Посвящение мисс Маргарет Фуллартон (Роберт Бернс-младший/Смирнов)

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Посвящение мисс Маргарет Фуллартон
автор Роберт Бернс-младший (1786–1857), пер. Д. Смирнов-Садовский (р. 1948)
Язык оригинала: шотландский. Название в оригинале: To Miss Margaret Fullarton. — Опубл.: 1836. Источник: http://www.electricscotland.com/history/nation/burns.htm
Посвящение мисс М<аргарет> Ф<уллартон>


перевод Д. Смирнова-Садовского

Я утром встал, рассвет пылал
И жаром разгорался,
И на леса легла роса,
Ракитник колыхался,
Со всех сторон, как нежный звон,
Хор пташек заливался,
И сквозь листву я наяву
Любимой любовался.
Свет маяка для моряка,
Что в буре исстрадался,
Надежды знак, и точно так
Я милой любовался.

И неспроста её уста,
Алели словно розы,
И свет лучей лил из очей
Стыдливых, как мимозы.
Росинки слёз и смоль волос, –
Я ими умилялся,
Смотрел тайком, и как цветком
Я Мэгги любовался.
Как вишни цвет, каким поэт
Весною упивался,
Лицом бела, она цвела,
А я всё любовался.

И, как огонь, её ладонь
Я охватил рукою,
И сердца стук услышал вдруг,
И вот – конец покою,
А хор звенел, и пламенел,
Я слушал, наслаждался,
И всё сильней и всё полней
Пожар мой разгорался.
Уж час грядёт, – Смерть уведёт,
Как я б ни отбивался,
И вспомню край – мой дивный рай,
Где с Мэгги я встречался.

1836. Перевод: 17 июня 2009, Сент-Олбанс
To Miss M<argaret> F<ullarton>

 
by Robert Burns yonger
  
As I gaed up the side o' Nith,
Ae simmer morning early,
Wi' gowden locks, on dewy leas
The broom was wavin' fairly.
Aloft, unseen, in cloudless sky.
The lark was singing clearly,
When wadin' through the broom I spied
My pretty Meg, my dearie.
Like dawing light on stormy night
To sailors wae and weary,
Sic joy to me the glint to see
O pretty Meg, my dearie !

Her lips were like a half-seen rose
When day is breaking paly.
Her ee'n beneath her bonie brow
Like rain-drops frae a lily.
Like twa young blue-bells fiU'd wi' dew,
They glanc'd" baith bright and clearly;
Aboon them shone, o' glossy brown.
The locks o' Meg, my dearie.
Of a' the flowers in sunny bowers
That bloom'd that morn sae cheery.
The sweetest flower that happy hour
Was pretty Meg, my dearie.

I took her by the sma' white hand.
My heart sprang in my bosom –
Upon her face dwelt maiden grace,
Like sunshine on a blossom.
I listen'd to the hymn o' joy
Frae ilka birdie near me –
Yon hawthorn's lintie sang o' thee.
My pretty Meg, my dearie !
Till tyrant Death shall blin' my e'e,
When life grows dim and dreary,
I'll mind the shade where lang I stray'd
Wi' pretty Meg, my dearie !

Robert Burns, July, 1836.

Примечания

Robert Burns (son) was born on 3 September 1786 in Mossgiel, Mauchline, Ayrshire, Scotland. He was the son of Robert Burns and Jean Armour.1,2 He was baptized on 5 September 1786 in Mauchline, Ayrshire, Scotland.1 He married Anne Sherwood on 24 March 1809 in St Marylebone, Middlesex, England.3 He died on 14 May 1857 in English Street, Dumfries, Dumfriesshire, Scotland, at age 70.2 He was buried in St Michael’s Kirkyard, Dumfries, Dumfriesshire, Scotland. / Судьбы поэтов схожи. Пушкин, шутя, запретил потомкам идти по его стопам: писать стихи и бодаться с царями: в стихах все равно предка не перещеголяют, а с царями бодаться — дело бесполезное. О части второй в отношении Бернса не известно ничего (а что известно, о том помолчим), а вот первый запрет в семье Бернса был многократно нарушен. В частности, пробовал свои силы в поэзии старший сын поэта — Роберт Бернс-младший [1786-1857]. Несколько песен на музыку одного из лучших композиторов Шотландии, легендарного Нейла Гау, нам удалось обнаружить. Мы приводим раннюю версию песни Бернса-младшего по публикации 1910 года; более поздняя впервые была опубликована в Манчестере в 1850 году. Героиня стихотворения — миссис Росс (в прошлом мисс Фуллартон) — 1810—1880: именно ей, шестнадцатилетней, посвятил эту песню пятидесятилетний сын шотландского гения. Е. В. Витковский


© D. Smirnov-Sadovsky. Translation. Can be reproduced if non commercial. / © Д. Смирнов-Садовский. Перевод.


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http://www.electricscotland.com/history/nation/burns.htm

Of Burns’ family, it may be mentioned that Robert, the eldest son of the poet, was for twenty-nine years in the Legacy department of the Stamp office, Somerset House, London, and afterwards he for some years resided at Dumfries, on a retiring allowance. He married in London, but his wife died before his return to Scotland They had one daughter, Eliza Burns, who, under the patronage of her uncle William, went out to India, where she married an Irishman, the surgeon of a regiment. Her husband returned home in bad health, and died in Ireland, leaving an only daughter. William Nicol Burns, the second son, and James Glencairn Burns, the youngest, both entered the East India Company’s service, from which they both retired, the first as colonel, and his brother as lieutenant-colonel. The former married in India, but returned a widower, without children. The latter married twice, but was also left a widower, and the father of two daughters. Another of his sons died in 1803. The centenary of Robert Burns was held throughout the civilized world in January 1859, with great enthusiasm, and an account of the proceedings on the occasion was soon after published in an imperial 8vo volume by Messrs. A. Fullarton & Co.

Robert Burns, the poet’s eldest son, besides being an excellent linguist and an accomplished musician, was also himself a poet of no mean merit. The following little Scottish song written by him, is not unworthy of his gifted sire:

                        PRETTY MEG, MY DEARIE.

                        “As In gaed up the side o’Nith,
                              Ae simmer morning early,
                        Wi’ gowden locks on dewy leas,
                              The broom was waving fairly;
                        Aloft unseen in cloudless sky,
                              The lark was singing clearly,
                        When wadin’ through the broom I spied
                              My pretty Meg, my dearie:
                        Like dawin’ light frae stormy night,
                              To sailor sad and weary,
                        Sae sweet to me the glint to see,
                              O’ pretty Meg, my dearie.

                        Her lips were like a half-seen rose,
                              When day is breaking paly;
                        Her een, beneath her snawy brow,
                              Like raindrops frae a lily, –
                        Like twa young bluebells fill’d with dew,
                              They glanc’d baith bright and clearly;
                        Aboon them shone, o’ bonnie brown,
                              The locks o’ Meg, my dearie.
                        Of a’ the flowers in sunny bowers,
                              That bloom’d that morn sae cheerie,
                        The fairest flower that happy hour,
                              Was pretty Meg, my dearie!

                        I took her by the sma’ white hand, –
                              My heart sprang in my bosom, –
                        Upon her face sat maiden grace,
                              Like sunshine on a blossom.
                        How lovely seem’d the morning hymn,
                              Of ilka birdie near me;
                        But sweeter far the angel voice,
                              O’ pretty Meg, my dearie.
                        While summer light shall bless my sight,
                              Or bonnie broom shall cheer me;
                        I’ll ne’er forget the morn I met
                              My pretty Meg, my dearie!”

“The meeting described in the song,” says the author, “is no fiction, neither is the heroine a fictitious personage, – her name is Margaret Fullarton. If the song has no other merit, it at least gives her portrait with faithful exactness. She is besides of a shape which is elegance and symmetry personified. She is now (1850), and has long been, the wife of Mr. Ross, gardener at Mount Annan, and has a family of beautiful children. Many years ago, on a summer Sunday morning, myself and Mr. Smith took a walk up the left bank of the Nith. When we came opposite to Ellisland, we took off our shoes and stockings, and waded the water; when we had passed Ellisland, on our way to Friar’s Carse, we met Miss Fullarton ‘wadin’ through the broom to meet us, under the exact circumstances described in the song. The tune is a composition of Neil Gow. He calls it in his collection “Mrs. Wemyss of Cuttlehill’s Strathspey.’ Every bar speaks the rough and spirited accent of the music of the banks of the Spey.”