CANTO IV
(From “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”, Canto IV, Stanzas CXL–CXLI)
CXL
I see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand—his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his droop’d head sinks gradually low— And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thundershower; and now The arena swims around him—he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail’d the wretch who won.
CXLI
He heard it, but he heeded not—his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away: He reck’d not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother—he, their sire, Butcher’d to make a Roman holiday— All this rush’d with his blood—Shall he expire And unavenged?—Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Byron,
1816-1818 |
Безумный город — пурпура и злата! В который раз ликует Колизей: Ареной стал для крови и разврата, Вершиной низменных страстей! ....................................................... И слышен рёв: толпа и звери, Перемешалось всё на миг: Вот, гладиатор пал у двери, И я увидел жалкий лик. Скажи мне, кто ты? Умирая, Уже не раб, но и не воин, Судьбу актёра выбирая, Такой ли славы удостоен? На берегах родных Дуная, Живя под вольною звездой, Тебя звала судьба иная Под звуки песни молодой. Твой дом в лесах, среди степей, Бурлящих диких вод, И где не ведали цепей, Тебя сковавших, Гот!
Дж. Г. Байрон,
1816-1818 Перевод с английского, Октябрь 26, 2005 |
