Жемчужница и песчинка. Эмилия Тайсина

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      Old Emi was as brave a girl,

      As ever graced a martial story.

      Rene was fair as a rare black pearl;

      He sighed for Love, and she for Glory.

      With her his fate he meant to plight,

      And told her many a gallant story;

      Till war, their coming joys to blight,

      Called her away from Love to Glory.

      Old Emi met the foe with pride;

      He followed, fought! – ah, hapless story!

      In black attire, by Emi’s side,

      He died for Love, and she for Glory.

      I hold a glass of sweet champagne.

      Sun beams on snows of my domain.

      I sing of love, I live again;

      Here’s to my darling Valentine!

      Black beard enthroned on his pale cheek;

      His dome – like forehead’s always bleak;

      Dark clothes close the shape unique

      Of my misterious Valentine.

      His whisper flls the soul of mine;

      His manner shows the grace divine;

      His mind is deep like solemn brine;

      Here’s to my pious Valentine!

      He knows the art of high debate.

      In sacred texts he does his bathe.

      God in His mercy gave him grace,

      And he’s the lover of the Fate.

      Let’s drink a health to him who tried

      The charms of Charm, the chains of Chain,

      Who has endeavoured all the might

      Of spell, and Gospel, and refrain.

      This winter day has golden rim!

      I raise my glass to skies above,

      And I drink my champagne to him,

      And he will drink his one to Love.

      For he’s a poet on the brim

      Of old sophisticated Time.

      I think of him and sing of him;

      Here’s to my noble Valentine!

      «Love me tender, love me sweet», —

      Chirps the golden parrakeet;

      «Love me little, love me long», —

      Warns the wise precautious song.

      I don't care a hair for these,

      I have never prayed for peace.

      I will sing another song:

      Love me short but love me strong.

      Oh boy, why treat me like a saint?

      Release me of your pious love;

      My manners are by no means quaint;

      I do not beam from high above,

      I cannot dance upon my toes,

      I cannot play the harp or fute,

      I do not pardon all my foes,

      My tune is shameless and acute;

      No angel dwells in my brave soul:

      He’d be afraid of eagles nest,

      Afraid to touch my anger’s bowl,

      Or dare touch me while I rest.

      Ambitious, arrogant, and stern,

      I never laugh when I am glad,

      I never cry when I am sad,

      I laugh and cry to gain concern.

      Oh boy, I’ve never loved a СКАЧАТЬ