Автодидактика
Шрифт:
In Xanadu did Kubia Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman waiting for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail":
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubia heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Конечно,
A 1'horizon monte une nue,
Sculptant sa forme dans 1'azur:
On dirait une vierge nue
Emergeant d'un lac au flot pur.
Debout dans sa conque nacree,
Elle vogue sur le bleu clair,
Comme une Aphrodite etheree,
Faite de 1'ecume de 1'air;
On voit onder en molles poses
Son torse au contour incertain,
Et 1'aurore repand des roses
Sur son epaule de satin.
Ses blancheurs de marbre et de neige
Se fondent amoureusement
Comme, au clair-obscur du Correge,
Le corps d'Antiope dormant.
Elle plane dans la lumiere
Plus haut que 1'Alpe ou 1'Apennin;
Reflet de la beaute premiere,
Soeur de "1'eternel feminin".
A son corps, en vain retenue,
Sur 1'aile de la passion,
Mon ame vole a cette nue
Et 1'embrasse comme Ixion.
La raison dit: "Vague fumee,
Ou 1'on croit voir ce qu'on reva,
Ombre au gre du vent deformee,
Bulle qui creve et qui s'en va!"
Le sentiment repond: "Qu'importe!
Qu'est-ce apres tout que la beaute?
Spectre charmant qu'un souffle emporte
Et qui n'est rien, ayant ete!
"A 1'Ideal ouvre ton ame;
Mets dans ton coeur beaucoup de ciel,
Aime une nue, aime une femme,
Mais aime!
– C'est 1'essentiel!"
Последняя строфа:
"Открой идеалу твою душу,
Но положи в сердце много небес,
Полюби обнаженную, полюби женщину,
Но полюби!
– Вот, что существенно!",
"C'est 1'essentiel!"
А теперь давайте, не делая перерыва, тут же моментально переключимся на немецкий настрой: "Dresden". Heinrich Heine -Генрих Гейне, "Buch der Lieder" - "Книга песен".
Es war mal ein Ritter, trubselig und stumm,
Mit hohlen, schneeweiBen Wangen;
Er schwankte und schlenderte schlotternd herum,
In dumpfen Traumen befangen.
Er war so holzern, so tappisch, so links,
Die Blumlein und Magdiein die kicherten rings,
Wenn er stolpernd vorbeigegangen.
Oft saB er im finstersten Winkel zu Haus;
Er hatt sich vor Menschen verkrochen.
Da streckte er sehnend die Arme aus,
Doch hat er kein Wortlein gesprochen.
Kam aber die Mitternachtsstunde heran,
Ein seltsames Singen und Klingen begann
An die Ture da hurt er es pochen.
Da kommt seine Liebste geschlichen herein,
Im rauschenden Wellenschaumkleide
Sie bluht und gluht, wie ein Roselein,
Ihr Schleier ist eitel Geschmeide.