Ворон - Эдгар Аллан По

Amid empurpled vapors, far away

To where the prospect terminates – thee only.

К…

Еще недавно автор этих строк

В спесивом упоенье интеллектом

До неба «силу слов» превозносил[106]

И утверждал, что мысли возникают

Не иначе как в форме языка;

Но вот, в насмешку ль над его хвальбой,

Два слова[107] – нежных, слабых, чужезвучных,

Два неземных (о, ангелам бы их

Шептать во сне над лунною «росою,

Жемчужной нитью легшей на Гермон»)[108] —

Из бездны сердца тихо поднялись:

Немысли, полумысли, души мыслей —

Волшебней и божественней тех грез,

Что Исрафил[109] (певец «с наисладчайшим

Из всех восславивших Аллаха гласом»)

Посмел бы в песнь вложить. И я – немею.

Рука застыла; брошено перо.

Тебе молиться именем твоим

Не смею: ни писать, ни петь, ни думать;

И чувствовать устал – оцепененье

Владеет мной пред златовратным сном,

Оцепененье сковывает чувство.

Робею, очарован, – даль безмерна;

Вперед, направо ль, влево ль погляжу —

Туман багровый застилает землю,

И лишь один-единственный мираж

Горит у горизонта – ты! ты! ты!

Ulalume – a ballad[110]

The skies they were ashen and sober;

        The leaves they were crisped and sere —

        The leaves they were withering and sere:

It was night, in the lonesome October

        Of my most immemorial year;

It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,

        In the misty mid region of Weir —

It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,

        In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,

        Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul —

        Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.

These were days when my heart was volcanic

        As the scoriae rivers that roll —

        As the lavas that restlessly roll

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek,

        In the ultimate climes of the Pole —

That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek,

        In the realms of the Boreal[111] Pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,

        But our thoughts they were palsied and sere —

        Our memories were treacherous and sere —

For we knew not the month was October,

        And we marked not the night of the year —

        (Ah, night of all nights in the year!)

We noted not the dim lake of Auber,

        (Though once we had journeyed down here)

We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,

        Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent,

        And star-dials pointed to morn —

        As the star-dials hinted of morn —

At the end of our path a liquescent

        And nebulous lustre was born,

Out of which a miraculous crescent

        Arose, with a duplicate horn —

Astarte’s bediamonded crescent

        Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said – “She is warmer than Dian:

        She rolls through an ether of sighs —

        She revels in a region of sighs:

She has seen that the tears are not dry on

        These cheeks, where the worm never dies,

And has come past the stars of the Lion,

        To point us the path to the skies —

        To the Lethean peace of the skies —

Come up, in despite of the Lion,

        To shine on us with her bright eyes —

Come up through the lair of the Lion,

        With love in her luminous eyes.”

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,

        Said – “Sadly this star I mistrust: —

        Her pallor I strangely mistrust —

Oh, hasten! – ah, let us not linger!

        Oh, fly! – let us fly! – for we must.”

In terror she spoke; letting sink her

        Wings untill they trailed in the dust —

In agony sobbed, letting sink her

        Plumes till they trailed in the dust —

        Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied – “This is nothing but dreaming:

        Let us on, by this tremulous light!

        Let us bathe in this crystalline light!

Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming

        With Hope and in Beauty to-night: —

        See! – it flickers up the sky through the night!

Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,

        And be sure it will lead us aright —

We surely may trust to a gleaming

        That cannot but guide us aright,

        Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.”

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,

        And tempted her out of her gloom —

        And conquered her scruples and gloom;

And we passed to the end of the vista,

        But were stopped by the door of a tomb —

        By the door of a legended tomb;

And I said – “What is written, sweet sister,

        On the door of this legended tomb?”

        She replied – “Ulalume – Ulalume! —

        ‘Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!”

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober

        As the leaves that were crisped and sere —

        As the leaves that were withering and sere —

And I cried – “It was surely October,

        On this very night of last year,

        That I journeyed – I journeyed down here! —

        That I brought a dread burden down here —

        On this night, of all nights in the year,

        Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber —

        This misty mid region of Weir —

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,