The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06. Коллектив авторов

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        By the dim sea-shore

        Lonely I sat, and thought-afflicted.

        The sun sank low, and sinking he shed

        Rose and vermilion upon the waters,

        And the white foaming waves,

        Urged on by the tide,

        Foamed and murmured yet nearer and nearer—

        A curious jumble of whispering and wailing,

        A soft rippling laughter and sobbing and sighing,

        And in between all a low lullaby singing.

        Methought I heard ancient forgotten legends,

        The world-old sweet stories,

        Which once, as a boy,

        I heard from my playmates,

        When, of a summer's evening,

        We crouched down to tell stories

        On the stones of the doorstep,

        With small listening hearts,

        And bright curious eyes;

        While the big grown-up girls

        Were sitting opposite

        At flowery and fragrant windows,

        Their rosy faces

        Smiling and moonshine-illumined.

        Thalatta! Thalatta!

        Hail to thee, thou eternal sea!

        Hail to thee, ten thousand times, hail!

        With rejoicing heart

        I bid thee welcome,

        As once, long ago, did welcome thee

        Ten thousand Greek hearts—

        Hardship-battling, homesick-yearning,

        World-renowned Greek hearts.

        The billows surged,

        They foamed and murmured,

        The sun poured down, as in haste,

        Flickering ripples of rosy light;

        Long strings of frightened sea-gulls

        Flutter away shrill screaming;

        War-horses trample, and shields clash loudly,

        And far resounds the triumphant cry:

        Thalatta! Thalatta!

        Hail to thee, thou eternal sea!

        Like accents of home thy waters are whispering,

        And dreams of childhood lustrous I see

        Through thy limpid and crystalline wave,

        Calling to mind the dear old memories

        Of dear and delightful toys,

        Of all the glittering Christmas presents,

        Of all the red-branched forests of coral,

        The pearls, the goldfish and bright-colored shells,

        Which thou dost hide mysteriously

        Deep down in thy clear house of crystal.

        Oh, how have I languished in dreary exile!

        Like unto a withered flower

        In the botanist's capsule of tin,

        My heart lay dead in my breast.

        Methought I was prisoned a long sad winter,

        A sick man kept in a darkened chamber;

        And now I suddenly leave it,

        And outside meets me the dazzling Spring,

        Tenderly verdant and sun-awakened;

        And rustling trees shed snowy petals,

        And tender young flowers gaze on me

        With their bright fragrant eyes,

        And the air is full of laughter and gladness,

        And rich with the breath of blossoms,

        And in the blue sky the birds are singing—

        Thalatta! Thalatta!

        Oh, my brave Anabasis-heart!

        How often, ah! how sadly often

        Wast thou pressed hard by the North's fair Barbarians!

        From large and conquering eyes

        They shot forth burning arrows;

        With crooked words as sharp as a rapier

        They threatened to pierce my bosom;

        With cuneiform angular missives they battered

        My poor stunned brains;

        In vain I held out my shield for protection,

        The arrows hissed and the blows rained down,

        And hard pressed I was pushed to the sea

        By the North's fair Barbarians—

        And, breathing freely, I greet the sea,

        The sea my deliverer, the sea my friend—

        Thalatta! Thalatta!

        Happy is he who hath reached the safe harbor,

        Leaving behind him the stormy wild ocean,

        And now sits cosy and warm

        In the good old Town-Cellar of Bremen.

        How sweet and homelike the world is reflected,

        In the chalice green of Rhinewine Rummer.

        And how the dancing microcosm

        Sunnily glides down the thirsty throat!

        Everything I behold in the glass—

        History, old and new, of the nations,

        Both Turks and Greeks, and Hegel and Gans,

        Forests of citron and big reviews,

        Berlin and Shilda, and Tunis and Hamburg;

        But, above all, thy image, Beloved,

        And thy dear little head on a gold-ground of Rhenish!

        Oh, СКАЧАТЬ