Эдгар Аллан По. Долина печалей и смут

Прежде был пустынен дол –
Всех война взяла в подол.
Улыбался лишь погост,

Отвечая взглядам звезд.

Те на башнях с высоты

Стерегут свои цветы,

Меж которых злая лень
В желтый полдень ищет тень.
Нынче всякий видеть мог
Пыль столбом вдоль всех дорог,
В суетной печали лог;
Все бежит! Лишь ветер стих,
Будто чью-то мысль постиг.
Ах, не ветер-празднослов
Дерзок в роще меж стволов,
Как рычание прибоя близ Оркнейских островов;
Ах, не ветер-лежебока
Вдоль Святых Небес жестоко
Будет тучи гнать с востока,
И фиалки вспыхнут враз
Сонмом человечьих глаз,
Вздрогнет мальва (помоги ей!)
Над безвестною могилой;
Пестрым морем разлиты,
Плачут росами цветы,
Чем-то им могилка эта дорога.
Вечны звезды, росы-слезы, жемчуга… .

 

 

 

 

 

The Valley of Unrest

 

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

 

 

Once it smiled a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell;

They had gone unto the wars,

Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,

Nightly, from their azure towers,

To keep watch above the flowers,

In the midst of which all day

The red sun-light lazily lay.

Now each visitor shall confess

The sad valley’s restlessness.

Nothing there is motionless—

Nothing save the airs that brood

Over the magic solitude.

Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees

That palpitate like the chill seas

Around the misty Hebrides!

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven

That rustle through the unquiet Heaven

Uneasily, from morn till even,

Over the violets there that lie

In myriad types of the human eye—

Over the lilies there that wave

And weep above a nameless grave!

They wave:—from out their fragrant tops

External dews come down in drops.

They weep:—from off their delicate stems

Perennial tears descend in gems.

 

1845

 

 

 

. The Valley of Unrest

 

Far away — far away —

Far away — as far at least

Lies that valley as the day

Down within the golden east —

All things lovely — are not they

Far away — far away? 

 

It is called the valley Nis.

And a Syriac tale there is

Thereabout which Time hath said

Shall not be interpreted.

Something about Satan’s dart —

Something about angel wings —

Much about a broken heart —

All about unhappy things:

But “the valley Nis” at best

Means “the valley of unrest.” 

 

Once it smil’d a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell,

Having gone unto the wars —

And the sly, mysterious stars,

With a visage full of meaning,

O’er the unguarded flowers were leaning:

Or the sun ray dripp’d all red

Thro’ the tulips overhead,

Then grew paler as it fell

On the quiet Asphodel. 

 

Now the unhappy shall confess

Nothing there is motionless:

Helen, like thy human eye

There th’ uneasy violets lie —

There the reedy grass doth wave

Over the old forgotten grave —

One by one from the tree top

There the eternal dews do drop —

There the vague and dreamy trees

Do roll like seas in northern breeze

Around the stormy Hebrides —

There the gorgeous clouds do fly,

Rustling everlastingly,

Through the terror-stricken sky,

Rolling like a waterfall

O’er th’ horizon’s fiery wall —

There the moon doth shine by night

With a most unsteady light —

There the sun doth reel by day

“Over the hills and far away.”

 

Edgar Allan Poe

 

Originally Published in 1831

 

Filed Under: The Poe Museum Blog

Андрей Гастев, поэтический перевод, 2023

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 1777 № 172786 от 25.01.2023

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