Читать книгу Кошмар По-эта - Говард Лавкрафт, Говард Филлипс Лавкрафт, Adolphe de Castro - Страница 94

Lucullus Languish, student of the skies,

And connoisseur of rarebits and mince pies,

A bard by choice, a grocer’s clerk by trade,

(Grown pessimist through honours long delay’d)

A secret yearning bore, that he might shine

In breathing numbers, and in song divine.

Each day his fountain pen was wont to drop

An ode or dirge or two about the shop,

Yet naught could strike the chord within his heart

That throbb’d for poesy, and cry’d for art.

Each eve he sought his bashful Muse to wake

With overdoses of ice cream and cake,

But though th’ ambitious youth a dreamer grew,

Th’ Aonian Nymph delcin’d to come to view.

Sometimes at dusk he scour’d the heav’ns afar

Searching for raptures in the evening star;

One night he strove to catch a tale untold

In crystal deeps – but only caught a cold.

So pin’d Lucullus with his lofty woe,

Till one drear day he bought a set of Poe:

Charm’d with the cheerful horrors there display’d,

He vow’d with gloom to woo the Heav’nly Maid.

Of Auber’s Tarn and Yaanek’s slope he dreams,

And weaves an hundred Ravens in his schemes.

Not far from our young hero’s peaceful home,

Lies the fair grove wherein he loves to roam.

Tho’ but a stunted copse in vacant lot,

He dubs it Tempe, and adores the spot;

When shallow puddles dot the wooded plain,

And brim o’er muddy banks with muddy rain,

He calls them limpid lakes or poison pools,

(Depending on which bard his fancy rules).

‘Tis here he comes with Heliconian fire

On Sundays when he smites the Attic lyre;

And here one afternoon he brought his gloom,

Resolv’d to chant a poet’s lay of doom.

Roget’s Thesaurus, and a book of rhymes,

Provide the rungs whereon his spirit climbs:

With this grave retinue he trod the grove

And pray’d the Fauns he might a Poe-et prove.

But sad to tell, ere Pegasus flew high,

The not unrelish’d supper hour drew nigh;

Our tuneful swain th’ imperious call attends,

And soon above the groaning table bends.

Though it were too prosaic to relate

Th’ exact particulars of what he ate,

(Such long-drawn lists the hasty reader skips,

Like Homer’s well-known catalogue of ships)

This much we swear: that as adjournment near’d,

A monstrous lot of cake had disappear’d!

Soon to his chamber the young bard repairs,

And courts soft Somnus with sweet Lydian airs;

Thro’ open casement scans the star-strown deep,

And ‘neath Orion’s beams sinks off to sleep.

Now start from airy dell the elfin train

That dance each midnight o’er the sleeping plain,

To bless the just, or cast a warning spell

On those who dine not wisely, but too well.

First Deacon Smith they plague, whose nasal glow

Comes from what Holmes hath call’d “Elixir Pro”;

Group’d round the couch his visage they deride,

Whilst through his dreams unnumber’d serpents glide.

Next troop the little folk into the room

Where snore our young Endymion, swath’d in gloom:

A smile lights up his boyish face, whilst he

Dreams of the moon – or what he ate at tea.

The chieftain elf th’ unconscious youth surveys,

And on his form a strange enchantment lays:

Those lips, that lately trill’d with frosted cake,

Uneasy sounds in slumbrous fashion make;

At length their owner’s fancies they rehearse,

And lisp this awesome Poe-em in blank verse:

Лукулл, что Лэнгвиш, астроном-любитель

Гренков и сладких пирожков ценитель,

Душою бард, занятьем – продавец,

(Унынья полон: славы где ж венец?)

Желанье тайное имел: блистать

Живым стихом и песнею вещать.

Перо ж строчило ежедневно с ходу

О лавке панихиду или оду:

Увы, не полнилось высоким чувством

Поэта сердце, билось что искусством.

Взывал он к музе робкой вечерами

Пирожными и прочими сластями,

Хоть из подростка вырос фантазер,

Не тешил образ аониды взор.

На небо он смотрел в закатный час,

В звезде вечерней чтоб обресть экстаз;

Раз ночью взялся ухватить гимн чуду

В глуби кристальной – подхватил простуду.

Тужил Лукулл от горя своего,

Пока однажды не купил книг По:

Пленившись ужасами на страницах,

Поклялся хмуро, что придет девица.

Зрит в грезах Йанек, озеро Обера,