Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах - Антология

то ведь можно жизнь прожить свою,

Не ведая понятия «душа».

Далеко от мирских сует она,

Но от нее зависима судьба.

Могучи мы, когда она сильна,

Бессильны мы, когда она слаба.

Перевод А. Сендыка

George MacDonald (1824–1905)

Legend Of The Corrievrechan

Prince Breacan of Denmark was lord of the strand

And lord of the billowy sea;

Lord of the sea and lord of the land,

He might have let maidens be!

A maiden he met with locks of gold,

Straying beside the sea:

Maidens listened in days of old,

And repented grievously.

Wiser he left her in evil wiles,

Went sailing over the sea;

Came to the lord of the Western Isles:

Give me thy daughter, said he.

The lord of the Isles he laughed, and said:

Only a king of the sea

May think the Maid of the Isles to wed,

And such, men call not thee!

Hold thine own three nights and days

In yon whirlpool of the sea,

Or turn thy prow and go thy ways

And let the isle-maiden be.

Prince Breacan he turned his dragon prow

To Denmark over the sea:

Wise women, he said, now tell me how

In yon whirlpool to anchor me.

Make a cable of hemp and a cable of wool

And a cable of maidens’ hair,

And hie thee back to the roaring pool

And anchor in safety there.

The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,

Will forge three anchors rare;

The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool,

And the maidens will bring their hair.

Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand,

Of the hair that is raven another;

Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band

To bind the one to the other!

The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,

They forged three anchors rare;

The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool,

And the maidens brought their hair.

He twisted the brown hair for one strand,

The raven hair for another;

He twined the golden hair in a band

To bind the one to the other.

He took the cables of hemp and wool.

He took the cable of hair,

He hied him back to the roaring pool,

He cast the three anchors there.

The whirlpool roared, and the day went by,

And night came down on the sea;

But or ever the morning broke the sky

The hemp was broken in three.

The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran,

The wind it fiercely blew;

And or ever the second morning began

The wool it parted in two.

The storm it roared all day the third,

The whirlpool wallowed about,

The night came down like a wild black bird,

But the cable of hair held out.

Round and round with a giddy swing

Went the sea-king through the dark;

Round went the rope in the swivel-ring,

Round reeled the straining bark.

Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow,

A lantern in his hand:

Blest be the maidens of Denmark now,

By them shall Denmark stand!

He watched the rope through the tempest black

A lantern in his hold:

Out, out, alack! one strand will crack!

It is the strand of gold!

The third morn clear and calm came out:

No anchored ship was there!

The golden strand in the cable stout

Was not all of maidens’ hair.

The Dead Hand

The witch lady walked along the strand,

Heard a roaring of the sea,

On the edge of a pool saw a dead man’s hand,

Good thing for a witch lady!

Lightly she stepped across the rocks,

Came where the dead man lay:

Now pretty maid with your merry mocks,

Now I shall have my way!

On a finger shone a sapphire blue

In the heart of six rubies red:

Come back to me, my promise true,

Come back, my ring, she said.

She took the dead hand in the live,

And at the ring drew she;

The dead hand closed its fingers five,

And it held the witch lady.

She swore the storm was not her deed,

Dark spells she backward spoke;

If the dead man heard he took no heed,

But held like a cloven oak.

Deathly cold, crept up the tide,

Sure of her, made no haste;

Crept up to her knees, crept up each side,

Crept up to her wicked waist.

Over the blue sea sailed the bride

In her love’s own sailing ship,

And the witch she saw them across the tide

As it rose to her lying lip.

Oh, the heart of the dead and the hand of the dead

Are strong hasps they to hold!

Fled the true dove with the