Читать книгу The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06 - Коллектив авторов, Ю. Д. Земенков, Koostaja: Ajakiri New Scientist - Страница 11

  Once upon my life's dark pathway

    Gleamed a phantom of delight;

  Now that phantom fair has vanished,

    I am wholly wrapt in night.

  Children in the dark, they suffer

    At their heart a spasm of fear;

  And, their inward pain to deaden,

    Sing aloud, that all may hear.

  I, a madcap child, now childlike

    In the dark to sing am fain;

  If my song be not delightsome,

    It at least has eased my pain.

  We sat at the fisherman's cottage,

    And gazed upon the sea;

  Then came the mists of evening,

    And rose up silently.

  The lights within the lighthouse

    Were kindled one by one,

  We saw still a ship in the distance

    On the dim horizon alone.

  We spoke of tempest and shipwreck,

    Of sailors and of their life,

  And how 'twixt clouds and billows

    They're tossed, 'twixt joy and strife.

  We spoke of distant countries

    From North to South that range,

  Of strange fantastic nations,

    And their customs quaint and strange.

  The Ganges is flooded with splendor,

    And perfumes waft through the air,

  And gentle people are kneeling

    To Lotos flowers fair.

  In Lapland the people are dirty,

    Flat-headed, large-mouthed, and small;

  They squat round the fire and, frying

    Their fishes, they shout and they squall.

  The girls all gravely listened,

    Not a word was spoken at last;

  The ship we could see no longer,

    Darkness was settling so fast.

  You lovely fisher-maiden,

    Bring now the boat to land;

  Come here and sit beside me,

    We'll prattle hand in hand.

  Your head lay on my bosom,

    Nor be afraid of me;

  Do you not trust all fearless

    Daily the great wild sea?

  My heart is like the sea, dear,

    Has storm, and ebb, and flow,

  And many purest pearl-gems

    Within its dim depth glow.

  My child, we were two children,

    Small, merry by childhood's law;

  We used to creep to the henhouse,

    And hide ourselves in the straw.

  We crowed like cocks, and whenever

    The passers near us drew—

  "Cock-a-doodle!" They thought

    'Twas a real cock that crew.

  The boxes about our courtyard

    We carpeted to our mind,

  And lived there both together—

    Kept house in a noble kind.

  The neighbor's old cat often

    Came to pay us a visit;

  We made her a bow and courtesy,

    Each with a compliment in it.

  After her health we asked,

    Our care and regard to evince—

  (We have made the very same speeches

    To many an old cat since).

  We also sat and wisely

    Discoursed, as old folks do,

  Complaining how all went better

    In those good old times we knew—

  How love, and truth, and believing

    Had left the world to itself,

  And how so dear was the coffee,

    And how so rare was the pelf.

  The children's games are over,

    The rest is over with youth—

  The world, the good games, the good times,

    The belief, and the love, and the truth.

  E'en as a lovely flower,

    So fair, so pure thou art;

  I gaze on thee, and sadness

    Comes stealing o'er my heart.

  My hands I fain had folded

    Upon thy soft brown hair,

  Praying that God may keep thee

    So lovely, pure, and fair.

  I would that my love and its sadness

    Might a single word convey,

  The joyous breezes should bear it,

    And merrily waft it away.

  They should waft it to thee, beloved,

    This soft and wailful word,

  At every hour thou shouldst hear it,

    Where'er thou art 'twould be heard.

  And when in the night's first slumber

    Thine eyes scarce closing seem,

  Still should my word pursue thee

    Into thy deepest dream.

  The shades of the summer evening lie

    On the forest and meadows green;

  The golden moon shines in the azure sky

    Through balm-breathing air serene.

  The cricket is chirping the brooklet near,

    In the water a something stirs,

  And the wanderer can in the stillness hear

    A plash and a sigh through the furze.

  There all by herself the fairy bright

    Is bathing down in the stream;

  Her arms and throat, bewitching and white,

    In the moonshine glance and gleam.

  I know not what evil is coming,

    But my heart feels sad and cold;

  A song in my head keeps humming,

    A tale from the times of old.

  The air is fresh and it darkles,

    And smoothly flows the Rhine;

  The peak of the mountain sparkles

    In the fading sunset-shine.

  The loveliest wonderful maiden

    On high is sitting there,

  With golden jewels braiden,

    And she combs her golden hair.

  With a golden comb sits combing,

  And ever the while sings she

  A marvelous song through the gloaming

  Of magical melody.

  It hath caught the boatman, and bound him

  In the spell of a wild, sad love;

  He sees not the rocks around him,

  He sees only her above.

  The waves through the pass keep swinging,

  But boatman or boat is none;

  And this with her mighty singing

  The Lorelei hath done.