Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Naturalist of mind! Thy bark sailed far,

A voyage of discovery o’er the waste

Of Life’s wide sea; and not to be deceived

By its bright surface, and its dancing waves

Smiling in sunshine, thou didst dive beneath

Searching its hidden caves, and see

Innumerable creeping things, that dwelt

From others’ sight concealed, and with the line

Which Reason gave thee, didst attempt to sound

Immeasurable depths, examine all

The rocky grottos where the Genii sleep,

And gathering thence a tuneful shell, did’st pour

A melancholy blast, that strangely jarr’d

With the light music of the Gondolier.

In fancied safety, sailing o’er the flood,

Many have chanted ocean’s loveliness,

Drawn fairy castles on her waves, whose swell

Prolonged the colonnade of wreathed shafts,

And tinged them with a deeper hue. Fair spell!

How many a wand’rer hath been lured by it,

Watching the changes wrought, and hath forgot

Morgana’s sumptuous hall was not his home.

Not such thy flatt’ring picture; — thou didst fling

The slime upon the surface, troubling all

The sea-nymph’s palace; but thou didst not show

Where the lone voyager might rest in peace

The stormy hours of night. Thou brought’st some spoils

From ocean’s tesselated pavement-wrecks

Of human happiness, Affection’s freight,

Her gold and ivory from the barren rocks,

With spicy treasures which no price could pay;

And with them specimens of coral broke

From the hard reefs, on which thy bark had struck.

Some child of waters, some fair lotus-wreath

Thy hand hath gather’d as it floated by;

And passing melody of mermaid’s song

Thine ear hath caught; but from the foam arising

Thy tale was of the whirlpool and the brine,

The bitterness of waters that had whelm’d thy soul.

Poor mariner! thou didst o’erlook the chief

Of all the wonders of the deep. Hadst thou

In that vast search, ransacking all her caverns, —

Hadst thou but seen the Pearl of price that shone

Pure, midst those turbid waters, thou hadst sung

A joyous strain, and with a worthier freight

Than seaweed torn from sunken rocks, hadst steer’d

In safety for “The Islands of the Blest”.

Not as thy records tell: they only prove

Ocean for thee had gulfs, but held no Gem.