metricheskomu risunku sovpadayushchee s etim stihotvoreniem Blejka. hie = hasten 31. ON ANOTHER'S SORROW 31. O SKORBI BLIZHNEGO Wiping all our tears away - sr. Otkrovenie Ioanna Bogoslova, 7. 17: "...i otret Bog vsyakuyu slezu s ochej ih"

    SONGS OF EXPERIENCE

PESNI POZNANIYA

    32. INTRODUCTION

32. VSTUPLENIE Stihotvorenie soderzhit prizyv k Padshemu CHeloveku, ch'im simvolom vystupaet Zemlya, vosstat' i vernut' sebe utrachennoe mogushchestvo nad Vselennoj. CHelovek dolzhen zhit' ne po zakonam mehanicheskogo razuma, a po zakonam voobrazheniya, yavlyayushchegosya dlya Blejka vysshej sposobnost'yu cheloveka. Calling the lapsed soul - podrazumevaetsya grehopadenie Adama i Evy The starry pole - Severnyj polyus. V simvolike Blejka associiruetsya s sostoyaniem vojny. O Earth, O Earth, return! - sr. Ieremiya 22, 29: "O, zemlya, zemlya, zemlya! Slushaj slovo Gospodne " The starry floor, / The wat'ry shore - v simvolike Blejka oboznacheniya carstva Urizena, ili zhe "n'yutonovskogo (sm. komment. na s. 505) kosmosa", kak i starry Jealousy i the heavy chain v sleduyushchem stihotvorenii 33. EARTH'S ANSWER 33. OTVET ZEMLI Razvitie temy predydushchego stihotvoreniya: voleyu Urizena mir okovan cepyami straha i zla, a Vechnost' podmenena v nem konechnost'yu vremeni i prostranstva.

    35. HOLY THURSDAY

35. SVYATOJ CHETVERG Parallel' k odnoimennomu stihotvoreniyu "Pesen Nevedeniya". Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Svyatoj chetverg CHem etot den' vesennij svyat, Kogda cvetushchaya strana Hudyh, oborvannyh rebyat, ZHivushchih vprogolod', polna? CHto eto - pesnya ili ston Nesetsya k nebu, trepeshcha? Golodnyj plach so vseh storon. O, kak strana moya nishcha! Vidno, sutki naprolet Zdes' carit nochnaya t'ma, Nikogda ne taet led, Ne konchaetsya zima. Gde siyaet solnca svet, Gde rosa poit cvety, - Tam detej golodnyh net, Net ugryumoj nishchety.

    36. THE LITTLE GIRL LOST

36. ZABLUDSHAYA DOCHX Grave = engrave And the desart wild / Become a garden mild - Soglasno antichnoj mifologii, Zemlya prevrashchaetsya v besplodnuyu pustynyu v period prebyvaniya Persefony v podzemnom carstve Aida i vnov' rascvetaet kazhdoj vesnoj, kogda po veleniyu Zevsa Persefona vozvrashchaetsya k svoej materi Demetre. Sr. takzhe Isajya, 35, I: "Vozveselitsya pustynya i suhaya zemlya, i vozraduetsya strana neobitaemaya, i rascvetet, kak narciss". Lyca - Odin iz blejkovskih obrazov chistoj dushi, kotoraya stradaet, priobshchayas' k Poznaniyu (sr. "Knigu Tel'"). Gravyura izobrazhaet ne semiletnyuyu devochku, a devushku-podrostka v ob®yatiyah yunoshi.

    37. THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND

37. OBRETENNAYA DOCHX allay = put to rest

    38. THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER

38. MALENXKIJ TRUBOCHIST Parallel' k odnoimennomu stihotvoreniyu "Pesen Nevedeniya". 39. NURSE'S SONG 39. NYANYUSHKINA PESNYA Parallel' k odnoimennomu stihotvoreniyu "Pesen Nevedeniya".

    40. THE SICK ROSE

40. BOLXNAYA ROZA V predstavleniyah Blejka lyubov' - eto chisto duhovnoe perezhivanie, neprimirimoe s fizicheskim instinktom, simvolom kotorogo yavlyaetsya cherv' v dannom stihotvorenii i drugih proizvedeniyah, izobrazhayushchih mir Poznaniya (v stihah o Nevedenii etot obraz otsutstvuet). Privodim perevod A. Parina: O roza, ty gibnesh'! CHerv', miru nezrim, V rokotanii buri, Pod pokrovom nochnym Vysmotrel lozhe Alogo sna tvoego I potajnoj i mrachnoj lyubov'yu Gubit tvoe estestvo.

    41. THE FLY

41. MOTYLEK V XVIII v. slovo "fly" oznachalo lyuboe krylatoe nasekomoe yarkoj okraski. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Muha Bednyazhka muha, Tvoj letnij raj Smahnul rukoyu YA nevznachaj. YA - tozhe muha: Moj kratok vek. A chem ty, muha, Ne chelovek? Vot ya igrayu, Poyu, poka Menya slepaya Smetet ruka. Kol' v mysli sila, I zhizn', i svet, I tam mogila, Gde mysli net, - Tak pust' umru ya Ili zhivu, - Schastlivoj muhoj Sebya zovu. Am not I / A fly like thee? - Sr. u T. Greya (Thomas Gray, 17161771) Ode on the Spring: "Poor Moralist! and what art Thou? A solitary fly!"

    42. THE ANGEL

42. ANGEL Po svoemu obshchemu smyslu pereklikaetsya s "Bol'noj rozoj".

    43. THE TYGER

43. TIGR Parallel' k stihotvoreniyu "YAgnenok" iz "Pesen Nevedeniya". Mnogochislennye tolkovaniya "Tigra" otrazhayut slozhnost' central'nogo obraza-simvola. Bol'shinstvo sovremennyh kommentatorov v bol'shej ili men'shej stepeni razdelyayut interpretaciyu, predlozhennuyu S. F. Demonom (S. F. Damon): olicetvoryaya yarost' razrusheniya, Tigr simvoliziruet i ochistitel'nuyu energiyu, neobhodimuyu, chtoby sokrushit' zabluzhdeniya i zlo mira, poraboshchennogo Urizenom, i prolozhit' put' k svetu cherez temnye zarosli lyudskih samoobmanov i zhestokostej, sostavlyayushchih sushchnost' sovremennogo bytiya. Privodim perevod K. Bal'monta: Tigr, tigr, zhguchij strah, Ty gorish' v nochnyh lesah. CHej bessmertnyj vzor, lyubya, Sozdal strashnogo tebya? V nebesah il' sred' zybej Vspyhnul blesk tvoih ochej? Kak derzal on tak parit'? Kto posmel ogon' shvatit'? Kto skrutil i dlya chego Nervy serdca tvoego? CH'eyu strashnoyu rukoj Ty byl vykovan - takoj? CHej byl molot, cepi ch'i, CHtob skrepit' mechty tvoi? Kto vzmetnul tvoj bystryj vzmah, Uhvatil smertel'nyj strah? V tot velikij chas, kogda Vozzvala k zvezde zvezda, V chas, kak nebo vse zazhglos' Vlazhnym bleskom zvezdnyh slez, - On, sozdanie lyubya, Ulybnulsya l' na tebya? Tot zhe l' on tebya sozdal, Kto rozhden'e agncu dal? Privodim takzhe shirokoizvestnyj perevod S. Marshaka: Tigr, o tigr, svetlo goryashchij V glubine polnochnoj chashchi, Kem zaduman ognevoj Sorazmernyj obraz tvoj? V nebesah ili glubinah Tlel ogon' ochej zverinyh? Gde tailsya on veka? CH'ya nashla ego ruka? CHto za master, polnyj sily, Svil tvoi tugie zhily I pochuvstvoval mezh ruk Serdca pervyj tyazhkij zvuk? CHto za gorn pred nim pylal? CHto za mlat tebya koval? Kto vpervye szhal kleshchami Gnevnyj mozg, metavshij plamya? A kogda ves' kupol zvezdnyj Orosilsya vlagoj sleznoj, - Ulybnulsya l', nakonec, Delu ruk svoih tvorec? Neuzheli ta zhe sila, Ta zhe moshchnaya ladon' I yagnenka sotvorila, I tebya, nochnoj ogon'? Tigr, o tigr, svetlo goryashchij V glubine polnochnoj chashchi! CH'ej bessmertnoyu rukoj Sozdan groznyj obraz tvoj? forests of the night - u Dante ("Ad") i Mil'tona ("Komus") lesnaya chashchoba olicetvoryaet zemnoe bytie

    45. AH! SUN-FLOWER...

45. AH! PODSOLNUH!.. Who countest the steps of the sun - V "Metamorfozah" Ovidiya nimfa Klitiya, otvergshaya lyubov' boga solnca Giperiona, obrashchena v cvetok, na protyazhenii vsego dnya povorachivayushchij golovku vsled solncu.

    46. THE LILY

46. LILEYA Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Est' ship u rozy dlya vraga, A u barashka est' roga. No chistaya liliya tak bezoruzhna, I, krome lyubvi, nichego ej ne nuzhno. Privodim takzhe perevod V. Potapovoj: Lilii SHipy dlya zashchity ispytany Rozoj. Svoej krasoty ne pyatnayut ugrozoj V lyubovnom vsesilii lish' belye Lilii, Vostorzhenno l'yushchie svoj blesk v izobilii.

    47. THE GARDEN OF LOVE

47. SAD LYUBVI Soglasno Blejku, v sfere Poznaniya vlastvuet cerkovnost', obrashchayushchaya v kladbishche rajskij sad Nevedeniya, togda kak podlinnaya vera ne imeet nichego obshchego s religioznoj dogmatikoj i zapretami. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod V. Potapovoj: YA uvidel v Sadu Lyubvi, Na zelenoj luzhajke, - tam, Gde, byvalo, rezvilsya ya, - Posredine stoyashchij Hram. YA uvidel zatvory ego, "Ty ne dolzhen!" - prochel na vratah. I vzglyanul ya na Sad Lyubvi, CHto vsegda utopal v cvetah. No, vmesto dushistyh cvetov, Mne predstali nadgrob'ya, ogrady I svyashchenniki v chernom, vyazavshie ternom ZHelan'ya moi i otrady.

    48. THE LITTLE VAGABOND

48. MALENXKIJ BRODYAZHKA Privodim perevod V. Toporova, publikuemyj vpervye: Sorvanec Mamanya, chem v cerkvi holodnoj drozhat', Uzh luchshe v kabak ya otpravlyus' opyat'; Hot' znayu o tom, chto pivo s vinom Na nebe schitayut smertel'nym grehom. Vot esli by v cerkvi davali pivka, Da greli by greshnikov u kamel'ka, Lyuboj by oral svyashchennyj horal, A gryaznyj kabak za uglom progoral; Vot chto by svyashchenniku vypit' so mnoj - YA vozlikoval by, kak ptichka vesnoj; Da vygnat' k chertyam urodlivyh dam, Kotorye nas priuchayut k postam. Da esli b Gospod', kak papasha hmel'noj, Igral by, durachilsya vmeste so mnoj, Ne klyal Satanu za tyagu k vinu, A vypil by s nim, da pritom ne odnu!

    49. LONDON

49. LONDON Privodim perevod V. Toporova, publikuemyj vpervye: London Razmyshlyaya o Pravah, YA po Londonu brozhu. V kazhdom vzore vizhu strah, Strah i gore nahozhu. V kazhdom krike kazhdyh ust, V hore detskih golosov, - Kazhdyj shoroh, kazhdyj hrust - Rzhan'e rzhavyh kandalov. Cerkov' kazhduyu klyanut Trubochistov chernyh klichi, Vopli veteranov l'yut Krov' - v dvorcovoe velich'e. A v nochi - vsego lyutej SHlyuhi vizg, chernotvoryashchij Novorozhdennyh - v chertej, Novobrachnyh - v prah smerdyashchij. each charter'd street ... charter'd Thames - Blejk ironicheski obygryvaet slovo "charter", oznachayushchee summu privilegij i svobod, predostavlennyh hartiyami gorodu Londonu.

    50. THE HUMAN ABSTRACT

50. CHELOVECHESKAYA ABSTRAKCIYA Parallel' k stihotvoreniyu "Po obrazu i podobiyu" iz "Pesen Nevedeniya".

    51. INFANT SORROW

51. DITYA-GORE Parallel' k stihotvoreniyu "Ditya-radost'" iz "Pesen Nevedeniya".

    53. A LITTLE BOY LOST

53. ZABLUDIVSHIJSYA MALXCHIK Parallel' k stihotvoreniyam "Zabludivshijsya mal'chik" i "Mal'chik najdennyj" iz "Pesen Nevedeniya". Pereklikaetsya so stihotvoreniem Uottsa Obedience to Parents.

    55. TO TIRZAH

55. K TIRZE Imya Tirza vzyato iz "Pesni Pesnej" (6, 4). Personazh figuriruet u Blejka takzhe v "Mil'tone" i "Ierusalime". Olicetvorenie fizicheskoj strasti, otvergnutoj, poskol'ku plotskij instinkt lishaet lyubov' duhovnosti. Na gravyure izobrazheno telo mertveca, nad kotorym sklonilsya starik, gotovyashchij ego k pogrebeniyu; na odeyanii starika nachertano: "It is raised a spiritual body" (I Corinthians, 15, 44).

    FROM "THE ROSSETTI MANUSCRIPTS"

IZ "MANUSKRIPTA ROSSETTI" Al'bom, predstavlyayushchij soboj rabochuyu tetrad' Blejka i zapolnyavshijsya risunkami i stihami priblizitel'no s 1789 po 1811 gg. Byl priobreten v 1847 g. Dante Gabrielem Rossetti. Soderzhit pervonachal'nye varianty ryada stihotvorenij iz "Pesen Nevedeniya i Poznaniya", a takzhe stihi, ne vklyuchennye v etot cikl, risunki, prozaicheskie zametki i pr. V izdanii Dzh. Kinsa obosnovano delenie materiala etoj tetradi na tri razdela po hronologicheskomu principu, sohranyaemoe i nami. Datirovka obosnovyvaetsya, ishodya iz razmeshcheniya nabroskov teh gravyur, otnositel'no kotoryh s bol'shej ili men'shej tochnost'yu izvestno vremya ispolneniya.

    1789-1793

    58. NEVER SEEK TO TELL THY LOVE...

58. SLOVOM VYSKAZATX NELXZYA... Privodim perevod V. Toporova, ranee ne publikovavshijsya: Izrechennaya lyubov' Stanet otrechennoj; I bezmolven, i nezrim Veter sokrovennyj. YA ej otkryl, ya ej otkryl Lyubov' moyu i dushu - Zadrozhala, zarydala, Ubezhala tut zhe. A prohozhij toj poroj, Sokrovenno hladen, I bezmolven, i nezrim, Bystro s neyu sladil.

    59. I SAW A CHAPEL ALL OF GOLD...

59. PREDSTAL MNE ZLATOGLAVYJ HRAM... Odno iz stihotvorenij Blejka, oblichayushchih cerkov'-"bludnicu", kotoraya, po ego predstavleniyam, ne imeet nichego obshchego s duhom i smyslom hristianskogo ucheniya. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod V. Potapovoj: YA hram uvidel zolotoj - I orobel. On byl otkryt, I t'ma naroda pered nim Molilas', plakala navzryd. Uvidel ya zmeyu mezh dvuh Kolonn, sverkavshih beliznoj. Sbiv stvorki s petel' zolotyh, Ona vpolzla v proem dvernoj. V rubinah, perlah gladkij pol Raskinulsya, kak zhar gorya. A sklizkaya polzla, polzla I dopolzla do altarya. Na vino i hleb svyatoj Izrygnula yad zmeya. YA vernulsya v hlev svinoj. Mezh svinej ulegsya ya.

    61. I HEARD AN ANGEL SINGING...

61. YA SLYSHAL ANGELA PENXE... Predpolagalos' v kachestve paralleli k stihotvoreniyu "Po obrazu i podobiyu" iz "Pesen Nevedeniya". Otdel'nye stroki v neskol'ko izmenennom vide voshli v "CHelovecheskuyu abstrakciyu" iz "Pesen Poznaniya".

    62. A CRADLE SONG

62. KOLYBELXNAYA Predpolagalos' v kachestve paralleli k "Kolybel'noj" iz "Pesen Nevedeniya". Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye.

    64. INFANT SORROW

64. DITYA-GORE Dve pervye strofy voshli v odnoimennoe stihotvorenie iz "Pesen Poznaniya". But the time of youth is fled / And grey hairs are on my head - stroki povtoreny v stihotvorenii "Pod mirtovym drevom" i s nebol'shim izmeneniem v stihotvorenii "Angel" ("Pesni Poznaniya").

    67. TO NOBODADDY

67. NICHXEMU OTCU Odno iz mnogochislennyh stihotvorenij Blejka, napravlennyh protiv oficioznoj cerkovnosti. Nobodaddy - neologizm Blejka (Daddy Nobody v protivopolozhnost' Father of All). Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod V. Potapovoj: Nich'emu pape Otec pridirchivyj! Zachem Ty v oblakah, vysoko, Skryvaesh'sya, nezrim i nem, Ot ishchushchego oka? Zachem tvoj sumrachnyj zakon, YAzyk tvoj temnyj, polnyj gneva, Nam povelyat vkushat' plody Ne s dreva, - u zmei iz zeva? Uzheli ottogo, chto k tajnosti Otzyvchiv zhenskij pol do krajnosti? 71. MERLIN'S PROPHECY 71. PROROCHESTVO MERLINA Merlin's Prophecy - sr. slova SHuta posle ispolneniya im satiricheskih kupletov v "Korole Lire" (akt III, sc. 2): "This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time." Merlin - mag pri dvore korolya Artura.

    73. WHY SHOULD I CARE FOR THE MEN OF THAMES...

73. TEMZA I OGAJO Odin iz rannih otklikov Blejka na Vojnu za nezavisimost' v Severnoj Amerike 1775-1783 gg. Blejk vosprinyal ee kak nachalo osvobozhdeniya vsego chelovechestva iz temnic sovremennogo Vavilona (sm. takzhe "Ameriku"). charter'd streams - sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "London"

    80. LET THE BROTHELS OF PARIS BE OPENED...

80. DVERI NASTEZHX, PARIZHSKIE BORDELI!.. Stihotvorenie naveyano sobytiyami Francuzskoj revolyucii 1789 g. Queen of France - Mariya-Antuanetta (1755-1793), kaznennaya vmeste s Lyudovikom XVI. Ee opisanie parodiruet portret, sozdannyj |dmundom Berkom (Edmund Burke, 1729-1797) v "Razmyshleniyah o revolyucii vo Francii" {Reflections on the Revolution in France, 1790), gde nizvergnutaya koroleva izobrazhena v pateticheskih tonah. ...old Nobodaddy - sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Nich'emu otcu". V dannom kontekste obraz priobretaet dopolnitel'nyj, konkretno-istoricheskij smysl, poskol'ku starshij syn Lyudovika XVI skonchalsya v 1789 g., a mladshij, otlichavshijsya slabym zdorov'em, s 1791 g. nahodilsya v zatochenii (umer v 1795 g.). suckers - zd. rasteniya-parazity Fayette - Markiz de Lafajet (1757-1834), francuzskij politicheskij deyatel', odin iz generalov amerikanskoj armii v period Vojny za nezavisimost' v Severnoj Amerike 1775-1783 gg. Po vozvrashchenii vo Franciyu komandoval Nacional'noj gvardiej, ohranyavshej nizlozhennogo korolya. Byl storonnikom Konstitucionnoj monarhii, za chto podvergalsya napadkam radikalov, dobivavshihsya ego otstavki. Bezhal iz Francii i byl arestovan v Avstrii, gde provel v zatochenii chetyre goda (1793-1797). Sm. takzhe poemu "Francuzskaya revolyuciya".

    1800-1803

    81. MY SPECTRE AROUND ME NIGHT AND DAY...

81. SPEKTR I |MANACIYA Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Spectre ... Emanation - Po opredeleniyu N. Fraya, "Blejk nazyvaet Prizrakami abstraktnye idei i prezhde vsego Sebyalyubie. S etim ponyatiem svyazano drugoe - |manaciya, t. e. celostnaya forma vseh veshchej, kotorye lyubit i kotorye sozdaet chelovek" (N. Frye. Fearful Symmetry, 1947). Sr. takzhe opredeleniya, kotorye dany etim ponyatiyam u A. Ostrajker: do grehopadeniya Spektr i |manaciya sosushchestvuyut v odnom sushchestve, a v dal'nejshem zhenskoe nachalo (|manaciya) priobretaet samostoyatel'noe sushchestvovanie. Prizrak, ili Spektr, - eto chelovecheskij racio na toj stupeni, kogda svyaz' cheloveka i Boga, a tem samym i celostnost' cheloveka uzhe utracheny. V poeme "Mil'ton" chitaem: "Duh Otricaniya est' Spektr, ili zhe Racional'nye Sposobnosti CHeloveka, i eto Pozolota, skryvayushchaya Bessmertnyj moj Duh, i eto Sebyalyubie, kotoroe neobhodimo otrinut' i unichtozhit' naveki". Po simvolike Blejka, chelovek, obrashchayushchij sebya v Spektr, nepolnocenen dazhe fizicheski - |manaciya est' utrachennoe "zhenskoe" nachalo, ta duhovnost', kotoraya vosstanavlivaet celostnost' lichnosti i v fizicheskom otnoshenii, poskol'ku Raj - eto preodolenie ne tol'ko razlada mezhdu racional'nym i chuvstvennym, no i razdeleniya CHeloveka na nachala muzhskoe i zhenskoe. Sm. takzhe komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Stranstvie". This the Wine, and this the Bread - ot Matfeya, 26, 26-28; ot Marka, 14, 22-24; ot Luki, 22, 19-20. Privodim perevod V. Potapovoj: Prizrak i |manaciya Moj Prizrak den' i noch' teper' Sledit za mnoj, kak hishchnyj zver', A |manaciya - moj greh Oplakivaet gorshe vseh. V bezdonnoj glubine, v beskrajnej, Bluzhdaem vtajne, plachem vtajne. Pod vihrem, voyushchim v alchbe, Kradetsya Prizrak moj k tebe - Uznat', obnyuhivaya sneg, Kuda napravish' ty svoj beg. Skvoz' chastyj dozhd' i zimnij grad Kogda vorotish'sya nazad? V gordyne, ty zatmila burej Blesk utrennej moej lazuri. Noch', - s revnost'yu i nepriyazn'yu, - Slezami kormish' i boyazn'yu. Sem' raz lyubov' moyu srazil Tvoj nozh, sem' mramornyh mogil YA vozdvigal, s holodnym strahom, I hmuro slezy lil nad prahom. I sem' eshche ostalos' milyh: Oni rydayut na mogilah. I sem' lyubimyh, ne trevozha Moj son, zhgut fakely u lozha. Mne sem' vozlyublennyh, v posteli, Na skorbnyj lob venok nadeli Iz vinogradnyh loz i, v zhalosti, Proshchayut vse grehi - do malosti! Kogda, smeniv na milost' gnev, Vernesh'sya - ozhivit' sem' dev? Otvet', kogda vernesh'sya ty Dlya vseproshchen'ya i dobroty? "Ne vernus', - ne zhdi i vedaj: YA goryu odnoj pobedoj! ZHivoj, - mne byt' tvoeyu miloj, A mertvoj, - byt' tvoej mogiloj! Skvoz' nebo, zemlyu, raj i ad Pomchus' vdogon - mne net pregrad! Dni i nochi naprolet Dlit'sya budet moj polet". Moj dolg - izbavit'sya ot vlasti Geennskoj roshchi, zhenskoj strasti, Zatem chtob Vechnosti porog Dostojno prestupit' ya mog. Ne dam tebe nasmeshki mnozhit'! Tebya ya dolzhen unichtozhit' I, sotvoriv druguyu stat', Slugu sud'by moej sozdat'. Pokonchim oba, po uslov'yu, S geennskoj roshchej i s lyubov'yu I uzrim, vne ee igry, Blazhennoj Vechnosti miry. Nam zhit' - v proshchen'e oboyudnom. Ne tak li v pouchen'e chudnom Spasitelem izrecheno? "Se hleb, - skazal on, - se vino".

    82. WHEN KLOPSTOCK ENGLAND DEFIED...

82. KLOPSHTOK ANGLIYU HULIL, KAK HOTEL... Nemeckij poet Fridrih Gotlib Klopshtok (1724-1803) v avgustovskom nomere londonskogo The German Museum za 1800 g. sopostavlyal nemeckie i anglijskie perevody Gomera, poricaya anglichan za "grubost' stiha" i pripisyvaya etot nedostatok durnomu vliyaniyu Svifta. Stihi Blejka napisany v otvet na eti obvineniya, chem i ob®yasnyaetsya vyzyvayushchaya, "sviftovskaya" prizemlennost' ih leksiki. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. For old Nobodaddy aloft / ...and belch'd and cough'd - povtoreny stroki iz stihotvoreniya "Dveri nastezh', parizhskie bordeli!"; Nobodaddy - sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Nich'emu otcu" Lambeth - Lambet, rajon Londona, gde v 1791-1800 gg. zhil Blejk

    83. MOCK ON, MOCK ON, VOLTAIRE, ROUSSEAU...

83. ZHIVEJ, VOLXTER! SMELEJ, RUSSO!.. V celom Blejk ob®ektivno ocenival rol' velikih francuzskih myslitelej, schitaya, chto ih idei podgotovili sobytiya 1789 g. Odnako narastavshee razocharovanie poeta vo Francuzskoj revolyucii vyzvalo neskol'ko gor'kih i yazvitel'nyh stihotvorenij, vklyuchaya i eti stroki. The Atoms of Democritus - soglasno ucheniyu grecheskogo filosofa Demokrita (ok. 470 ili 460 do n. e. - umer v glubokoj starosti), kazhdaya veshch' v mire sostoit iz mel'chajshih atomov, nahodyashchihsya v nepreryvnom dvizhenii Newton's Particles - rech' idet o n'yutonovskom otkrytii semi osnovnyh cvetov spektra

    85. ON THE VIRGINITY OF THE VIRGIN MARY AND JOHANNA SOUTHCOTT

85. O DEVSTVENNOSTI DEVY MARII I DZHOANNY SAUSKOTT Dzhoanna Sauskott (1750-1814) - polugramotnaya sluzhanka, posledovatel'nica odnoj iz hiliasticheskih sekt. V 1813 g. ob®yavila, chto nosit vo chreve vtorogo messiyu, i byla podvergnuta medicinskoj ekspertize. God spustya umerla ot vodyanki.

    86. MORNING

86. UTRO ...the Western path - u Blejka Zapad vsegda associiruetsya s duhovnym vysvobozhdeniem The war of swords and spears / Melted by dewy tears - obraz, donosyashchij vpechatlenie ot usypannogo zvezdami nebosklona, simvola carstva Razuma, kotoroe ischezaet s prihodom rassveta (sr. "Tigr": "When the stars threw down their spears / And water'd heaven with their tears")

    1808-1811

|pigrammy, v osnovnom preobladayushchie v etom razdele "Manuskripta Rossetti", vyzvany ssoroj Blejka s izdatelem R. X. Kromekom i hudozhnikami, rabotavshimi po ego zakazam, a takzhe neuspehom vystavki rabot Blejka v 1809 g. i ohlazhdeniem v otnosheniyah s Flaksmenom (sm. komment. k "Poeticheskim nabroskam"), razdelyavshim, kak kazalos' Blejku, negativnuyu ocenku ego grafiki i zhivopisi (sm. takzhe predislovie, s. 9, i hronologicheskuyu tablicu).

    89. HERE LIES JOHN TROT, THE FRIEND OF ALL MANKIND...

89. NI ODNOGO VRAGA, VSEOBSHCHIJ DRUG, DZHON TROT... Dzhon Trot - imya naricatel'noe, oboznachaet muzhlana

    92. GROWN OLD IN LOVE...

92. VSYU ZHIZNX LYUBOVXYU PLAMENNOJ SGORAYA... Predpolagaetsya, chto epigramma byla napisana v 1806 g., kogda Blejku bylo 49 let. 93. ALL PICTURES THAT'S PANTED WITH SENSE AND WITH THOUGHT... 93. CHUVSTVA I MYSLI V KARTINE NASHEDSHIJ... pant = paint; schitaetsya, chto Blejk parodiroval proiznoshenie R. X. Kromeka Fuseli - Genri Fyuzeli (1741-1825), hudozhnik, shvejcarec po proishozhdeniyu; odin iz znachitel'nyh predstavitelej anglijskogo romantizma; byl drugom Blejka i poklonnikom ego talanta they can't see an outline - rech' idet o sposobe gravirovaniya. Blejk priderzhivalsya starogo "konturnogo" metoda s chetkoj liniej risunka, v to vremya kak v modu voshel "tochechnyj" metod s razmytymi konturami (sm. takzhe komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Blejk v zashchitu svoego Kataloga").

    94. WHY WAS CUPID A BOY...

94. KUPIDON woman into a statue of stone - po vsej veroyatnosti, podrazumevaetsya legenda o Pigmalione i Galatee

    95. I ASKED MY DEAR FRIEND ORATOR PRIGG...

95. CHTO ORATORU NUZHNO... panter - sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "CHuvstva i mysli v kartine nashedshij..."

    96. HAVING GIVEN GREAT OFFENCE BY WRITING IN PROSE...

96. BLEJK V ZASHCHITU SVOEGO KATALOGA Imeetsya v vidu Katalog vystavki 1809 g. (sm. predislovie, s. 7). as soft as Bartoloze - Franchesko Bartoloci (Bartolozzi, 1727-1815), florentijskij graver, bol'shuyu chast' zhizni prozhivshij v Anglii; chlen Korolevskoj akademii; populyariziroval metod "tochechnogo" gravirovaniya, kotoryj blagodarya razmytosti konturov otlichalsya osobennoj myagkost'yu risunka Dryden, in rime - V 1674 g. Dzhon Drajden (John Dryden, 1631-1700) napisal rifmovannymi stihami libretto The State of Innocence no motivam "Poteryannogo Raya", iskaziv duh i smysl mil'tonovskogo proizvedeniya. Blejk otozvalsya ob etom opyte perelozheniya Mil'tona sleduyushchim obrazom: "Glupost' otdast predpochtenie Drajdenu, poskol'ku on pishet v rifmu, monotonno perezvyakivaya ot nachala do samogo konca". Tom Cooke cut Hogarth down with his clean graving - Graver Tomas Kuk (Cooke, 1744-1818) kopiroval raboty Hoggarta i prisposablival ih k tomu stilyu, kotoryj byl moden vo vremena Blejka Hayley - U. Hejli; sm. predislovie, s. 6, i hronologicheskuyu tablicu Homer is ... improv'd by Pope - imeetsya v vidu perevod "Iliady" i "Odissei", sdelannyj vedushchim poetom anglijskogo klassicizma Aleksandrom Popom (1688-1744). Stih perevoda podchinen klassicisticheskim normam, otchego postradal yazyk Gomera. Stothard - Tomas Stothard (1755-1834;, hudozhnik, kotoromu Kromek otdal zakaz na illyustracii k "Kenterberijskim rasskazam" CHosera, ranee obeshchannyj Blejku poor Schiavonetti died of the Cromek - Graver Luidzhi Sk'yavonetti (1770-1812) umer vo vremya raboty nad gravyuroj s originala Stotharda.

    99. I ROSE UP AT THE DAWN OF DAY...

99. YA VSTAL, KOGDA REDELA NOCHX... the Throne of Mammon - mammon - po-aramejski "bogatstvo" (sr. Matfej, 6, 24; Luka, 16, 9-13); pozdnee v srednevekovyh knigah stalo upotreblyat'sya kak imya sobstvennoe, oznachayushchee d'yavola

    THE PICKERING MANUSCRIPT

MANUSKRIPT PIKERINGA Tetrad' iz 11 listov, nahodivshayasya v 1868 g. vo vladenii izdatelya Bezila Pikeringa. CHast' stihov iz nee poyavilas' v zhizneopisanii A. Gilkrista. Stihotvoreniya iz etoj tetradi obychno datiruyutsya 1801-1803 gg.

    100. THE SMILE

100. ULYBKA Privodim perevod V. Toporova, publikuemyj vpervye: Ulybka Est' Ulybka lyubvi, Est' Ulybka obmana I est' Ulybka Ulybok - V nej obe drugih sliyanny. Est' pristal'nyj Vzor vrazhdy, Est' pristal'nyj Vzor prezren'ya, I est' etih Vzorov Vzor - I nest' ot nego spasen'ya. Ibo on prozhigaet mozg, Ibo dushu on raz®edaet I o prezhnih ulybkah vseh Pamyat' v muskulah rta stiraet. No edinozhdy za vsyu zhizn' Est' Ulybka eshche sil'nee - I bessil'no zemnoe Zlo, Esli ty ulybnesh'sya eyu.

    101. THE GOLDEN NET

101. ZLATAYA SETX "Set'" v etom stihotvorenii imeet tot zhe smysl, chto i "kletka" v stihotvorenii "Pesnya" iz "Poeticheskih nabroskov": nezrimye - ili pozolochennye - okovy, kotorymi v zemnoj yudoli skovano Voobrazhenie.

    102. THE MENTAL TRAVELLER

102. STRANSTVIE Po mneniyu bol'shinstva issledovatelej, "ditya" v etom stihotvorenii - duh Svobody, "staruha" - sovremennoe Blejku obshchestvo. Stihi predstavlyayut soboj allegoriyu, izobrazhayushchuyu ternistyj i prichudlivyj put' Svobody cherez veka istorii, kak predstavlyal sebe etot put' avtor. Svoboda oblagorazhivaet obshchestvo. Odnako, vostorzhestvovav, Svoboda otricaet samoe sebya (motiv, po vsej veroyatnosti, podskazannyj sobytiyami vo Francii); ZHizn' - vyshedshaya iz ognya deva - progonyaet takuyu Svobodu (dryahlyj starec, ishchushchij podrugu v zhertvy), no Zemlya (devochka, kotoraya okazyvaetsya v rukah starca) po-prezhnemu zhazhdet Svobody, i teper' uzhe Zemlya oblagorazhivaet starca - tol'ko dlya togo, chtoby ot etogo soyuza rodilsya Mladenec, t. e. vse tot zhe duh Svobody, i "vse, kak skazano, opyat'". Po drugim tolkovaniyam, "Stranstvie" - stihi o konechnoj bessmyslennosti zhizni, poka ona ne dostigaet stadii Raya. V simvolike Blejka Vselennaya predstavlena v processe prohozhdeniya cherez chetyre duhovnyh sostoyaniya. Raj (Eden) - vysshee edinstvo Tvorca i ego tvoreniya; Porozhdenie (Generation) - raspad organicheskoj svyazi mezhdu chelovekom i Bogom, chelovekom i drugimi lyud'mi; Beula (Beulah) - hristianskij ideal vosstanovleniya etoj svyazi, kotoryj dlya Blejka i pri uslovii ego osushchestvleniya ne oznachaet obretennogo Raya, ibo Beula rassmatrivaetsya im tol'ko kak Limb; Ul'ro (Ulro) - mir sovremennoj Blejku dejstvitel'nosti, Ad. Kazhdomu iz etih sostoyanij prisushcha svoya dominiruyushchaya "emociya": Rayu - strast', Porozhdeniyu - intellekt, Beule - miloserdie i lyubov', Ul'ro - zhelanie i instinkt. V "Stranstvii" soderzhitsya prizyv k radikal'nomu osvobozhdeniyu Poeticheskogo Geniya, tayashchegosya v cheloveke i edinstvenno sposobnogo otkryt' chelovechestvu takie puti duhovnoj zhizni, kotorye sdelayut vozmozhnym istinnyj ee progress, a ne mehanicheskoe kruzhenie na meste. Pomimo evangel'skih motivov, v stihotvorenii obnaruzhivayutsya otgoloski mifa o Prometee i sozdannogo Blejkom mifa o Lose (sm. komment. na s. 498). Just as we reap in joy the fruit / Which we in bitter tears did sow - biblejskaya reminiscenciya: "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy" {Psalms, 126, 5)

    105. THE CRYSTAL CABINET

105. HRUSTALXNAYA SHKATULKA Pereklikaetsya so stihotvoreniem "Pesnya" iz "Poeticheskih nabroskov". V simvolicheskom plane stihotvoreniya izobrazheno sostoyanie Beuly (sm. vyshe), dlya kotorogo harakterno triedinstvo tela, intellekta i strasti, odnako chetvertyj komponent celostnogo cheloveka - duh - eshche otsutstvuet. Poetomu otnosheniya mezhdu lyubyashchimi pererastayut v konfliktnuyu situaciyu: oba stremyatsya podchinit' drugogo svoej vole - podlinnyj soyuz nevozmozhen. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Privodim perevod S. Marshaka: Hrustal'nyj chertog Na vol'noj vole ya bluzhdal I yunoj devoj vzyat byl v plen. Ona vvela menya v chertog Iz chetyreh hrustal'nyh sten. CHertog svetilsya, a vnutri YA v nem uvidel mir inoj: Byla tam malen'kaya noch' S chudesnoj malen'koj lunoj. Inaya Angliya byla, Eshche nevedomaya mne, - I novyj London nad rekoj, I novyj Tauer v vyshine. Ne ta uzh devushka so mnoj, A vsya prozrachnaya, v luchah. Ih bylo tri - odna v drugoj. O sladkij, neponyatnyj strah! Ee ulybkoyu trojnoj YA byl, kak solncem, osveshchen. I moj blazhennyj poceluj Byl troekratno vozvrashchen. YA k sokrovennejshej iz treh Proster ob®yat'ya - k nej odnoj. I vdrug raspalsya moj chertog. Rebenok plachet predo mnoj. Lezhit on na zemle, a mat' V slezah sklonyaetsya nad nim. I, vozvrashchayas' v mir opyat', YA plachu, gorest'yu tomim. Surrey Dower - Vo vremena Blejka territoriya grafstva Serrej, slavyashchegosya parkami i lesami, vklyuchala londonskij rajon Lambet, gde poet zhil v 1791-1800 gg. a weeping Babe - sr. simvoliku "Stranstviya"

    107. AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE

107. IZRECHENIYA NEVINNOSTI Po forme eto proizvedenie Blejka napominaet nazidatel'nye poemy Kristofera Smarta (Ch. Smart, 1722-1771) "Pesn' Davidu" (A Song to David, 1763) Jubilitate Agno, v kotoryh raznoobraznye yavleniya okruzhayushchego mira sopostavlyayutsya s temi ili inymi biblejskimi obrazami ili citiruemymi stihami iz Evangeliya. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Vstupitel'noe chetverostishie schitaetsya odnoj iz aforisticheskih formulirovok sushchnosti romantizma. Privodim ego v perevode S. Marshaka: V odnom mgnoven'e videt' vechnost', Ogromnyj mir - v zerne peska, V edinoj gorsti - beskonechnost' I nebo - v chashechke cvetka. The game-cock dipt - petushinye boi byli oficial'no zapreshcheny v Anglii v 1849 g. chafer = dark beetle

    108. LONG JOHN BROWN AND LITTLE MARY BELL

108. DLINNYJ DZHON BRAUN I MALYUTKA M|RI BELL Otdel'nye issledovateli, osnovyvayas' na syuzhetnom shodstve, usmatrivayut v stihotvorenii pereklichku s desyatoj novelloj tret'ego dnya "Dekamerona".

    109. WILLIAM BOND

109. VILXYAM BOND Then what have I to do with thee - sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "K Tirze" ("Pesni Poznaniya")

    THE BOOK OF THEL

KNIGA T|LX Napisana i otpechatana v 1789 g., sohranilas' v 15 ekzemplyarah. Naryadu s "Tirielem" samaya rannyaya iz "prorocheskih knig". Svidetel'stvuet o vliyanii Mil'tona, v chastnosti, "Komusa", "maski", rasskazyvayushchej o Deve, kotoraya zabludilas' v lesu, gde ona povstrechala zlogo maga. Brat'ya, obrativshis' k nimfe Sabrine, spasayut sestru ot Komusa. Podobno geroine Mil'tona, Tel' - chistaya dusha, kotoraya vpervye soprikasaetsya s mirom Poznaniya i v uzhase bezhit ot nego. Odni kommentatory interpretiruyut simvoliku "Knigi Tel'" preimushchestvenno v fiziologicheskom plane (liliya - nevinnost' geroini, oblako - plodotvoryashchee nachalo, glina - materinstvo), drugie schitayut, chto Tel' - simvol fantazii, posetivshej real'nyj mir i pospeshivshej ukryt'sya v doline Gara; vozmozhny i paralleli s atnichnym mifom o Prozerpine. Thel - dr.-grech. "zhelanie", "volya"; sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Zabludshaya doch'" iz "Pesen Poznaniya" Seraphim - tolkuetsya po-raznomu; v chastnosti, ukazyvaetsya, chto v sochineniyah filosofa-alhimika Korneliya Agrippy (1486-1535) ponyatie "synov'ya Serafima" oznachaet lyudej, ch'i sem'i osobenno mnogochislenny, a stada prinosyat samoe bol'shoe potomstvo. V takom sluchae rech' idet ob otkaze Tel' sluzhit' prostym instrumentom prodolzheniya roda. the river of Adona - veroyatno, reka Adonis, upomyanutaya Mil'tonom v "Poteryannom Rae" pri opisanii ritualov plodorodiya the voice / Of Him that walketh - cp. Genesis, 3, 8: "And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day" the vales of Har - carstvo neporochnoj lyubvi. V mifologii Blejka - Gar i Heva (Heva) - praroditeli chelovechestva. Luvah = Luva; zd. simvol |rosa. Pozdnee v mifologii Blejka - Knyaz' lyubvi, vedushchij bor'bu s Urizenom za chelovecheskuyu dushu. Worm - sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Bol'naya roza" iz "Pesen Poznaniya" to her own grave-plot - t. e. v temnicu sobstvennogo fizicheskogo sushchestvovaniya and there she sat down - sr. Psalms, 137, I: "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept..."

    THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL

BRAKOSOCHETANIE RAYA I ADA Datiruetsya primerno 1790 g. "Pesn' Svobody" dobavlena pozdnee, v 1792-1793 gg. Poema predstavlyaet soboj filosofskij disput, poroj otkrytuyu polemiku so shvedskim teologom |mmanuilom Svedenborgom (1688-1722; sm. predislovie, s. 12-13). V 1789 g. Blejk prisutstvoval na sobranii londonskih svedenborgiancev, eto moglo posluzhit' povodom k sozdaniyu poemy. V 80-e gg. on chital ryad trudov Svedenborga, vpervye togda perevedennyh na anglijskij yazyk (sohranilis' marginalii Blejka na ekzemplyare knigi Svedenborga "Mudrost' angelov"). Poema soderzhit pervoe posledovatel'noe izlozhenie idej samogo Blejka i kritiku sovremennyh emu social'nyh i religioznyh institutov. Vstuplenie k poeme schitaetsya samym rannim obrazcom svobodnogo stiha v anglijskoj poezii. Rintrah - Rintra, odin iz synovej Losa (sm. komment. na s. 498), prorok, olicetvoryayushchij gnev, kotoryj ohvatyvaet Voobrazhenie pri vzglyade na porochnyj mir swag = sag, sway Where lions roam - sr. s istoriyami prorokov Isaji (24) i Iezekiilya (5 i 32), vozglashayushchih istinu v pustyne As a new heaven is begun, and it is now thirty-three years since its advent... - imeetsya v vidu 1757 g., god rozhdeniya Blejka, kogda v Londone byla uchrezhdena svedenborgianskaya "Novaya cerkov'". Soglasno Svedenborgu, Strashnyj sud nachnetsya v 1757 godu. K momentu sozdaniya poemy Blejku 33 goda, t. e. stol'ko, skol'ko, po obshcherasprostranennomu togda mneniyu, bylo Hristu k momentu raspyatiya the dominion of Edom - strana Isava, starshego syna Isaaka, lishennogo prav pervorodstva hitroumiem mladshego svoego brata Iakova. Isaak skazal emu: "Vot, ot tuka zemli budet obitanie tvoe, i ot rosy nebesnoj svyshe" (Bytie, 27^39-40) Isiah XXXIV and XXXV chap. - v etih glavah Knigi Proroka Isaji govoritsya ob otmshchen'e Bozh'em vsem narodam i o vozvrashchenii Tvorca, kogda vozraduetsya besplodnaya zemlya Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell. - sr. marginalii Blejka na polyah sochineniya Svedenborga "Mudrost' angelov": "Heaven and Hell are born together." The Governor of Reason is call'd Messiah - v "Poteryannom Rae" Mil'tona Syn Bozhij nizvergaet Satanu, izgnav ego iz rajskih kushch, i sudit Adama i Evu za ih greh Milton's Messiah is called Satan - Blejk imel v vidu tu karayushchuyu rol', kotoruyu vypolnyaet Syn Bozhij u Mil'tona, podobno Satane v Knige Iova This is shown in the Gospel - sm. ot Ioanna, 14, 16-17, 26 Proverbs of Hell - pomimo Psaltiri (Book of Proverbs) odnim iz proizvedenij, opredelivshih vybor takoj formy, schitayutsya horosho izvestnye Blejku "Aforizmy" (1788) I. K. Lafatera (1741-1801) this firm persuasion removed mountains - sr. slova Iisusa: "Esli vy budete imet' veru s gorchichnoe zerno i skazhete gore sej: "perejdi otsyuda tuda", i ona perejdet" (ot Matfeya, 17, 20) our great poet, King David - Davidu pripisyvaetsya avtorstvo biblejskih psalmov I also asked Isaiah what made him go naked and barefoot three years - sr. Isajya, 20 I then asked Ezekiel why he ate dung... - sr. Iezekiil', 4 the cherub with his flaming sword - posle izgnaniya Adama Bog "postavil na vostoke u sada Edemskogo Heruvima i plamennyj mech obrashchayushchijsya, chtoby ohranyat' put' k derevu zhizni" (Bytie, 3, 24) the doors of perception - imeyutsya v vidu pyat' organov chuvstv ...chinks of his cavern - obraz voshodit k dialogu Platona ("Respublika", VII) ...Parable of sheep and goats! - sm. ot Matfeya, 25, 32-33; 10, 34 ...between saturn and the fixed stars - v dokopernikovoj astronomii Saturn rassmatrivalsya kak predel'naya nebesnaya sfera Paracelsus - Paracel's (1493-1541), shvejcarskij vrach i estestvoispytatel'; byl izvesten i kak alhimik i ereticheskij teolog Jacob Rehmen - YAkob Beme (1575-1624), nemeckij filosof i teolog (sm. takzhe predislovie, s. 20) ...Did He not mock at the sabbath - sm. ot Marka, 2, 27; ot Ioanna, 8-22; 11; ot Matfeya, 27, 13-14; motiv razvit Blejkom v "Vechnosushchem evangelii" {The Everlasting Gospel, s. 1818) Jesus was all virtue - v dannom sluchae "virtue" upotrebleno v specificheskom znachenii, vydelyayushchem latinskij koren' "vir" - "muzh" A Song of Liberty - naveyano vzyatiem Bastilii (1789) i popytkami evropejskih monarhij zadushit' Francuzskuyu revolyuciyu. V chastnosti, zdes' nashla otrazhenie neudavshayasya intervenciya vo Franciyu v sentyabre 1792 g., predshestvovavshaya vojne, kotoruyu Angliya ob®yavila Francuzskoj respublike v fevrale 1793 g. Po Blejku, Revolyuciya - ditya Prirody; Tiraniya pytaetsya udushit' Mladenca, odnako na ego zashchitu vstaet CHelovechestvo, i Tiraniya vynuzhdena vremenno otstupit'. dungeon - Bastiliya thy keys - klyuchi tradicionno sluzhili u pap simvolom vlasti starry king - Urizen. O znachenii simvoliki zvezd u Blejka sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Vstuplenie" ("Pesni Poznaniya"). the hoary element - morskie vody Urthona's dens - Urtona, v mifologii Blejka, olicetvorenie instinkta, intuicii; predstaet v vide kuzneca, obitayushchego v provalah i peshcherah

    VISIONS OF THE DAUGHTERS OF ALBION

VIDENIYA DSHCHEREJ ALXBIONA Poema nagravirovana v 1793 g., sohranilas' v 17 ekzemplyarah (odin - v svyazke s "Knigoj Tel'"). Zaglavie na titul'nom liste: "Visions of the Daughters of Albion. The Eye sees more than the Heart knows. Printed by Willm Blake. 1793." Poema tematicheski svyazana s "Knigoj Tel'": esli Tel' obitaet v carstve Nevedeniya, to Utuna (predpolagaetsya, chto ej byla posvyashchena nesohranivshayasya otdel'naya poema Blejka) okazyvaetsya uzhe v carstve Poznaniya, i poemu v celom mozhno rassmatrivat' kak rezkuyu kritiku principov, na kotoryh osnovyvalis' v anglijskom obshchestve toj pory semejnye otnosheniya. Blejk obrushivaetsya i na takie yavleniya sovremennoj emu dejstvitel'nosti, kak rabotorgovlya, ekspluataciya detskogo truda, politicheskaya tiraniya, religioznaya neterpimost', - vse eto dlya nego Rabstvo, protivostoyashchee Svobode. Syuzhet poemy nezatejliv: Utuna (doch' Losa i |nitarmon, yavlyayushchejsya zhenskim nachalom Vechnogo proroka) lyubit Teotormona (on poyavlyaetsya i v drugih blejkovskih proizvedeniyah - inogda kak odin iz synovej Losa, olicetvoryaya ostorozhnost', samokontrol' hudozhnika, inogda kak personazh gamletovskogo tipa), odnako podvergaetsya nasiliyu so storony Bromiona (ot grech. βρόμιος - "rev"; zd. simvol gruboj, bezduhovnoj sily; v drugih "prorocheskih knigah" - odin iz synovej Losa). |to ne pokolebalo chuvstva Utony k Teotormonu, odnako ona ne vstrechaet otvetnogo chuvstva. Leutha - Leuta, doch' Losa i |nitarmon, emanaciya Bromiona, nadelennaya chertami, s obydennoj tochki zreniya, govoryashchimi o grehovnosti Stamp'd with my signet - t. e. klejmenaya napodobie rabov Theotormon's Eagles - otgolosok mifa o Prometee, prikovannom k skale; poslannyj Zevsom orel priletal klevat' ego pechen' The Father of Jealousy - Urizen one Law for both the lion and the ox? - sr. zaklyuchitel'nye stroki "Brakosochetanie Raya i Ada"

    THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

FRANCUZSKAYA REVOLYUCIYA Sohranilas' v vide granok nesostoyavshegosya izdaniya. Na titul'nom liste nabrano: "The French Revolution. A Poem in Seven Books. Book the First. London. Printed for J. Johnson. N 72. St. Paul's Church-yard, MDCCXCI." V preduvedomlenii izdatelya govorilos', chto "ostal'nye chasti proizvedeniya zaversheny i budut napechatany v sootvetstvuyushchem poryadke", odnako napisal li Blejk drugie glavy, pomimo pervoj, ostaetsya neizvestnym. Syuzhet poemy opredelyaetsya vydayushchimsya sobytiem - padeniem Bastilii 14 iyulya 1789 g. V poeme otrazilas' hronika revolyucionnogo 1789 g. vo Francii, hotya, konechno, mnogoe izmeneno i dopolneno voobrazheniem Blejka. Stih - svobodnyj semistopnyj anapest - primenen Blejkom tol'ko v etoj poeme. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. the Prince - Lyudovik XVI (1754-1793) Necker - ZHak Nekker (1732-1804), shvejcarec, ministr finansov pri Lyudovike XVI v 1777-1781 i 1788-1790 gg. Sochuvstvoval oppozicii. Sygral znachitel'nuyu rol' v podgotovke General'nyh SHtatov 1789 g. ...five thousand years -Dohristianskoe pover'e, sohranivsheesya sredi sektantov, utverzhdalo, chto mir byl sotvoren v 4004 g. do n. e. i prosushchestvuet rovno 6000 let. Takim obrazom, v 1804 g. dolzhen byl proizojti Strashnyj sud. Krome togo, po mysli Blejka, na zemle pyat' tysyacheletij gospodstvovala monarhiya, kotoruyu teper' smenyaet respublika. Forty men - imeetsya v vidu Korolevskij sovet the Commons - Blejk nazyvaet tak predstavitelej tret'ego sosloviya, sobiravshihsya v mae i iyune 1789 g. v Versale in the Louvre - na samom dele storonniki korolya sobiralis' ne v Luvre, a v Versale Hide from the living - sr. Otkrovenie Ioanna Bogoslova, 6, 15-16 Duke of Burgundy - v dejstvitel'nosti poslednij gercog Burgundskij umer v 1714 g. Atlantic mountains = Atlantean Hills, sm. komment. k "Amerike" starry hosts - sm. komment. na s. 535 Fayette - Lafajet (sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Dveri nastezh', parizhskie bordeli!"). V dejstvitel'nosti Lafajet komandoval gvardiej s 15 iyulya 1789 g. Necker... leave the kingdom - Nekker kak liberal byl otstranen korolem ot dolzhnosti 11 iyulya 1789 g. the Archbishop - sr. Iov, 4, 17: "CHelovek pravednee li Boga? i muzh chishche li Tvorca svoego?" Aumont - Gercog Omon (1723-1799) otkazalsya ot komandovaniya gvardiej nakanune 14 iyulya Abbe de Sieyes - abbat |mannyuel' ZHozef Sijes (1748-1836), odin iz deyatelej Velikoj francuzskoj revolyucii, kotorogo Blejk nazyval "golosom naroda" King Henry the Fourth - Genrih IV (1553-1610), francuzskij korol', pol'zovavshijsya lyubov'yu poddanyh; Blejk sravnivaet ego s abbatom Sijesom Bourbon ... Duke of Bretagne... Earl of Bourgogne - vymyshlennye personazhi. Orleans - Gercog Orleanskij (1747-1793) zavoeval populyarnost' pozhertvovaniyami v golodnye gody. SHturmuyushchie Bastiliyu nesli v svoih kolonnah skul'pturnye izobrazheniya gercoga, a takzhe Nekkera. instead of words harsh hissings - sm. "Poteryannyj Raj", X, 517-519 Mirabeau ... Target ... Bailly ... Clermont - lidery politicheskih gruppirovok v Uchreditel'nom sobranii: Onore Gabriel' Riketi Mirabo (1749-1791), mer Parizha ZHan Sil'ven Baji (1736-1793), graf Stanislav de Klermon-Taner (1757-1792) i, vidimo, ZHak Gijom Ture (1746-1794) ...Great Henry's soul - imeetsya v vidu Genrih IV (sm. vyshe) ...nor a soldier be seen - v dejstvitel'nosti s trebovaniem raspustit' korolevskuyu gvardiyu vystupil ne Sijes, a Mirabo (8 iyulya 1789 g.) black southern Prison - vidimo, Sen-ZHermenskoe abbatstvo, sluzhivshee tyur'moj; bylo vzyato shturmom 29 iyunya, pri etom osvobozhdeny 11 uznikov the General of the Nation - Lafajet; sm. komment. k stihotvoreniyu "Dveri nastezh', parizhskie bordeli!" ...ten miles from Paris - vymyshlennyj epizod

    AMERICA

AMERIKA Poema otpechatana Blejkom v 1793 g., sohranilos' 15 ekzemplyarov. Na titul'nom liste znachitsya: "America. A Prophecy. Lambeth. Printed by William Blake in the year 1793." Poema soderzhit upominaniya o vazhnejshih sobytiyah amerikanskoj revolyucii i Vojny za nezavisimost' 1775-1783 gg., istolkovannyh mifologicheski. Bor'ba Angela Al'biona i Orka - gneta i vol'nosti - stanet odnim iz postoyannyh "syuzhetov" v "prorocheskih knigah" Blejka. Ork, poyavlyayushchijsya iz tolshchi vod Atlantiki, brosaet vyzov Angelu Al'biona, prizyvaya k osvobozhdeniyu chelovechestva. Nachavsheesya vosstanie trinadcati kolonij Novogo Sveta Angel Al'biona pytaetsya podavit', nasylaya chumu, kotoraya, odnako, porazhaet samoe Angliyu. Vmeshatel'stvom Urizena revolyuciya otsrochena na dvenadcat' let, no ee ogon' ne ugas - po istechenii etogo sroka on vspyhnet vnov' vo Francii i ohvatit vsyu Evropu. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. The shadowy Daughter of Urthona - sr. v "Evrope" Shadowy Female: Urtona - sm. komment. na s. 547; doch' Urtony - simvol Prirody posle grehopadeniya. Nasilie Orka nad docher'yu Urtony znamenuet nachalo revolyucionnoj vojny. ...an eagle ... a lion ... a whale ... a serpent - simvoly svobody na znamenah nacional'no-osvoboditel'nyh dvizhenij v Severnoj i YUzhnoj Amerike Washington ... Greene - lidery amerikanskoj revolyucii, ee ideologi i polkovodcy vo vremya Vojny za nezavisimost': Dzhordzh Vashington (1732-1799), Bendzhamin Franklin (17061790), Tomas Pejn (1737-1809), Dzhozef Uorren (1741-1775), Goracio Gejts (17287-1806), Dzhon Henkok (1737-1793), Neteniel Grin (1742-1786). The morning comes... - zdes' i dalee Blejk govorit ob osnovnyh principah amerikanskoj "Deklaracii nezavisimosti", provozglasivshej pravo cheloveka na zhizn', svobodu i schast'e Lion and Wolf - emblemy britanskogo mogushchestva Ore ... serpent-form'd - Ork predstaet simvolom bunta, podobno biblejskomu Satane ili Zmiyu na kanadskom styage Enitharmon - sm. komment. k "Videniyam dshcherej Al'biona" Thirteen Angels - Anglijskie vlastiteli trinadcati kolonij v Novom Svete Atlantean hills = Atlantic mountains - po Blejku, ideal'noe mificheskoe gosudarstvo Atlantida (edinstvo Anglii i Ameriki), kotoroe palo iz-za kolonialistskih ustremlenij Anglii; okean - simvol ih segodnyashnej raz®edinennosti Ariston - Ariston, v istorii Gerodota - spartanskij car', pohitivshij nevestu u druga. V mificheskoj blejkovskoj Atlantide - car' krasoty. Bostons Angel - Boston byl centrom revolyucionno-osvoboditel'nyh idej, vyzrevavshih v koloniyah Bernards house - ser Frensis Bernard, gubernator Massachusetsa v 1760-1769 gg.; epizod vymyshlennyj The Bard of Albion - imeetsya v vidu poet-laureat Uajthed (William Whitehead, 1715-1785), voshvalyavshij britanskuyu kolonial'nuyu politiku Allen ... and Lee - Iten Allen (1738-1789), soldat, geroj Vojny za nezavisimost', i CHarlz Li (1731-1782), general v armii Vashingtona the Pestilence began - Blejk imeet v vidu besporyadki v Bristole i Londone, vyzvannye vojnoj v amerikanskih koloniyah, a takzhe chastye sluchai dezertirstva iz anglijskih vojsk i nachinavshuyusya v te gody dushevnuyu bolezn' korolya Geroga III a wine... the tender grape - sr. Pesn' Pesnej, 2,13 twelve years - s 1777 g. (razgar revolyucii v Amerike) po 1789 g. (vzyatie Bastilii) the five gates - pyat' organov chuvstv

    EUROPE

EVROPA Poema otpechatana v 1794 g., sohranilas' v 12 ekzemplyarah. Na titul'nom liste: "Europe. A Prophecy. Lambeth. Printed by Willm Blake, 1794." "Evropa" tematicheski svyazana s "Amerikoj". Izobrazhennyj v poeme son |nitarmon (sm. komment. k "Videniyam dshcherej Al'biona") povestvuet o vosemnadcati vekah rabstva ot Rozhdestva Hristova do Francuzskoj revolyucii. Vopreki usiliyam Anglii otsrochit' rassvet, on nachalsya so vzyatiem Bastilii. Perevod V. Toporova publikuetsya vpervye. Five windows - pyat' chuvstv The nameless Shadowy Female - Priroda, kotoraya v posleduyushchem monologe setuet na to, chto ee sily tratyatsya vpustuyu: sozdavaya zhizn', ona ne mozhet ee osvobodit' dlya duhovnogo velichiya. Sm. takzhe komment. k "Amerike". Los, possessor of the Moon -: Obychno u Blejka Los vystupaet bogom Solnca, |nitarmon - boginej Luny Urthona - sm. komment. k "Brakosochetaniyu Raya i Ada" Arise, O Ore - Ork za neposlushanie roditel'skoj vole prikovan, podobno Prometeyu, k skale v peshchere That Woman ... may have dominion - |nitarmon mechtaet o vlasti cerkvi, tesnyashchej duh istinnogo hristianstva. Cerkov' associiruetsya s kul'tom devstvennosti i podavleniem svobodnogo |rosa. Rintrah - sm. komment. k "Brakosochetaniyu Raya i Ada" Palamabron - Palamabron, syn Losa i |nitarmon, simvol hudozhnika, sostradayushchego chelovechestvu Elynittria - doch' Losa i |nitarmon, emanaciya Palamabrona (sm. vyshe) Ocalythron - doch' Losa i |nitarmon, emanaciya Rintry (sm. vyshe) the council-house - parlament his ancient temple, serpent-form'd ... Verulam - rech' idet o druidicheskoj religii drevnih brittov ...deluge - biblejskij potop pod perom Blejka priobretaet osobyj smysl, simvoliziruya krah istinnoj very pod natiskom materializma God a tyrant crown'd - soglasno interpretacii Blejka, druidicheskaya religiya znamenovala tu zhe ogranichennost' i prevratnost' verovanij, chto i racionalizm XVIII v. Stone of Night ... attractive North - Sever u Blejka znamenuet holodnuyu racional'nost', YUg - teplo i lyubov' Palamabron shot ... / And Rintrah hung - soglasno novejshim tolkovaniyam, synov'ya Losa zdes' upodobleny Uil'yamu Pittumladshemu (1759-1806) i |dmundu Berku (1729-1797), politicheskim lideram Anglii toj pory A mighty Spirit ... / Nam'd Newton - sm. komment. k stiham iz "Ostrova na Lune" Ethinthus - |tinta, doch' Losa i |nitarmon, boginya Luny Manatha-Varcyon - suprug |tinty Leutha - sm. komment. k "Videniyam dshcherej Al'biona" Antamon - Antamon, syn Losa i |nitarmon, simvol romanticheskih ustremlenij yunosti Oothoon - sm. komment. k "Videniyam dshcherej Al'biona" Theotormon - sm. komment. k "Videniyam dshcherej Al'biona" Sotha - Sota, syn Losa i |nitarmon, olicetvorenie |rosa, inogda - bog vojny Thiralatha - emanaciya Soty Then Los arose - zd. Los vystupaet v svoej obychnoj funkcii Vechnogo proroka i boga Solnca

    FROM "MILTON"

IZ PO|MY "MILXTON" Poema otpechatana v 1809 g. (nachata v 1804 g.); sohranilos' 4 ekzemplyara. Na titul'nom liste znachitsya: "Milton. A Poem in two books. The Author and Painter William Blake, 1804. To Justify the Ways of God to Men." "Mil'ton" yavlyaetsya naibolee slozhnoj po simvolike "prorocheskoj knigoj" Blejka. S. Marshakom perevedena stihotvornaya chast' vstupleniya k poeme, stavshaya v XIX v. narodnoj pesnej, chasto ispolnyavshejsya na rabochih mitingah, a takzhe fragment iz vtoroj chasti (s vypuskom odnoj stroki, tak chto obrazuyutsya kak by dva samostoyatel'nyh stihotvoreniya). V celom "Mil'ton" predstavlyaet soboj apofeoz bor'by Blejka s mehanisticheskim, "urizenovskim" miroponimaniem. Mil'ton prizvan sbrosit' "urizenovo yarmo" i osvobodit' Al'bion. Po Blejku, on terpit porazhenie v etoj bor'be ne tol'ko iz-za neravenstva sil, no i potomu, chto sam Mil'ton ostaetsya v plenu lozhnogo, cerkovno-teologicheskogo soznaniya. Jerusalem - sm. predislovie, s. 21 Og & Anak - v Biblii - giganty, poverzhennye Izrailem, u Blejka - simvol mnimoj moshchi i ugrozy A. Zverev

    DATY ZHIZNI I TVORCHESTVA BLEJKA

1757, 28 noyabrya - V sem'e Dzhejmsa i Ketrin Blejkov rodilsya syn Uil'yam. 1767 - Nachinaet poseshchat' shkolu risovaniya na Strende. 1771 - Stanovitsya uchenikom gravera Dzhejmsa Bezajra. 1776-1777 - Zavershena kniga "Poeticheskie nabroski", 1779 - Nachalo professional'noj raboty v kachestve gravera u Dzhozefa Dzhonsona i drugih izdatelej i knigotorgovcev. 1780 - Znakomstvo s graverom Genri Fyuzeli, stavshim odnim iz blizhajshih druzej Blejka. Neskol'ko risunkov vystavleno v Korolevskoj akademii. 1782 - ZHenit'ba na docheri zelenshchika Ketrin Sofii Vaucher. Znakomstvo s hudozhnikom Dzhonom Flaksmenom, kotoryj vvodit Blejka v salon Genri Met'yu. 1783 - Napechatan sbornik "Poeticheskie nabroski". 1784 - Sovmestno s graverom Dzhejmsom Parkerom otkryvaet sobstvennuyu pechatnyu na Broud-strit. Tri goda spustya pechatnya prodana iz-za ugrozy bankrotstva. Napisan "Ostrov na Lune", predstavlyayushchij soboj satiru na G. Met'yu i posetitelej ego salona. 1788-1789 - Pervye izdaniya, nagravirovannye sposobom "illyuminovannoj pechati" (aforizmy o "estestvennoj religii", soderzhashchie kratkoe izlozhenie osnovnyh idej Blejka). CHtenie Svedenborga ("Mudrost' angelov"). Napisana samaya rannyaya iz "prorocheskih knig" "Tiriel'". 1789 - "Kniga Tel'". "Pesni Nevedeniya". Pervye stihotvoreniya tak naz. "Manuskripta Rossetti". 1790 - "Brakosochetanie Raya i Ada". 1791 - "Francuzskaya revolyuciya". Rukopis' nabrana v tipografii Dzh. Dzhonsona i rassypana vvidu gonenij na vol'nodumcev i druzej revolyucionnoj Francii. "Videniya dshcherej Al'biona". "Amerika". Znakomstvo s Tomasom Battsom, ministerskim chinovnikom, okazyvavshim Blejku podderzhku i material'nuyu pomoshch' do konca ego zhizni. 1794 - "Pesni Poznaniya". "Evropa". "Pervaya kniga Urizena". 1795 - "Kniga Losa". "Kniga Ahanii". 1796 - Illyustracii k "Nochnym myslyam" |duarda YUnga. 1797-1799 - Iz-za otsutstviya novyh zakazov Blejk okazyvaetsya na krayu nishchety. 1800-1803 - Znakomstvo s Uil'yamom Hejli, prebyvanie v Felpheme (Susseks). 1803, sentyabr' - Vozvrashchenie v London. 1805 - Illyustracii k poeme "Mogila" |. Blera. Izdatel' R. X. Kromek priobretaet ih za nichtozhno maluyu cenu. 1807-1808 - Illyustracii k "Poteryannomu Rayu" Dzhona Mil'tona. 1808-1809 - Nagravirovan "Mil'ton" ("prorocheskaya kniga", nachataya primerno v 1804 g.). 1809, maj-sentyabr' - Vystavka rabot Blejka v galanterejnoj lavke ego brata Dzhejmsa. 1810 - Illyustracii k "Kenterberijskim rasskazam" Dzhefri CHosera. 1811-1817 - Tak naz. "temnyj period" biografii Blejka, otnositel'no kotorogo pochti ne sohranilos' faktov i svidetel'stv. 1818 - Znakomstvo s Dzhonom Linnelom i molodymi hudozhnikami ego kruga, preklonyavshimisya pered Blejkom. 1820 - Nagravirovan "Ierusalim" ("prorocheskaya kniga", nachataya primerno v 1804 g.). 1821 - Po zakazu T. Battsa vypolneny illyustracii k "Knige Iova" (akvareli). 1822 - Pooshchritel'naya premiya Korolevskoj akademii (25 funtov sterlingov). 1825 - Nagravirovany illyustracii k "Knige Iova" (otpechatany v marte 1826 g.). 1825-1826 - Po zakazu Dzh. Linnela vypolneny illyustracii k "Bozhestvennoj komedii" Dante. 1827, 12 avgusta - Smert' Uil'yama Blejka. Ketrin Blejk umerla 18 oktyabrya 1831 g.

Last-modified: Sat, 10 Aug 2013 18:36:48 GMT