Текст песни Ht Bristol l - Верни меня к жизни
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poet Christina Georgina Rossetti #60 on top 500 poets Poet's PagePoemsQuotationsCommentsStatsE-BooksBiographyShare on FacebookShare on TwitterPoems by Christina Georgina Rossetti : 286 / 312 « prev. poem next poem »
Under The Rose
'The iniquity of the fathers upon the children.'
Oh the rose of keenest thorn!
One hidden summer morn
Under the rose I was born.
I do not guess his name
Who wrought my Mother's shame,
And gave me life forlorn,
But my Mother, Mother, Mother,
I know her from all other.
My Mother pale and mild,
Fair as ever was seen,
She was but scarce sixteen,
Little more than a child,
When I was born
To work her scorn.
With secret bitter throes,
In a passion of secret woes,
She bore me under the rose.
One who my Mother nursed
Took me from the first:—
'O nurse, let me look upon
This babe that costs so dear;
To-morrow she will be gone:
Other mothers may keep
Their babes awake and asleep,
But I must not keep her here.'—
Whether I know or guess,
I know this not the less.
So I was sent away
That none might spy the truth:
And my childhood waxed to youth
And I left off childish play.
I never cared to play
With the village boys and girls;
And I think they thought me proud,
I found so little to say
And kept so from the crowd:
But I had the longest curls
And I had the largest eyes
And my teeth were small like pearls;
The girls might flout and scout me,
But the boys would hang about me
In sheepish mooning wise.
Our one-street village stood
A long mile from the town,
A mile of windy down
And bleak one-sided wood,
With not a single house.
Our town itself was small,
With just the common shops,
And throve in its small way.
Our neighbouring gentry reared
The good old-fashioned crops,
And made old-fashioned boasts
Of what John Bull would do
If Frenchman Frog appeared,
And drank old-fashioned toasts,
And made old-fashioned bows
To my Lady at the Hall.
My Lady at the Hall
Is grander than they all:
Hers is the oldest name
In all the neighbourhood;
But the race must die with her
Though she's a lofty dame,
For she's unmarried still.
Poor people say she's good
And has an open hand
As any in the land,
And she's the comforter
Of many sick and sad;
My nurse once said to me
That everything she had
Came of my Lady's bounty:
'Though she's greatest in the county
She's humble to the poor,
No beggar seeks her door
But finds help presently.
I pray both night and day
For her, and you must pray:
But she'll never feel distress
If needy folk can bless.'
I was a little maid
When here we came to live
From somewhere by the sea.
Men spoke a foreign tongue
There where we used to be
When I was merry and young,
Too young to feel afraid;
The fisher folk would give
A kind strange word to me,
There by the foreign sea:
I don't know where it was,
But I remember still
Our cottage on a hill,
And fields of flowering grass
On that fair foreign shore.
I liked my old home best,
But this was pleasant too:
So here we made our nest
And here I grew.
And now and then my Lady
In riding past our door
Would nod to Nurse and speak,
Or stoop and pat my cheek;
And I was always ready
To hold the field-gate wide
For my Lady to go through;
My Lady in her veil
So seldom put aside,
My Lady grave and pale.
I often sat to wonder
Who might my parents be,
For I knew of something under
My simple-seeming state.
Nurse never talked to me
Of mother or of father,
But watched me early and late
With kind suspicious cares:
Or not suspicious, rather
Anxious, as if she knew
Some secret I might gather
And smart for unawares.
Thus I grew.
But Nurse waxed old and grey,
Bent and weak with years.
There came a certain day
That she lay upon her bed
Shaking her palsied head,
With words she gasped to say
Which had to stay unsaid.
Then with a jerking hand
Held out so piteously
She gave a ring to me
Of gold wrought curiously,
A ring which she had worn
Since the day I was born,
She once had said to me:
I slipped it on my finger;
Her eyes were keen to linger
On my hand that slipped it on;
Then she sighed one rattling sigh
And stared on with sightless eye:—
The one who loved me was gone.
How long I stayed alone
With the corpse I never knew,
For I fainted dead as stone:
When I came to life once more
I was down upon the floor,
With neighbours making ado
To bring me back to life.
I heard the sexton's wife
Say: 'Up, my lad, and run
To tell it at the Hall;
She was my Lady's nurse,
And done can't be undone.
I'll watch by this poor lamb.
I guess my Lady's purse
Is always open to such:
I'd run up on my crutch
A cripple as I am,'
(For cramps had vexed her much)
'Rather than this dear heart
Lack one to take her part.'
For days day after day
On my weary bed I lay
Wishing the time would pass;
Oh, so wishing that I was
Likely to pass away:
For the one friend whom I knew
Was dead, I knew no other,
Neither father nor mother;
And I, what should I do?
One day the sexton's wife
Said: 'Rouse yourself, my dear:
My Lady has driven down
From the Hall into the town,
And we think she's coming here.
Cheer up, for life is life.'
But I would not look or speak,
Would not cheer up at all.
My tears were like to fall,
So I turned round to the wall
And hid my hollow cheek
Making as if I slept,
As silent as a stone,
And no one knew I wept.
What was my Lady to me,
The grand lady from the Hall?
She might come, or stay away,
I was sick at heart that day:
The whole world seemed to be
Nothing, just nothing to me,
For aught that I could see.
Yet I listened where I lay:
A bustle came below,
A clear voice said: 'I know;
I will see her first alone,
It may be less of a shock
If she's so weak to-day:'—
A light hand turned the lock,
A light step crossed the floor,
One sat beside my bed:
But never a word she said.
For me, my shyness grew
Each moment more and more:
So I said never a word
And neither looked nor stirred;
I think she must have heard
My heart go pit-a-pat:
Thus I lay, my Lady sat,
More than a mortal hour—
(I counted one and two
By the house-clock while I lay):
I seemed to have no power
To think of a thing to say,
Or do what I ought to do,
Or rouse myself to a choice.
At last she said: 'Margaret,
Won't you even look at me?'
A something in her voice
Forced my tears to fall at last,
Forced sobs from me thick and fast;
Something not of the past,
Yet stirring memory;
A something new, and yet
Not new, too sweet to last,
Which I never can forget.
I turned and stared at her:
Her cheek showed hollow-pale;
Her hair like mine was fair,
A wonderful fall of hair
That screened her like a veil;
But her height was statelier,
Her eyes had depth more deep;
I think they must have had
Always a something sad,
Unless they were asleep.
While I stared, my Lady took
My hand in her spare hand
Jewelled and soft and grand,
And looked with a long long look
Of hunger in my face;
As if she tried to trace
Features she ought to know,
And half hoped, half feared, to find.
Whatever was in her mind
She heaved a sigh at last,
And began to talk to me.
'Your nurse was my dear nurse,
And her nursling's dear,' said she:
'I never knew that she was worse
Till her poor life was past'
(Here my Lady's tears dropped fast):
'I might have been with her,
But she had no comforter.
She might have told me much
Which now I shall never know,
Never never shall know.'
She sat by me sobbing so,
And seemed so woe-begone,
That I laid one hand upon
Hers with a timid touch,
Scarce thinking what I did,
Not knowing what to say:
That moment her face was hid
In the pillow close by mine,
Her arm was flung over me,
She hugged me, sobbing so
As if her heart would break,
And kissed me where I lay.
After this she often came
To bring me fruit or wine,
Or sometimes hothouse flowers.
And at nights I lay awake
Often and often thinking
What to do for her sake.
Wet or dry it was the same:
She would come in at all hours,
Set me eating and drinking
And say I must grow strong;
At last the day seemed long
And home seemed scarcely home
If she did not come.
Well, I grew strong again:
In time of primroses,
I went to pluck them in the lane;
In time of nestling birds,
I heard them chirping round the house;
And all the herds
Were out at grass when I grew strong,
And days were waxen long,
And there was work for bees
Among the May-bush boughs,
And I had shot up tall,
And life felt after all
Pleasant, and not so long
When I grew strong.
I was going to the Hall
To be my Lady's maid:
'Her little friend,' she said to me,
'Almost her child,'
She said and smiled
Sighing painfully;
Blushing, with a second flush
As if she blushed to blush.
Friend, servant, child: just this
My standing at the Hall;
The other servants call me 'Miss,'
My Lady calls me '
Перевод песни
Поэт Кристина Джорджина Россетти # 60 в списке 500 лучших поэтов Страница поэтаПоэмыЦитатыКомментарииСтатииЕкиБиографияПоделиться в FacebookПоделиться в TwitterСтихи Кристины Джорджины Россетти: 286/312 «пред. стихотворение следующее стихотворение »
Под розой
«Беззаконие отцов на детей».
О, роза горячего шипа!
Одно скрытое летнее утро
Под розой я родился.
Я не угадываю его имя
Кто сделал позор моей матери,
И дал мне жизнь несчастной,
Но моя мама, мама, мама,
Я знаю ее от всех остальных.
Моя мама бледная и мягкая,
Ярмарка, как никогда раньше,
Ей было всего шестнадцать,
Чуть больше, чем ребенок,
Когда я родился
Для работы ее пренебрежение.
С тайными муками
В страсти тайных бед,
Она родила меня под розой.
Тот, кого моя мама кормила
Взял меня с первого раза: -
«О, медсестра, позвольте мне взглянуть на
Этот ребенок, который стоит так дорого;
Завтра она уйдет
Другие матери могут держать
Их дети просыпаются и спят,
Но я не должен держать ее здесь.
Знаю ли я или угадаю,
Я знаю это не меньше.
Итак, меня отослали
Чтобы никто не мог шпионить правду
И мое детство переросло в молодость
И я прекратил детскую игру.
Я никогда не хотел играть
С деревенскими мальчиками и девочками;
И я думаю, что они думали, что я горжусь,
Я нашел так мало, чтобы сказать
И так держится от толпы
Но у меня были самые длинные кудри
И у меня были самые большие глаза
И мои зубы были маленькие, как жемчужины;
Девчонки могут бросить меня и разведать,
Но мальчики будут висеть вокруг меня
По зову лунный мудрый.
Наш одноэтажный поселок стоял
Длинная миля от города,
Миля ветрено вниз
И холодный односторонний лес,
Ни с одним домом.
Сам наш город был маленьким,
Только с обычными магазинами,
И рос на своем маленьком пути.
Наш соседский дворянский дом вырос
Хороший старомодный урожай,
И сделал старомодные хвастовства
Что бы сделал Джон Булл
Если появился француз Frog,
И пили старомодные тосты,
И сделал старомодные луки
Моей Леди в Зале.
Моя леди в зале
Это грандиознее, чем все они:
Ее самое старое имя
Во всем районе;
Но раса должна умереть вместе с ней
Хотя она высокая дама,
Потому что она еще не замужем.
Бедные люди говорят, что она хорошая
И имеет открытую руку
Как любой на земле,
И она утешитель
Из многих больных и грустных;
Моя медсестра однажды сказала мне
Это все, что у нее было
Пришел за милостью моей леди
«Хотя она самая большая в округе
Она скромна для бедных,
Никто не ищет ее двери
Но находит помощь в настоящее время.
Я молюсь и днем и ночью
За нее и ты должен молиться
Но она никогда не будет чувствовать бедствие
Если нуждающиеся люди могут благословить.
Я была маленькой горничной
Когда здесь мы пришли, чтобы жить
Откуда-то у моря.
Мужчины говорили на иностранном языке
Там, где мы были
Когда я был весел и молод,
Слишком молод, чтобы бояться;
Рыбаки дадут
Доброе странное слово для меня,
Там у заграничного моря:
Я не знаю, где это было,
Но я все еще помню
Наш коттедж на холме,
И поля цветущей травы
На этом прекрасном зарубежном берегу.
Мне больше всего понравился мой старый дом,
Но это тоже было приятно:
Так вот, мы сделали наше гнездо
И вот я вырос.
И то и дело моя леди
Проезжая мимо нашей двери
Кивал бы Медсестре и говорил,
Или наклониться и погладить меня по щеке;
И я всегда был готов
Держать полевые ворота широко
Для моей леди, чтобы пройти;
Моя леди в ее вуали
Так редко откладывают в сторону,
Богоматерь серьезная и бледная.
Я часто задавался вопросом
Кем могут быть мои родители,
Ибо я знал что-то под
Мое простое на вид состояние.
Медсестра никогда не разговаривала со мной
Матери или отца,
Но смотрел на меня рано и поздно
С любезными подозрительными заботами:
Или не подозрительно, скорее
Тревожно, как будто она знала
Какой-то секрет, который я мог бы собрать
И умный для врасплох.
Таким образом я вырос.
Но медсестра воском старая и серая,
Согнут и слаб с годами.
Наступил определенный день
Что она лежит на своей кровати
Покачав головой парализованным,
Со словами она ахнула сказать
Который должен был остаться недосказанным.
Затем дергая рукой
Выдержал так жалко
Она дала мне кольцо
Из золота, сделанного с любопытством,
Кольцо, которое она носила
С того дня, как я родился,
Однажды она сказала мне:
Я сунул его на палец;
Ее глаза хотели задержаться
На моей руке, которая надевала его;