Эдгар По - Лирика

Кто выхватил из лона вод Наяду?

Из веток Эльфа? Кто бред летних грез,

Меж тамарисов, от меня унес?

(1924)

Перевод В. Брюсова

8. AL AARAAF

PART I

O! nothing earthly save the ray

(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,

As in those gardens where the day

Springs from the gems of Circassy

O! nothing earthly save the thrill

Of melody in woodland rill

Or (music of the passion-hearted)

Joy's voice so peacefully departed

That like the murmur in the shell,

Its echo dwelleth and will dwell

Oh, nothing of the dross of ours

Yet all the beauty - all the flowers

That list our Love, and deck our bowers

Adorn yon world afar, afar

The wandering star.

'Twas a sweet time for Nesace - for there

Her world lay lolling on the golden air,

Near four bright suns - a temporary rest

An oasis in desert of the blest.

Away - away - 'mid seas of rays that roll

Empyrean splendor o'er th' unchained soul

The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense)

Can struggle to its destin'd eminence

To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode,

And late to ours, the favour'd one of God

But, now, the ruler of an anchor'd realm,

She throws aside the sceptre - leaves the helm,

And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns,

Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.

Now happiest, loveliest in you lovely Earth,

Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth,

(Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star,

Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar,

It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt)

She look'd into Infinity - and knelt.

Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled

Fit emblems of the model of her world

Seen but in beauty - not impeding sight

Of other beauty glittering thro' the light

A wreath that twined each starry form around,

And all the opal'd air in color bound.

All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed

Of flowers: of lilies such as rear'd the head

On the fair Capo Deucato, and sprang

So eagerly around about to hang

Upon the flying footsteps of - deep pride

Of her who lov'd a mortal - and so died.

The Sephalica, budding with young bees,

Uprear'd its purple stem around her knees:

And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam'd

Inmate of highest stars, where erst it sham'd

All other loveliness: its honied dew

(The fabled nectar that the heathen knew)

Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from Heaven,

And fell on gardens of the unforgiven

In Trebizond - and on a sunny flower

So like its own above that, to this hour,

It still remaineth, torturing the bee

With madness, and unwonted reverie:

In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf

And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief

Disconsolate linger - grief that hangs her head,

Repenting follies that full long have fled,

Heaving her white breast to the balmy air,

Like guilty beauty, chasten'd, and more fair:

Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light

She fears to perfume, perfuming the night:

And Clytia pondering between many a sun,

While pettish tears adown her petals run:

And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth

And died, ere scarce exalted into birth,

Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing

Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king:

And Valisnerian lotus thither flown

From struggling with the waters of the Rhone:

And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante!

Isola d'oro! - Fior di Levante!

And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever

With Indian Cupid down the holy river

Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given

To bear the Goddess' song, in odors, up to Heaven:

"Spirit! that tlwellest where,

In the deep sky,

The terrible and fair,

In beauty vie!

Beyond the line of blue

The boundary of the star

Which turneth at the view

Of thy barrier and thy bar

Of the barrier overgone

By the comets who were cast

From their pride, and from their throne

To be drudges till the last

To be carriers of fire

(The red fire of their heart)

With speed that may not tire

And with pain that shall not part

Who livest - _that_ we know

In Eternity - we feel

But the shadow of whose brow

What spirit shall reveal?

Tho' the beings whom thy Nesace,

Thy messenger hath known

Have dream'd for thy Infinity

A model of their own

Thy will is done. Oh, God!

The star hath ridden high

Thro' many a tempest, but she rode

Beneath thy burning eye;

And here, in thought, to thee

In thought that can alone

Ascend thy empire and so be

A partner of thy throne

By winged Fantasy,

My embassy is given,

Till secrecy shall knowledge be

In the environs of Heaven."

She ceas'd - and buried then her burning cheek

Abash'd, amid the lilies there, to seek

A shelter from the fervour of His eye;

For the stars trembled at the Deity.

She stirr'd not - breath'd not - for a voice was there

How solemnly pervading the calm air!

A sound of silence on the startled ear

Which dreamy poets name "the music of the sphere."

Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call

"Silence" - which is the merest word of all.

All Nature speaks, and ev'n ideal things

Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings

But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high

The eternal voice of God is passing by,

And the red winds are withering in the sky!

"What tho' in worlds which sightless cycles run,

Link'd to a little system, and one sun

Where all my love is folly and the crowd

Still think my terrors but the thunder cloud,

The storm, the earthquake, and the ocean-wrath

(Ah! will they cross me in my angrier path?)

What tho' in worlds which own a single sun

The sands of Time grow dimmer as they run,

Yet thine is my resplendency, so given

To bear my secrets thro' the upper Heaven.

Leave tenantless thy crystal home, and fly,

With all thy train, athwart the moony sky

Apart - like fire-flies in Sicilian night,

And wing to other worlds another light!

Divulge the secrets of thy embassy

To the proud orbs that twinkle - and so be

To ev'ry heart a barrier and a ban

Lest the stars totter in the guilt of man!"

Up rose the maiden in the yellow night,

The single-mooned eve! - on Earth we plight

Our faith to one love - and one moon adore

The birth-place of young Beauty had no more.

As sprang that yellow star from downy hours

Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers,

And bent o'er sheeny mountain and dim plain

Her way - but left not yet her Therasaean reign.

PART II

High on a mountain of enamell'd head

Such as the drowsy shepherd on his bed

Of giant pasturage lying at his ease,

Raising his heavy eyelid, starts and sees,

With many a mutter'd "hope to be forgiven"

What time the moon is quadrated in Heaven

Of rosy head, that towering far away

Into the sunlit ether, caught the ray

Of sunken suns at eve - at noon of night,

While the moon danc'd with the fair stranger light

Uprear'd upon such height arose a pile

Of gorgeous columns on th' unburthen'd air,

Flashing from Parian marble that twin smile

Far down upon the wave that sparkled there,

And nursled the young mountain in its lair.

Of molten stars their pavement, such as fall

Thro' the ebon air, besilvering the pall