Поэзия Канады (Люси Мод Монтгомери) - Люси Мод Монтгомери

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его словах команде всей хватило места,

      А смерть – невеста!

      Почти юнцы тогда отважно пали.

      Я, менее удачливый, вернулся

      От выстрелов, гортанных криков, стали,

      Медлительно и тяжко, чтоб изведать

      Мученья перед жуткою концовкой,

      Страшней своей агонии короткой.

      Сквозь пытки, боль и муки – через это

      Мой дух тогда измученный уйдет,

      Ищу друзей, но весть терплю, однако,

      О том, что мы в отчаянии сейчас,

      Засоленный надолго случай землю спас,

      Бог внял теперь молитвам Даулака.

      At the Long Sault

      A prisoner under the stars I lie,

      With no friend near;

      To-morrow they lead me forth to die,

      The stake is ready, the torments set,

      They will pay in full their deadly debt;

      But I fear them not! Oh, none could fear

      Of those who stood by Daulac’s side

      While he prayed and laughed and sang and fought

      In the very reek of death and caught

      The martyr passion that flamed from his face

      As he died!

      Where he led us we followed glad,

      For we loved him well;

      Some there were that held him mad,

      But we knew that a heavenly rage had place

      In that dauntless soul; the good God spake

      To us through him; we had naught to do

      Save only obey; and when his eyes

      Flashed and kindled like storm-swept skies,

      And his voice like a trumpet thrilled us through,

      We would have marched with delight for his sake

      To the jaws of hell.

      The mists hung blue and still on the stream

      At the marge of dawn;

      The rapids laughed till we saw their teeth

      Like a snarling wolf’s fangs glisten and gleam;

      Sweetly the pine trees underneath

      The shadows slept in the moonlight wan;

      Sweetly beneath the steps of the spring

      The great, grim forest was blossoming;

      And we fought, that springs for other men

      Might blossom again.

      Faint, thirst-maddened we prayed and fought

      By night and by day;

      Eyes glared at us with serpent hate

      Yet sometimes a hush fell, and then we heard naught

      Save the wind’s shrill harping far away,

      The piping of birds, and the softened calls

      Of the merry, distant water-falls;

      Then of other scenes we thought

      Of valleys beloved in sunny France,

      Purple vineyards of song and dance,

      Hopes and visions roseate;

      Of many a holy festal morn,

      And many a dream at vesper bell

      But anon the shuddering air was torn

      By noises such as the fiends of hell

      Might make in holding high holiday!

      Once, so bitter the death-storm hailed,

      We shrank and quailed.

      Daulac sprang out before us then,

      Shamed in our fears;

      Glorious was his face to see,

      The face of one who listens and hears

      Voices unearthly, summonings high

      Rang his tone like a clarion, ”Men,

      See yonder star in the golden sky,

      Such a man’s duty is to him,

      A beacon that will not flicker nor dim,

      Shining through darkness and despair.

      Almost the martyr’s crown is yours!

      Thinking the price too high to be paid,

      Will you leave the sacrifice half made?

      I tell you God will answer the prayer

      Of the soul that endures!

      ”Comrades, far in the future I see

      A mighty land;

      Throned among the nations of earth,

      Noble and happy, calm and free;

      As a veil were lifted I see her stand,

      And out of that future a voice to me

      Promises that our names shall shine

      On the page of her story with lustre divine

      Impelling to visions and deeds of worth.

      ”Ever thus since the world was begun,

      When a man hath given up his life,

      Safety and freedom have been won

      By the holy power of self-sacrifice;

      For the memory of your mother’s kiss

      Valiantly stand to the breach again.

      Comrades, blench not now from the strife,

      Quit you like men!”

      Oh, we rushed to meet at our captain’s side

      Death as a bride!

      All our brave striplings bravely fell.

      I, less fortunate, slowly came

      Back from that din of shot and yell

      Slowly and gaspingly, to know

      A harder fate reserved for me

      Than that brief, splendid agony.

      Through many a bitter pang and throe

      My spirit must to-morrow go

      To seek my comrades; but I bear

      The tidings that our desperate stand

      By the Long Sault has saved our land,

      And God has answered Daulac’s prayer.

      ПЕРЕД ШТОРМОМ

      Над гаванью серые тучи, как страхи на женском

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