Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

The naked earth is warm with Spring,

And with green grass and bursting trees

Leans to the sun’s gaze glorying,

And quivers in the sunny breeze;

And life is Colour and Warmth and Light,

And a striving evermore for these;

And he is dead who will not fight,

And who dies fighting has increase.

The fighting man shall from the sun

Take warmth, and life from glowing earth;

Speed with the light-foot winds to run

And with the trees to newer birth;

And find, when fighting shall be done,

Great rest, and fulness after dearth.

All the bright company of Heaven

Hold him in their bright comradeship,

The Dog star, and the Sisters Seven,

Orion’s belt and sworded hip:

The woodland trees that stand together,

They stand to him each one a friend;

They gently speak in the windy weather;

They guide to valley and ridges end.

The kestrel hovering by day,

And the little owls that call by night,

Bid him be swift and keen as they,

As keen of ear, as swift of sight.

The blackbird sings to him: “Brother, brother,

If this be the last song you shall sing,

Sing well, for you may not sing another;

Brother, sing”.

In dreary doubtful waiting hours,

Before the brazen frenzy starts,

The horses show him nobler powers; —

O patient eyes, courageous hearts!

And when the burning moment breaks,

And all things else are out of mind,

And only joy of battle takes

Him by the throat and makes him blind,

Through joy and blindness he shall know,

Not caring much to know, that still

Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so

That it be not the Destined Will.

The thundering line of battle stands,

And in the air Death moans and sings;

But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,

And Night shall fold him in soft wings.

God gave the horse for man to ride,

And steel wherewith to fight,

And wine to swell his soul with pride

And women for delight:

But a better gift than these all four

Was when He made the fighting boar.

The horse is filled with spirit rare,

His heart is bold and free;

The bright steel flashes in the air,

And glitters hungrily.

But these were little use before

The Lord He made the fighting boar.

The ruby wine doth banish care,

But it confounds the head;

The fickle fair is light as air,

And makes the heart bleed red;

But wine nor love can tempt us more

When we may hunt the fighting boar.

When Noah’s big monsoon was laid,

The land began to ride again,

And then the first hog-spear was made

By the hands of Tubal Cain;

The sons of Shem and many more

Came out to ride the fighting boar.

Those ancient Jew boys went like stinks,

They knew not reck nor fear,

Old Noah knocked the first two jinks,

And Nimrod got the spear.

And ever since those times of yore

True men do ride the fighting boar.

Fighting in mud, we turn to Thee,

In these dread times of battle, Lord.

To keep us safe, if so may be,

From shrapnel, snipers, shell, and sword.

But not on us, for we are men

Of meaner clay, who fight in clay,

but on the Staff, the Upper Ten,

Depends the issue of the Day.

The staff is working with its brains,

While we are sitting in the trench;

The Staff the universe ordains

(subject to Thee and General French).

God help the staff-especially

The young ones, many of them sprung

From our high aristocracy;

Their task is hard, and they are young.

O Lord, who mad’st all things to be,

And madest some things very good,

Please keep the Extra A.D.C.

From horrid scenes, and sight of blood.

See that his eggs are newly laid,

Not tinged as some of them-with green;

And let no nasty draughts invade

The windows of his Limousine.

When he forgets to buy the bread,

When there are no more minerals,

Preserve his smooth well-oiled head

From wrath of caustic Generals.

O Lord, who mad’st all things to be,

And hatest nothing thou has made,

Please keep the Extra A.D.C

Out of the sun and in the shade.