Читаем The Song of Hiawatha полностью

Into Hiawatha's wigwam Came two other guests, as silent As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, Waited not to be invited, Did not parley at the doorway. Sat there without word of welcome In the seat of Laughing Water; Looked with haggard eyes and hollow At the face of Laughing Water.

And the foremost said: " Behold me! I am Famine, Bukadawin ! "



And the other said: " Behold me I I am Fever, Ahkosewin!"

And the lovely Minnehaha Shuddered as they looked upon her, Shuddered at the words they uttered, Lay down on her bed in silence, Hid her face, but made no answer; Lay there trembling, freezing, burning At the looks they cast upon her, At the fearful words they uttered.

Forth into the empty forest Rushed the maddened Hiawatha; In his heart was deadly sorrow, In his face a stony firmness; On his brow the sweat of anguish Started, but it froze and fell not

Wrapped in furs and armed for huntings With his mighty bow of ash-tree, With his quiver full of arrows, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Into the vast and vacant forest On his snow-shoes strode he forward.

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty! " Cried he with his face uplifted In that bitter hour of anguish, " Give your children food, 0 father I Give us food, or we must perish I

Give me food for Minnehaha, For my dying Minnehaha!"

Through the far-resounding forest, Through the forest vast and vacant Rang that cry of desolation, But there came no other answer Than the echo of his crying, Than the echo of the woodlands, 4 Minnehaha ! Minnehaha! "

All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest, Through the shadow of whose thickets In the pleasant days of Summer, Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, He had brought his young wife homeward From the land of the Dacotahs; When the birds sang in the thickets, And the streamlets laughed and glistened, And the air was full of fragrance, And the lovely Laughing Water Said with voice that did not tremble, u I will follow you, my husband! "

In the wigwam with Nokomis, With those gloomy guests, that watched her, With the Famine and the Fever, She was lying, the Beloved, She the dying Minnehaha.



" Hark! " she said; " I hoar a rushing, Hear a roaring and a rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance! " " No, my child !" said old Nokomis, " 'T is the night-wind in the pine-trees ! "

" Look! " she said; " I see my father Standing lonely at his doorway, Beckoning to me from his wigwam In the land of the Dacotahs! " " No, my child! " said old Nokomis, " 'T is the smoke, that waves and beckons ! w

" Ah! " said she, " the eyes of Pauguk Glare upon me in the darkness, I can feel his icy fingers Clasping mine amid the darkness ! Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! "

And the desolate Hiawatha, Far away amid the forest, Miles away among the mountains, Heard that sudden cry of anguish, Heard the voice of Minnehaha Calling to hiin in the darkness, " Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! "

Over snow-fields waste and pathless, Under snow-encumbered branches, Homeward hurried Hiawatha,

Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing: " Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! Would that I had perished for you, Would that I were dead as you are! Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! "

And he rushed into the wigwam, Saw the old Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro and moaning, Saw his lovely Minnehaha Lying dead and cold before him, And his bursting heart within him Uttered such a cry of anguish, That the forest moaned and shuddered, That the very stars in heaven Shook and trembled with his anguish.

Then he sat down, still and speechless, On the bed of Minnehaha, At the feet of Laughing Water, At those willing feet, that never More would lightly run to meet him, Never more would lightly follow.

With both hands his face he covered, Seven long days and nights he sat there, As if in a swoon he sat there, Speechless, motionless, unconscious Of the daylight or the darkness.



Then they buried Minnehaha; In the snow a grave they made her, In the forest deep and darksome, Underneath the moaning hemlocks; Clothed her in her richest garments, Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, Covered her with snow, like ermine; Thus they buried Minnehaha.

And at night a fire was lighted, On her grave four times was kindled, For her soul upon its journey To the Islands of the Blessed. From his doorway Hiawatha Saw it burning in the forest, Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks; From his sleepless bed uprising, From the bed of Minnehaha, Stood and watched it at the doorway, That it might not be extinguished, Might not leave her in the darkness.

" Farewell! " said he, " Minnehaha! Farewell, 0 my Laughing Water! All my heart is buried with you, All my thoughts go onward with you ! Come not back again to labor, Come not back again to suffer, Where the Famine and the Fever

THE FAMINE

Wear the heart and waste the body. Soon my task will be completed, Soon your footsteps I shall follow To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the land of the Hereafter!"



C amp;e W amp;tetyan'ft foot

Перейти на страницу:

Похожие книги

Горний путь
Горний путь

По воле судьбы «Горний путь» привлек к себе гораздо меньше внимания, чем многострадальная «Гроздь». Среди тех, кто откликнулся на выход книги, была ученица Николая Гумилева Вера Лурье и Юлий Айхенвальд, посвятивший рецензию сразу двум сиринским сборникам (из которых предпочтение отдал «Горнему пути»). И Лурье, и Айхенвальд оказались более милосердными к начинающему поэту, нежели предыдущие рецензенты. Отмечая недостатки поэтической манеры В. Сирина, они выражали уверенность в его дальнейшем развитии и творческом росте: «Стихи Сирина не столько дают уже, сколько обещают. Теперь они как-то обросли словами — подчас лишними и тяжелыми словами; но как скульптор только и делает, что в глыбе мрамора отсекает лишнее, так этот же процесс обязателен и для ваятеля слов. Думается, что такая дорога предстоит и Сирину и что, работая над собой, он достигнет ценных творческих результатов и над его поэтическими длиннотами верх возьмет уже и ныне доступный ему поэтический лаконизм, желанная художническая скупость» (Айхенвальд Ю. // Руль. 1923. 28 января. С. 13).Н. Мельников. «Классик без ретуши».

Владимир Владимирович Набоков , Владимир Набоков

Поэзия / Поэзия / Стихи и поэзия
Книга Песен
Книга Песен

Борис Гребенщиков – легенда российской рок-музыки, поэт, музыкант, художник; полстраны выросло на песнях Б. Гребенщикова, полстраны с трепетом относится к его творчеству, будоражащему и всегда радующему, пробуждающему самые светлые стороны и качества в душе любого читателя и слушателя. Они заставляют «двигаться дальше», несут духовное перерождение чуткому слушателю и читателю. Как бы это ни было сложно – благодаря песням и стихам Б. Гребенщикова становится возможным! Истинные тексты песен, опубликованные в этой книге, по разным естественно-ненаучным причинам иногда отличаются от тех, что исполнялись на концертах и даже записаны на альбомах.В книге отсутствуют тексты песен, которые еще не закончены, и песен, которые автор считает частной шуткой, не подлежащей печати.

Борис Борисович Гребенщиков , Борис Гребенщиков

Песенная поэзия / Поэзия