В полночь скучную однажды, в мыслях, вялых и вальяжных,
когда в чащах знаний странных, позабытых и пространных,
задремал я, заплутался, стук нежданный вдруг раздался,
будто кто-то дверь царапал, дверь покоев когтем скрёб.
"Посетитель?" - сон прервался. Звук упорно повторялся,
стук, и больше ничего.
1 Half a league, half a league,
2 Half a league onward,
3 All in the valley of Death
4 Rode the six hundred.
5 `Forward, the Light Brigade!
6 Charge for the guns!' he said:
7 Into the valley of Death
8 Rode the six hundred.
II.
9 `Forward, the Light Brigade!'
10 Was there a man dismay'd?
11 Not tho' the soldier knew
12 Some one had blunder'd:
13 Their's not to make reply,
14 Their's not to reason why,
15 Their's but to do and die:
16 Into the valley of Death
17 Rode the six hundred.
III
18 Cannon to right of them,
19 Cannon to left of them,
20 Cannon in front of them
21 Volley'd and thunder'd;
22 S***m'd at with shot and shell,
23 Boldly they rode and well,
24 Into the jaws of Death,
25 Into the mouth of Hell
26 Rode the six hundred.
IV
27 Flash'd all their sabres bare,
28 Flash'd as they turn'd in air
29 Sabring the gunners there,
30 Charging an army, while
31 All the world wonder'd:
32 Plunged in the battery-smoke
33 Right thro' the line they broke;
34 Cossack and Russian
35 Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
36 Shatter'd and sunder'd.
37 Then they rode back, but not
38 Not the six hundred.
V
39 Cannon to right of them,
40 Cannon to left of them,
41 Cannon behind them
42 Volley'd and thunder'd;
43 S***m'd at with shot and shell,
44 While horse and hero fell,
45 They that had fought so well
46 Came thro' the jaws of Death,
47 Back from the mouth of Hell,
48 All that was left of them,
49 Left of six hundred.
VI
50 When can their glory fade?
51 O the wild charge they made!
52 All the world wonder'd.
53 Honour the charge they made!
54 Honour the Light Brigade,
55 Noble six hundred!
Ах, отчётливо я помню: вьюга, снег, декабрь, полночь,
каждой искры смерть, как росчерк, у камина моего,
с нетерпеньем завтра ждал я, тщетно я искать пытался
в книгах утешенье скорби по утраченной Ленор,
звёздочке, которой имя дали ангелы - Ленор,
имя, больше ничего.
Тут какой-то подвох, да? Энтшульдиген, откуда это?
Верите, никакого подвоха!!!
Это "Атака легкой бригады" или "Долина смерти"... "The Charge of the Light Brigade" сэра Альфреда лорда Теннисона...
Долина в две мили редут недалече...
Услышав: "По коням, вперд!",
Долиною смерти, под шквалом картечи,
Отважные скачут шестьсот.
Преддверием ада гремит канонада,
Под жерла орудий подставлены груди
Но мчатся и мчатся шестьсот.
Лишь сабельный лязг приказавшему вторил.
Приказа и бровью никто не оспорил.
Где честь, там отвага и долг.
Кто с доблестью дружен, тем довод не нужен.
По первому знаку на пушки в атаку
Уходит неистовый полк.
Метет от редута свинцовой метелью,
Редеет бригада под русской шрапнелью,
Но первый рассеян оплот:
Казаки, солдаты, покинув куртины,
Бегут, обратив к неприятелю спины,
Они, а не эти шестьсот!
Теперь уж и фланги огнем полыхают.
Чугунные чудища не отдыхают
Из каждого хлещет жерлА.
Никто не замешкался, не обернулся,
Никто из атаки живым не вернулся:
Смерть челюсти сыто свела.
Но вышли из левиафановой пасти
Шестьсот кавалеров возвышенной страсти
Затем, чтоб остаться в веках.
Утихло сраженье, долина дымится,
Но слава героев вовек не затмится,
Вовек не рассеется в прах.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, week and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visi***," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
'"Tis some visi*** entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visi*** entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened wide the door: -
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though the crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered-not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and s***e,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-nevermore.' "
But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at case reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaft, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly, I implore-
Is there-is there balm in Gilead?-tell me-tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our bird or fiend!" I shrieked, sign of parting,upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!-quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off
my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore!
Пусть и другие помучаются!
Нет нет, никогда, никогда! У меня заранее голова заболела.
Сама с собой сегодня здесь разговариваю. Но вот посмотрела коротыш, и не все поняла. kino-govno.com/comments/34125
У робота появилась память, и почему это испугало человека?
Спасибо.
__________________
Эрнест Хемингуэй: - Писать на самом деле очень легко. Ты просто садишься перед пишущей машинкой и начинаешь истекать кровью.
Re: Язык мой
Но вот посмотрела коротыш, и не все поняла.
Линейный вид
