Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Love in fantastic triumph sat,

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow’d,

For whom fresh pains he did create,

And strange tyrannic power he shew’d;

From thy bright eyes he took his fire,

Which round about in sport he hurl’d;

But ’twas from mine he took desire

Enough to undo the amorous world.

From me he took his sighs and tears,

From thee his pride and cruelty;

From me his languishments and fears,

And every killing dart from thee;

Thus thou and I the God have arm’d,

And set him up a Deity;

But my poor heart alone is harm’d,

Whilst thine the victor is, and free.

A thousand martyrs I have made,

All sacrificed to my desire,

A thousand beauties have betray’d

That languish in resistless fire:

The untamed heart to hand I brought,

And fix’d the wild and wand’ring thought.

I never vow’d nor sigh’d in vain,

But both, tho’ false, were well received;

The fair are pleased to give us pain,

And what they wish is soon believed:

And tho’ I talk’d of wounds and smart,

Love’s pleasures only touch’d my heart.

Alone the glory and the spoil

I always laughing bore away;

The triumphs without pain or toil,

Without the hell the heaven of joy;

And while I thus at random rove

Despise the fools that whine for love.

How strongly does my Passion flow,

Divided equally ’twixt two?

Damon had ne’er subdu’d my Heart,

Had not Alexis took his part;

Nor cou’d Alexis pow’rful prove,

Without my Damons Aid, to gain my Love.

When my Alexis present is,

Then I for Damon sigh and mourn;

But when Alexis I do miss,

Damon gains nothing but my Scorn.

But if it chance that both are by,

For both alike I languish, sigh, and die.

Cure then, thou mighty winged God,

This restless Feaver in my Blood;

One Golden-Pointed Dart take back:

But which, O Cupid, wilt thou take?

If Damons, all my Hopes are crost;

Or that of my Alexis, I am lost.

Amyntas led me to a Grove,

Where all the Trees did shade us;

The Sun itself, though it had Strove,

It could not have betray’d us:

The place secur’d from humane Eyes,

No other fear allows,

But when the Winds that gently rise,

Doe Kiss the yielding Boughs.

Down there we satt upon the Moss,

And did begin to play

A Thousand Amorous Tricks, to pass

The heat of all the day.

A many Kisses he did give:

And I return’d the same

Which made me willing to receive

That which I dare not name.

His Charming Eyes no Aid requir’d

To tell their softning Tale;

On her that was already fir’d,

’Twas Easy to prevaile.

He did but Kiss and Clasp me round,

Whilst those his thoughts Exprest:

And lay’d me gently on the Ground:

Ah who can guess the rest?