Ирина Явчуновская - С миру по нитке. Поэтические переводы

O’Driscoll drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.

He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.

The dancers crowded about him
And many a sweet thing said,
And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards
With a twinkling of ancient hands.

The bread and the wine had a doom,
For these were the host of the air;
He sat and played in a dream
Of her long dim hair.

He played with the merry old men
And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride
Away from the merry dance.

He bore her away in his arms,
The handsomest young man there,
And his neck and his breast and his arms
Were drowned in her long dim hair.

O’Driscoll scattered the cards
And out of his dream awoke:
Old men and young men and young girls
Were gone like a drifting smoke;

But he heard high up in the air
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.

Пел О’Дрисколл. Туман накрыл
Камыши вдоль озер, полей.
Дикий селезень с уткой плыл
По угрюмой воде Харт Лейк.

Стали темными камыши,
Скрылся дальний озерный плёс.
А он пел о своей Бриджит,
Блеске мягких её волос.

Так он ехал и пел о ней,
Звон волынки плыл над водой.
В мире не было веселей
И грустней мелодии той.

Вот он грезит: в кругу друзья,
И невеста среди друзей.
Вот он видит её глаза,
И нет глаз веселей и грустней.

Вот толпа окружила его,
И звучала вокруг хвала.
Подавал ему друг вино,
А подруга хлеб поднесла.

Но, отринув толпы азарт,
Увела Бриджит за рукав
В угол к старцам с колодой карт
В их костлявых худых руках.

Винный воздух в себе таил
Приговор той поры ночной.
Он подсел к старикам, забыл
Обо всем за игрой хмельной.

Про злой дух и не думал он,
С ним играл весельчак на вид.
И под свадебный перезвон
Кто-то в круг потянул Бриджит.

И красивейший из парней
С ней уплыл, как на парусах,
Грудь и плечи прильнули к ней
Руки спрятались в волосах.

Встал О’Дрисколл, колоду прочь…
Только вмиг испарился сон,
И исчезли, как дым, та ночь,
Парни, девушки, танцы, звон…

Ехал он вдоль озер, полей,
Плыл мотив над седой водой.
В мире не было веселей
И грустней мелодии той.

The white moth to the closing bine,
The bee to the opened clover,
And the gipsy blood to the gipsy blood
Ever the wide world over.
Ever the wide world over, lass,
Ever the trail held true,
Over the world and under the world,
And back at the last to you.
Out of the dark of the gorgio camp,
Out of the grime and the gray
(Morning waits at the end of the world),
Gipsy, come away!
The wild boar to the sun-dried swamp,
The red crane to her reed,
And the Romany lass to the Romany lad
By the tie of a roving breed.
The pied snake to the rifted rock,
The buck to the stony plain,
And the Romany lass to the Romany lad,
And both to the road again.
Both to the road again, again!
Out on a clean sea-track —
Follow the cross of the gipsy trail
Over the world and back!
Follow the Romany patteran
North where the blue bergs sail,
And the bows are gray with the frozen spray,
And the masts are shod with mail.
Follow the Romany patteran
Sheer to the Austral Light,
Where the besom of God is the wild South wind,
Sweeping the sea-floors white.
Follow the Romany patteran
West to the sinking sun,
Till the junk-sails lift through the horseless drift,
And the east and the west are one.
Follow the Romany patteran
East where the silence broods
By a purple wave on an opal beach
In the hush of the Mahim woods.
“The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,
The deer to the wholesome world
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
As it was in the days of old”.
The heart of a man to the heart of a maid —
Light of my tents, be fleet.
Morning waits at the end of the world,
And the world is all at our feet!