Сэр Томас Уайетт (англ. Thomas Wyatt; 1503 — 11.10.1542) — английский государственный деятель и поэт.
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They flee from me that sometime did me seek,
With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek
That are now wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown did from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small,
Therewithall sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, "Dear heart, how like you this?"
It was no dream, I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness,
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served,
I would fain know what she hath deserved
Incident of the French Camp by Robert Browning
ROBERT BROWNING
(1812-1889)
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.
Just as perhaps he mused "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall"—
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound,
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy:
hardly could suspect—
(So tight he kept his lips compressed.
Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace
We've got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal's in the market-place,
And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans
Soared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes.
"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride
Touched to the quick, he said:
"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,
Smiling, the boy fell dead.
***
РОБЕРТ БРАУНИНГ
(1812-1889)
СЛУЧАЙ ВО ФРАНЦУЗСКОМ ЛАГЕРЕ
За Регенсбург мы бой вели,
А позади колонн
Глядел, как мы на приступ шли,
С холма Наполеон.
Он руки за спиной сцепил
И наклонил чело,
Чтоб бремя дум, что он таил,
Не так его гнело.
Наверно, думал он: «Мой план
На гибель обречён,
Коль не захватит маршал Ланн
Тот, дальний бастион».
Вдруг видим мы: коня в галоп
Меж дымных батарей
Какой-то всадник гонит, чтоб
Холма достичь быстрей.
Какую он доставит весть?
Примчался наконец,
С улыбкой спрыгнул, отдал честь –
Ещё совсем юнец!
Сжал зубы, мускулы напряг,
И вряд ли кто-нибудь
В тот миг заметил, что смельчак
Навылет ранен в грудь.
«Взят Регенсбург! – воскликнул он. –
Мы выиграли бой,
Ваш стяг орлиный водружён
На ратуше был мной.
В ней будет маршал горд и рад
Вас, государь, принять».
И вновь вождя зажёгся взгляд:
Он победил опять.
Но тут же скорбь глаза тайком
Ему заволокла,
Как у орлицы над птенцом,
Чьи сломаны крыла.
«Ты ранен?» И, как долг велит,
Тот отрапортовал:
«Нет, я не ранен – я убит», -
И мёртв пред ним упал.
1842
Перевод Сергея Сухарева –
- В кн.: Браунинг Р. Стихотворения.
Л.: Худож. лит-р