Поэзия Канады (Люси Мод Монтгомери)
Шрифт:
By night and by day;
Eyes glared at us with serpent hate
Yet sometimes a hush fell, and then we heard naught
Save the wind’s shrill harping far away,
The piping of birds, and the softened calls
Of the merry, distant water-falls;
Then of other scenes we thought
Of valleys beloved in sunny France,
Purple vineyards of song and dance,
Hopes and visions roseate;
Of many a holy festal morn,
And many a dream at vesper bell
But anon the shuddering air was torn
By noises such as the fiends of hell
Might make in holding high holiday!
Once, so bitter the death-storm hailed,
We shrank and quailed.
Daulac sprang out before us then,
Shamed in our fears;
Glorious was his face to see,
The face of one who listens and hears
Voices unearthly, summonings high
Rang his tone like a clarion, ”Men,
See yonder star in the golden sky,
Such a man’s duty is to him,
A beacon that will not flicker nor dim,
Shining through darkness and despair.
Almost the martyr’s crown is yours!
Thinking the price too high to be paid,
Will you leave the sacrifice half made?
I tell you God will answer the prayer
Of the soul that endures!
”Comrades, far in the future I see
A mighty land;
Throned among the nations of earth,
Noble and happy, calm and free;
As a veil were lifted I see her stand,
And out of that future a voice to me
Promises that our names shall shine
On the page of her story with lustre divine
Impelling to visions and deeds of worth.
”Ever thus since the world was begun,
When a man hath given up his life,
Safety and freedom have been won
By the holy power of self-sacrifice;
For the memory of your mother’s kiss
Valiantly stand to the breach again.
Comrades, blench not now from the strife,
Quit you like men!”
Oh, we rushed to meet at our captain’s side
Death as a bride!
All our brave striplings bravely fell.
I, less fortunate, slowly came
Back from that din of shot and yell
Slowly and gaspingly, to know
A harder fate reserved for me
Than that brief, splendid agony.
Through many a bitter pang and throe
My spirit must to-morrow go
To seek my comrades; but I bear
The tidings that our desperate stand
By the Long Sault has saved our land,
And God has answered Daulac’s prayer.
ПЕРЕД
Над гаванью серые тучи,
Рыдание волн и удары походят на стоны и крик,
Пророчат глубины морские набег штормовой из-за скал,
Что в северном небе с востока почти побережий достиг.
Как призраки моря уже поднимается бледный туман,
Ползет, ледяной, мимо мыса к камням затонувшим,
А ветер стенает, как некто заблудший среди островов,
Крушение, горе и скорбь он оттуда приносит на сушу.
Домой поспешают все лодки над отмелью рифа,
Подобно пичугам, летящим в убежище скрыться,
И только привычно над грохотом носятся серые чайки,
В дорогах морских искушенные бурями птицы.
Баркас отплывает с рассветом, любимые наши в команде,
Господь, сохрани их, чтоб буря не застила солнца!
О, женщины, молимся вечером в скорби бессонной
За тех, кто уйдет на заре и, возможно, уже не вернется!
Before Storm
There’s a grayness over the harbor like fear on the face of a woman,
The sob of the waves has a sound akin to a woman’s cry,
And the deeps beyond the bar are moaning with evil presage
Of a storm that will leap from its lair in that dour north-eastern sky.
Slowly the pale mists rise, like ghosts of the sea, in the offing,
Creeping all wan and chilly by headland and sunken reef,
And a wind is wailing and keening like a lost thing ’mid the islands,
Boding of wreck and tempest, plaining of dolor and grief.
Swiftly the boats come homeward, over the grim bar crowding,
Like birds that flee to their shelter in hurry and affright,
Only the wild grey gulls that love the cloud and the clamor
Will dare to tempt the ways of the ravining sea to-night.
But the ship that sailed at the dawning, manned by the lads who love us
God help and pity her when the storm is loosed on her track!
O women, we pray to-night and keep a vigil of sorrow
For those we speed at the dawning and may never welcome back!
У ОСЕННЕГО ОГНЯ
Пронзительный порыв за рамою оконной,
И ветер воет напряженно,
Между ветвей огромных слышны стоны,
Лишь одиночество голодное в природе
Звучит к дождям и жуткой непогоде,
Потом в долину влажную, сырую