Избранная лирика | страница 60



                       И на полета шагов вокруг
                       Трава затрепетала вдруг,
                       И люди отступились.
                       Но все уверены в одном:
                       Дитя зарыто под холмом.
      XXII
                       Не знаю, так оно иль нет;
                       Но только Терн по произволу
                       Тяжелых мрачных гроздьев мха
                       Все время гнется долу;
                       И сам я слышал с горных круч
                       Несчастной Марты причитанья;
                       И днем, и в тишине ночной
                       Под ясной блещущей луной
                       Проносятся рыданья:
                       "О, горе мне! О, горе мне!
                       О, горе, горе, горе мне!"

THE LAST OF THE FLOCK

      I
                     In distant countries have I been,
                     And yet I have not often seen
                     A healthy man, a man full grown,
                     Weep in the public roads, alone.
                     But such a one, on English ground,
                     And in the broad highway, I met;
                     Along the broad highway he came,
                     His cheeks with tears were wet:
                     Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
                     And in his arms a Lamb he had.
      II
                     He saw me, and he turned aside,
                     As if he wished himself to hide:
                     And with his coat did then essay
                     To wipe those briny tears away.
                     I followed him, and said, "My friend,
                     What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"
                     — "Shame on me, Sir! this lusty Lamb,
                     He makes my tears to flow.
                     To-day I fetched him from the rock;
                     He is the last of all my flock.
      III
                     "When I was young, a single man,
                     And after youthful follies ran,
                     Though little given to care and thought,
                     Yet, so it was, an ewe I bought;
                     And other sheep from her I raised,
                     As healthy sheep as you might see;
                     And then I married, and was rich
                     As I could wish to be;
                     Of sheep I numbered a full score,
                     And every year increased my store.