Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Happy the Man, who void of Cares and Strife,

In Silken or in Leathern Purse retains

A splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain

New Oysters cry’d, nor sighs for cheerful Ale;

But with his Friends, when nightly Mists arise,

To Juniper’s, or Magpye, or Town-Hall repairs:

Where mindful of the Nymph, whose wanton Eye

Transfix’d his Soul, and kindled Amorous Flames,

Chloe or Phillis; he each Circling Glass

Wisheth her Health, and Joy, and equal Love.

Mean while he Smoaks, and Laughs at merry Tale,

Or Pun ambiguous, or Conundrum quaint.

But I whom griping Penury surrounds,

And Hunger, sure Attendant upon Want,

With scanty Offals, and small acid Tiff

(Wretched Repast) my meager Corps sustain:

Then Solitary walk, or doze at home

In Garret vile, and with a warming puff

Regale chill’d Fingers, or from Tube as black

As Winter’s Chimney, or well-polish’d Jett,

Exhale Mundungus, ill-perfuming Smoak.

Not blacker Tube, nor of a shorter Size

Smoaks Cambro-Britain (vers’d in Pedigree,

Sprung from Cadwalader and Arthur, ancient Kings,

Full famous in Romantick tale) when he

O’re many a craggy Hill, and fruitless Cliff,

Upon a Cargo of fam’d Cestrian Cheese,

High over-shadowing rides, with a design

To vend his Wares, or at the Arvonian Mart,

Or Maridunum, or the ancient Town

Hight Morgannumia, or where Vaga’s Stream

Encircles Ariconium, fruitful Soil,

Whence flow Nectareous Wines, that well may vye

With Massic, Setian, or Renown’d Falern.

Thus while my joyless Hours I lingring spend,

With Looks demure, and silent pace a Dunn,

Horrible Monster! hated by Gods and Men,

To my aerial Citadel ascends;

With Vocal Heel thrice Thund’ring at my Gates,

With hideous Accent thrice he calls; I know

The Voice ill boding, and the solemn Sound;

What shou’d I do, or whither turn? amaz’d,

Confounded, to the dark Recess I fly

Of Woodhole; straight my bristling Hairs erect,

My Tongue forgets her Faculty of Speech,

So horrible he seems; his faded Brow

Entrench’d with many a Frown, and conic Beard,

And spreading Band admir’d by Modern Saint

Disastrous Acts forebode; in his Right hand

Long Scrolls of Paper solemnly he waves,

With Characters and Figures dire inscribed

Grievous to mortal Eye, (ye Gods avert

Such plagues from righteous men) behind him stalks

Another Monster, not unlike himself,

Of Aspect sullen, by the Vulgar called

A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the Gods

With Force incredible, and Magic Charms

Erst have indu’d, if he his ample Palm

Should haply on ill-fated Shoulder lay

Of Debtor, straight his Body to the touch

Obsequious (as Whilom Knights were wont)

To some enchanted Castle is convey’d,

Where Gates impregnable, and coercive Charms

In durance vile detain him, till in form

Of Money, Pallas set the Captive free.

Beware, ye Debtors, when ye walk, beware,

Be circumspect; oft with insidious Ken,

This Caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft

Lies perdue in a Creek or gloomy Cave,

Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch

With his unhallow’d Touch. So (Poets sing)

Grimalkin to Domestick Vermin sworn

An everlasting Foe, with watchful eye,

Lyes nightly brooding ore a chinky gap,

Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless Mice

Sure Ruin. So her disembowell’d Web

The Spider in a Hall or Kitchin spreads,

Obvious to vagrant Flies: she secret stands

Within her woven Cell; the Humming Prey

Regardless of their Fate, rush on the toils

Inextricable, nor will ought avail

Their Arts nor Arms, nor Shapes of lovely Hue,

The Wasp insidious, and the buzzing Drone,

And Butterfly proud of expanded wings

Distinct with Gold, entangled in her Snares,

Useless resistance make: with eager strides,

She tow’ring flies to her expected Spoils;

Then with envenom’d Jaws the vital Blood

Drinks of reluctant Foes, and to her Cave

Their bulky Carcasses triumphant drags.

So pass my days. But when Nocturnal Shades

This World invelop, and th’ inclement Air

Perswades Men to repel benumbing Frosts,

With pleasant Wines, and crackling blaze of Wood;

Me lonely sitting, nor the glimmering Light

Of make-weight Candle, nor the joyous talk

Of lovely friend delights; distress’d, forlorn,

Amidst the horrors of the tedious night,

Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal Thoughts

My anxious Mind; or sometimes mournful Verse

Indite, and sing of Groves and Myrtle Shades,

Or desperate Lady near a purling stream,

Or Lover pendent on a Willow-tree:

Mean while I labour with eternal drought,

And restless wish, in vain, my parched Throat

Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose:

But if a Slumber haply do’s invade

My weary Limbs, my Fancy still awake,

Longing for Drink, and eager in my Dream,

Tipples Imaginary Pots of Ale.

Awake, I find the setled Thirst—

Still gnawing, and the pleasant Phantom curse.

Thus do I live from Pleasure quite debarr’d,

Nor tast the Fruits that the Sun’s genial Rays

Mature, John-apple nor the Downy Peach,

Nor Walnut in rough-furrow’d Coat secure,

Nor Medlar Fruit delicious in decay;

Afflictions great, yet greater still remain,

My Galligaskins that have long withstood

The Winter’s Fury, and encroaching Frosts,

By time subdu’d, (what will not time subdue!)

A horrid Chasm disclose, with Orifice

Wide discontinuous; at which the Winds

Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force

Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian Waves,

Tumultuous enter with dire chilling Blasts,

Portending Agues. Thus a well-fraught Ship

Long sail’d secure, or through a Egean Deep,

Or the Ionian, till Crusing near

The Lilybean Shoar, with hideous Crush

On Scylla or Charibdis dangerous Rocks

She strikes rebounding, whence the shatter’d Oak,

So fierce a Shock unable to withstand,

Admits the Sea, in at the gaping Side,

The crouding Waves gush with impetuous Rage

Resistless overwhelming; Horrors seize

The Mariners, Death in their eyes appears,

They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray:

Vain Efforts, still the battering Waves rush in

Implacable, till delug’d by the foam,

The Ship sinks found’ring in the vast Abyss.