Пятиминутка поэзии. Стансы к Огасте
Джордж Гордон Байрон. Продолжим знакомство с его стихами.
Stanzas to Augusta, у нас обычно пишут "Стансы к Августе" - так называются два стихотворения Байрона, оба 1816 года. Я больше люблю первое, начинающееся со строк When all around grew drear and dark.
Огаста - это Огаста Мэри Байрон, в супружестве Огаста Ли, сводная сестра поэта, можете о ней почитать по-английски. Ей посвящены многие стихи Байрона. Брат и сестра, пусть и сводные, любили друг друга, и есть основания полагать, что не платонически. И хватит об этом. Великие, гениальные люди бывают грешны, да не нам их судить, разве только святым праведникам, остальным лучше помалкивать.
Эта грешная любовь породила прекрасные образцы трагической лирика, полной искренней боли и исполненных чистейшего "байронизма":
Yet I blame not the World, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with one;
Байрон имел право так выразиться. Да и за свои грехи он расплатился сполна...
Чтобы послушать, я нашел только второе стихотворение
Кристин Хьюз
Первое
When all around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld her ray -
And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;
In that deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
When dreading to be deemed too kind,
The weak despair - the cold depart;
When fortune changed - and love fled far,
And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,
Thou wert the solitary star
Which rose, and set not to the last.
Oh, blest be thine unbroken light!
That watched me as a seraph's eye,
And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh.
And when the cloud upon us came,
Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray -
Then purer spread its gentle flame,
And dashed the darkness all away.
Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,
And teach it what to brave or brook -
There's more in one soft word of thine
Than in the world's defied rebuke.
Thou stood'st as stands a lovely tree
That, still unbroke though gently bent,
Still waves with fond fidelity
Its boughs above a monument.
The winds might rend, the skies might pour,
But there thou wert - and still wouldst be
Devoted in the stormiest hour
To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.
But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;
For heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind - and thee the most of all.
Then let the ties of baffled love
Be broken - thine will never break;
Thy heart can feel - but will not move;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.
And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found, and still are fixed in thee;-
And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no desert - e'en to me.
Второе
Though the day of my Destiny's over,
And the star of my Fate hath declined,
Thy soft heart refused to discover
The faults which so many could find;
Though thy Soul with my grief was acquainted,
It shrunk not to share it with me,
And the Love which my Spirit hath painted
It never hath found but in Thee.
Then when Nature around me is smiling,
The last smile which answers to mine,
I do not believe it beguiling,
Because it reminds me of thine;
And when winds are at war with the ocean,
As the breasts I believed in with me,
If their billows excite an emotion,
It is that they bear me from Thee.
Though the rock of my last hope is shivered,
And its fragments are sunk in the wave,
Though I feel that my soul is delivered
To Pain --- it shall not be its slave,
There is many a pang to pursue me;
They may crush, but they shall not contemn ---
They may torture, but shall not subdue me ---
'Tis of Thee that I think --- not of them.
Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake,
Thou loved, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slandered, thou never couldst shake, ---
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me,
Nor, mute, that the world might belie.
Yet I blame not the World, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with one;
If my Soul was not fitted to prize it,
'Twas folly not sooner to shun:
And if dearly that error hath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee,
I have found that, whatever it lost me,
It could not deprive me of Thee.
From the wreck of the past, which hath perished,
That much I at least may recall,
It hath taught me that what I most cherished
Deserved to be dearest of all:
In the Desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste thee still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of Thee
Все пятиминутки поэзии
Stanzas to Augusta, у нас обычно пишут "Стансы к Августе" - так называются два стихотворения Байрона, оба 1816 года. Я больше люблю первое, начинающееся со строк When all around grew drear and dark.
Огаста - это Огаста Мэри Байрон, в супружестве Огаста Ли, сводная сестра поэта, можете о ней почитать по-английски. Ей посвящены многие стихи Байрона. Брат и сестра, пусть и сводные, любили друг друга, и есть основания полагать, что не платонически. И хватит об этом. Великие, гениальные люди бывают грешны, да не нам их судить, разве только святым праведникам, остальным лучше помалкивать.
Эта грешная любовь породила прекрасные образцы трагической лирика, полной искренней боли и исполненных чистейшего "байронизма":
Yet I blame not the World, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with one;
Байрон имел право так выразиться. Да и за свои грехи он расплатился сполна...
Чтобы послушать, я нашел только второе стихотворение
Click to viewКристин Хьюз
Первое
When all around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld her ray -
And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;
In that deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
When dreading to be deemed too kind,
The weak despair - the cold depart;
When fortune changed - and love fled far,
And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,
Thou wert the solitary star
Which rose, and set not to the last.
Oh, blest be thine unbroken light!
That watched me as a seraph's eye,
And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh.
And when the cloud upon us came,
Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray -
Then purer spread its gentle flame,
And dashed the darkness all away.
Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,
And teach it what to brave or brook -
There's more in one soft word of thine
Than in the world's defied rebuke.
Thou stood'st as stands a lovely tree
That, still unbroke though gently bent,
Still waves with fond fidelity
Its boughs above a monument.
The winds might rend, the skies might pour,
But there thou wert - and still wouldst be
Devoted in the stormiest hour
To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.
But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;
For heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind - and thee the most of all.
Then let the ties of baffled love
Be broken - thine will never break;
Thy heart can feel - but will not move;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.
And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found, and still are fixed in thee;-
And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no desert - e'en to me.
Второе
Though the day of my Destiny's over,
And the star of my Fate hath declined,
Thy soft heart refused to discover
The faults which so many could find;
Though thy Soul with my grief was acquainted,
It shrunk not to share it with me,
And the Love which my Spirit hath painted
It never hath found but in Thee.
Then when Nature around me is smiling,
The last smile which answers to mine,
I do not believe it beguiling,
Because it reminds me of thine;
And when winds are at war with the ocean,
As the breasts I believed in with me,
If their billows excite an emotion,
It is that they bear me from Thee.
Though the rock of my last hope is shivered,
And its fragments are sunk in the wave,
Though I feel that my soul is delivered
To Pain --- it shall not be its slave,
There is many a pang to pursue me;
They may crush, but they shall not contemn ---
They may torture, but shall not subdue me ---
'Tis of Thee that I think --- not of them.
Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake,
Thou loved, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slandered, thou never couldst shake, ---
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me,
Nor, mute, that the world might belie.
Yet I blame not the World, nor despise it,
Nor the war of the many with one;
If my Soul was not fitted to prize it,
'Twas folly not sooner to shun:
And if dearly that error hath cost me,
And more than I once could foresee,
I have found that, whatever it lost me,
It could not deprive me of Thee.
From the wreck of the past, which hath perished,
That much I at least may recall,
It hath taught me that what I most cherished
Deserved to be dearest of all:
In the Desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste thee still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of Thee
Все пятиминутки поэзии