Где прибыль от пассивного царька,
У очага, что тлеет возле скал,
С женою старой, что бы там искал -
Закон для местных, может быть удастся,
Запасы съевших, нет меня пока.
Не отдохнув от странствий, может статься
Остаток жизни Время наслаждаться.
Своих любимых, вспомнить я смогу
И будучи один на берегу,
Когда летят дождливые Гиады
Над тусклым морем провожали взгляды,
Моё лишь имя , в собственной судьбе
Увидеть много; городов, мужчин.
Их нравов, их советов, их властей,
Самостоятельно, не без причин;
Восторг сражений, с равными себе,
Я пил с Троянских ветреных руин.
Я – часть того, что встретил в жизни я;
Но опыт весь – лишь арки полукруг,
Свет, мир и край, который исчезает
Рассеивается вечностью и тает.
Пусть грустно от бездействия в финале,
Ржу собирать на глянец, не блистая!
Дышать и жить! Жизнь добавляя жизни
Так слишком мало, и одной моей
Остатки все: но каждый час спасти
От вечного молчания, чтоб больше,
Принесших новое; и было б стыдным
Три солнца, чтоб хранить, копить себе,
И серый дух желания в тоске
Чтоб знания, как тонущие звёзды,
Спасали человеческую мысль.
Там сын родной живёт, мой Телемахус,
Кому оставлю власть я на Итаке, -
Возлюбленный, умеет исполнять
Свой долг благоразумия, чтоб мягко
Нрав бурный люда местного унять
И покорить их с пользой для себя.
Он непорочен и сосредоточен
В обязанности, чтоб не подвести,
В домашней службе нежностью платить,
Он чтил всегда моих богов домашних,
А я уйду. Работать будет он.
На берегу корабль под парусами:
И мрак темней морей. А моряки,
Которые доверили мне души,
Удары и усталость принимали,
Гром, солнца жар, и всё, что было против
Сердец и вольных лбов – все старики;
Есть всё же честь и старикам за труд,
Смерть всё замкнёт: и всё же, до конца
На благодатной почве что-то сделать
В стремлениях с Богами, не пристало.
Опять начать огням мерцать от скал:
Дню убывать: луне не торопиться
В глубокий стон и много голосов.
Друзья, искать не поздно новый мир.
Нажмём и хорошо мы доплывём
По бороздам гремучим прямо к цели,
Там где закат, где океан, как ванна
Звёзд Запада, покуда я не умер.
Пусть хоть на дне, залив нас будет мыть,
Коснёмся мы Счастливых Островов,
Увидим Ахиллеса снова сами.
Пусть многих мы коснулись берегов,
Не та мы сила - в прошлое уплыть,
Прошли под небом землю вместе с нами;
С сердцами героических богов,
Слабей от времени, но волей мы упрямы:
Искать, найти, держать, не уступить.
Одиссей
© Copyright: Вячеслав Толстов, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117041800109
Свидетельство о публикации №117041800109
Рецензии
По мотивам оригинала Лорда Теннисона.
*
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an agèd wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought
with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Вячеслав Толстов 18.04.2017 12:37 • Заявить о нарушении
*
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an agèd wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought
with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Вячеслав Толстов 18.04.2017 12:37 • Заявить о нарушении