Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах (билингва)

God gave the horse for man to ride,
And steel wherewith to fight,
And wine to swell his soul with pride
And women for delight:
But a better gift than these all four
Was when He made the fighting boar.

The horse is filled with spirit rare,

His heart is bold and free;
The bright steel flashes in the air,
And glitters hungrily.
But these were little use before
The Lord He made the fighting boar.

The ruby wine doth banish care,

But it confounds the head;
The fickle fair is light as air,
And makes the heart bleed red;
But wine nor love can tempt us more
When we may hunt the fighting boar.

When Noah’s big monsoon was laid,

The land began to ride again,
And then the first hog-spear was made
By the hands of Tubal Cain;
The sons of Shem and many more
Came out to ride the fighting boar.

Those ancient Jew boys went like stinks,

They knew not reck nor fear,
Old Noah knocked the first two jinks,
And Nimrod got the spear.
And ever since those times of yore
True men do ride the fighting boar.

Prayer For Those On The Staff

Fighting in mud, we turn to Thee,
In these dread times of battle, Lord.
To keep us safe, if so may be,
From shrapnel, snipers, shell, and sword.

But not on us, for we are men

Of meaner clay, who fight in clay,
but on the Staff, the Upper Ten,
Depends the issue of the Day.

The staff is working with its brains,

While we are sitting in the trench;
The Staff the universe ordains
(subject to Thee and General French).

God help the staff-especially

The young ones, many of them sprung
From our high aristocracy;
Their task is hard, and they are young.

O Lord, who mad’st all things to be,

And madest some things very good,
Please keep the Extra A.D.C.
From horrid scenes, and sight of blood.

See that his eggs are newly laid,

Not tinged as some of them-with green;
And let no nasty draughts invade
The windows of his Limousine.

When he forgets to buy the bread,

When there are no more minerals,
Preserve his smooth well-oiled head
From wrath of caustic Generals.

O Lord, who mad’st all things to be,

And hatest nothing thou has made,
Please keep the Extra A.D.C
Out of the sun and in the shade.

Джулиан Гренфелл (1888–1915)

В бой