– 37-

НА МОТИВ «ПРОЩАНИЯ СЛАВЯНКИ»

(По В. Лазареву)Наступает минута прощания.Покидая отеческий край,Весь в слезах я шепчу: «До свидания!»,Про себя повторяя: «Прощай!»На чужбину меня провожая,Провожая меня в целый мир,Собралася толпа небольшаяТех, кого я тогда зафрендил.Элизиум, прощай,Меня не забывай,Прощай, АСП!Прости-прощай! Прости-прощай!Летят-летят года,Но песня со мною всегда!И так прекрасноВ лазури яснойГорит-горит одна звезда!В лазури ясной,МноготиражнойГорит-горит одна звезда!Отечество, прощай,Меня воспоминай,Прощай, ГРД!Прости-прощай! Прости-прощай!Никогда не предам я злословию,Никогда, ни за что не предам,Присягнувши такому сословию,Присягнувши таким вот френдам!И —Рам-пам-пам-пам,Рам-па-па-ру-рам!

– XXXVIII-

The winds out of the west land blow,My friends have breathed them there;Warm with the blood of lads I knowComes east the sighing air.It fanned their temples, filled their lungs,Scattered their forelocks free;My friends made words of it with tonguesThat talk no more to me.Their voices, dying as they fly,Thick on the wind are sown;The names of men blow soundless by,My fellows' and my own.Oh lads, at home I heard you plain,But here your speech is still,And down the sighing wind in vainYou hollo from the hill.The wind and I, we both were there,But neither long abode;Now through the friendless world we fareAnd sigh upon the road.

– 38-

ГЕТЕРОСЕКСУАЛЬНАЯ АПРОПРИАЦИЯ

The winds out of the west land blow,My girl has breathed them there;Warm with the blood of girl I know,Comes east the sighing air.It fanned her temples, filled her lungs,Scattered her forelock free;My girl made words of it with tongueThat talks no more to me.Her sweet voice, dying as it flies,Thick on the wind is sown;The name of man blows soundless by,My rival's, not my own.Oh yesterday I heard you plain,But now your speech is still,And down the sighing wind in vainI hollo from the hill.The wind and I, we both were there,But neither long abode;Now through the friendless world we fareAnd sigh upon the road.

– XXXIX-

'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock townThe golden broom should blow;The hawthorn sprinkled up and downShould charge the land with snow.Spring will not wait the loiterer's timeWho keeps so long away;So others wear the broom and climbThe hedgerows heaped with may.Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,Gold that I never see;Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedgeThat will not shower on me.

– 39-

… Осенней улицей пройдя,Свернем в осенний лес.Как странно столько лет спустяМне оказаться здесь.Вот тут она шепнула: «Да!»,Вон там сказала: «Нет!»,А здесь вот я стоял тогдаИ нес блаженный бред…Так я пройду тропинкой сейКогда-нибудь потом,Без элегических затей,Конкретным старичком.

– XL-

Into my heart an air that killsFrom yon far country blows:What are those blue remembered hills,What spires, what farms are those?That is the land of lost content,I see it shining plain,The happy highways where I wentAnd cannot come again.

– 40-

Издалека пахнуло тем,Что гибелью грозит:Где ж эти вешние холмы,Где ж та листва шумит?Ах, это край, где вечно май,Где вечно мы, дружок,Сидим на склоне, расстеливВ длину мой пиджачок.

– XLI-

In my own shire, if I was sad,Homely comforters I had:The earth, because my heart was sore,Sorrowed for the son she bore;And standing hills, long to remain,Shared their short-lived comrade's pain.And bound for the same bourn as I,On every road I wandered by,Trod beside me, close and dear,The beautiful and death-struck year:Whether in the woodland brownI heard the beechnut rustle down,And saw the purple crocus paleFlower about the autumn dale;Or littering far the fields of MayLady-smocks a-bleaching lay,And like a skylit water stoodThe bluebells in the azured wood.Yonder, lightening other loads,The seasons range the country roads,But here in London streets I kenNo such helpmates, only men;And these are not in plight to bear,If they would, another's care.They have enough as 'tis: I seeIn many an eye that measures meThe mortal sickness of a mindToo unhappy to be kind.Undone with misery, all they canIs to hate their fellow man;And till they drop they needs must stillLook at you and wish you ill.