Стихотворения - [3]

Прибой гудит за упокой

Пустого обольщенья;

И дом с любовью неживой

Стал ей спасительной норой;

А городок звенит струной

Прямого осужденья.

Мы скажем вам, стуча по лбу,

Все то, что есть на деле,

Как будто чью-нибудь судьбу

Хоть раз понять сумели,

Как будто дар нам вещий дан

И на ее самообман

Ее глазами сквозь дурман

Мы много раз смотрели.

И вот — мы к ним не пристаем;

Уж коль они такие,

Пускай колеблются вдвоем

По прихоти стихии;

Они же, творя всерьез,—

Чета безлиственных берез

Или к пучине под откос

Бредущие слепые.

Перевод А. Сергеева

MORDRED, a fragment

 Time and the dark

Had come, but not alone. The southern gate

That had been open wide for Lancelot

Made now an entrance for three other men,

Who strode along the gravel or the grass,

Careless of who should hear them. When they came

To the great oak and the two empty chairs,

One paused, and held the others with a tongue

That sang an evil music while it spoke:

"Sit here, my admirable Colgrevance,

And you, my gentle Agravaine, sit here.

For me, well I have had enough of sitting;

And I have heard enough and seen enough

To blast a kingdom into kingdom come,

Had I so fierce a mind--which happily

I have not, for the king here is my father.

There's been a comment and a criticism

Abounding, I believe, in Camelot

For some time at my undeserved expense,

But God forbid that I should make my father

Less happy than he will be when he knows

What I shall have to tell him presently;

And that will only be what he has known

Since Merlin, or the ghost of Merlin, came

Two years ago to warn him. Though he sees,

One thing he will not see; and this must end.

We must have no blind kings in Camelot,

Or we shall have no land worth harrowing,

And our last harvest will be food for strangers.

My father, as you know, has gone a-hunting."

"We know about the king," said Agravaine,

"And you know more than any about the queen.

We are still waiting, Modred. Colgrevance

And I are waiting."

 Modred laughed at him

Indulgently: "Did I say more than any?

If so, then inadvertently I erred;

For there is one man here, one Lancelot,

Who knows, I fancy, a deal more than I do,

And I know much. Yes, I know more than much.

Yet who shall snuff the light of what he knows

To blind the king he serves? No, Agravaine,

A wick like that would smoke and smell of treason."

"Your words are mostly smoke, if I may say so,"

Said Colgrevance: "What is it you have seen,

And what are we to do? I wish no ill

To Lancelot. I know no evil of him,

Or of the queen; and I'll hear none of either,

Save what you, on your oath, may tell me now.

I look yet for the trail of your dark fancy

To blur your testament."

 "No, Colgrevance,

There are no blurs or fancies exercising

Tonight where I am. Lancelot will ascend

Anon, betimes, and with no drums or shawms

To sound the appointed progress of his feet;

And he will not be lost along the way,

For there are landmarks and he knows them all.

No, Colgrevance, there are no blurs or fancies

Unless it be that your determination

Has made them for your purpose what they seem.

But here I beg your pardon, Colgrevance.

We reticent ones are given to say too much,

With our tongues once in action. Pray forgive.

Your place tonight will be a shadowed alcove,

Where you may see this knight without a stain

While he goes in where no man save the king

Has dared before to follow. Agravaine

And I will meet you on the floor below,

Having already beheld this paragon-Joseph

Go by us for your clinching observation.

Then we, with a dozen or so for strength, will act;

And there shall be no more of Lancelot."

"Modred, I wish no ill to Lancelot,

And I know none of him," said Colgrevance.

"My dream is of a sturdier way than this

For me to serve my king. Give someone else

That alcove, and let me be of the twelve.

I swear it irks the marrow of my soul

To shadow Lancelot--though I may fight him,

If so it is to be. Furthermore, Modred,

You gave me not an inkling of the part

That you have read off now so pleasantly

For me to play. No, Modred, by the God

Who knows the right way and the wrong, I'll be

This night no poisonous inhabitant

Of alcoves in your play, not even for you.

No man were more the vassal of his friend

Than I am, but I'm damned if I'll be owned."

In a becoming darkness Modred smiled

Away the first accession of his anger.

"Say not like that," he answered, musically.

"Be temperate, Colgrevance. Remember always

Your knighthood and your birth. Remember, too,

That I may hold him only as my friend

Who loves me for myself, not for my station.

We're born for what we're born for, Colgrevance;

And you and I and Agravaine are born

To serve our king. It's all for the same end,

Whether we serve in alcoves, or behind

A velvet arras on another floor.

What matters it, if we be loyal men--

With only one defection?"

 "Which is--what?"

Said Agravaine, who breathed hard and said little,

Albeit he had no fame abroad for silence.

Delay--procrastination--overcaution--

Or what word now assimilates itself

The best with your inquiring mood, my brother.

These operations that engage us now

Were planned and executed long ago,

Had I but acted then on what was written

No less indelibly than at this hour,