Стихотворения

"I rose up at the dawn of day..."

I rose up at the dawn of day—

'Get thee away! get thee away!
Pray'st thou for riches? Away! away!
This is the Throne of Mammon grey.'

Said I: This, sure, is very odd;

I took it to be the Throne of God.
For everything besides I have:
It is only for riches that I can crave.

I have mental joy, and mental health,

And mental friends, and mental wealth;
I've a wife I love, and that loves me;
I've all but riches bodily.

I am in God's presence night and day,

And He never turns His face away;
The accuser of sins by my side doth stand,
And he holds my money-bag in his hand.

For my worldly things God makes him pay,

And he'd pay for more if to him I would pray;
And so you may do the worst you can do;
Be assur'd, Mr. Devil, I won't pray to you.

Then if for riches I must not pray,

God knows, I little of prayers need say;
So, as a church is known by its steeple,
If I pray it must be for other people.

He says, if I do not worship him for a God,

I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod;
So, as I don't value such things as these,
You must do, Mr. Devil, just as God please.

«Я встал, когда редела ночь...» Перевод С. Маршака

Я встал, когда редела ночь.

— Поди ты-прочь! Поди ты прочь!
О чем ты молишься, поклоны
Кладя пред капищем Мамоны?

Я был немало удивлен —

Я думал, — это Божий трон.
Всего хватает мне, но мало
В кармане звонкого металла.

Есть у меня богатство дум,

Восторги духа, здравый ум,
Жена любимая со мною.
Но беден я казной земною.

Я перед Богом день и ночь.

С меня Он глаз не сводит прочь.
Но дьявол тоже неотлучен:
Мой кошелек ему поручен.

Он мой невольный казначей.

Я ел бы пищу богачей,
Когда бы стал ему молиться.
Я не хочу, а дьявол злится.

Итак, не быть мне богачом.

К чему ж молиться и о чем?
Желаний у меня немного,
И за других молю я Бога.

Пускай дает мне злобный черт

Одежды, пищи худший сорт, —
Мне и в нужде живется славно..
И все же, черт, служи исправно!

The Pickering Manuscript Манускрипт Пикеринга 1800-1803

The Smile

The Smile

There is a smile of love,

And there is a smile of deceit,
And there is a smile of smiles
In which these two smiles meet.

And there is a frown of hate,

And there is a frown of disdain,
And there is a frown of frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,

For it sticks in the heart's deep core

And it sticks in the deep backbone—
And no smile that ever was smil'd,
But only one smile alone,

That betwixt the cradle and grave

It only once smil'd can be;
And, when it once is smil'd,
There's an end to all misery.