* Географические названия: Аоnian bays, гора Tempe, река Aganippe - встречаются в разных старинных английских и античных источниках.

                                                    © В.Корман

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                     ЭЛИНОР ФАРДЖОН      ТОМАС КЭМПИОН

Sonnet

Sweet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train,
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers:
The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,
The clouds for Joy in pearls weep down their showers.
Thou turn'st sweet youth, but, ah ! my pleasant hours
And happy days with thee come not again;
The sad memorials only of my pain
Do with thou turn, which turn my sweets in sours.
Thou art the same which still thou wast before,
Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair;
But she, whose breathe embalmed thy wholesome air,
Is gone; nor glad, nor gems, her can restore.
Neglected virtue, seasons go and come,
While thine forgot lie closet in a tomb.

                              * * *

Sleep, silence' child, sweet father of soft rest,
Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings,
Indifferent host to shepherds and to king,
Sole comforter of minds with grief oppressed,
Lo, by thy charming rod all breathing things
Lye slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possessed;
And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings
Thou spares ,alas, who cannot be thy guest.
Since I am thine, O come, but with that face
To inward light which thou art wont to show,
With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe;
Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace,
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath;
I long to kiss the image of my death.

Sonnet (From Urania, or Spiritual Poems)

Too long I followed have my fond desire,
And too long painted on the ocean streams;
Too long refreshment sought amidst the fire,
And hunted joys, which to my soul were blames,
Ah ! when I had what most I did admire,
And seen of life's delights the last extremes,
I found all but a rose hedged with a briar,
A nought, a thought, a show of mocking dreams.
Henceforth on thee mine only good I'll think,
For only thou canst grant what I do crave;
Thy nail my pen shall be, thy blood mine ink,
Thy winding sheet my paper, study grave;
And till that soul forth of this body fly,
No hope I'll have but only onely thee.

                             * * *

My lute, be as thou wast when thou didst grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
when immelodious winds but made thee move,
And bids on thee their ramage did bestow.
Sith that dear voice, which did thy sounds approve,
Which used in such harmonious strain to flow,
Is reft from earth to tune those spheres above,
What art thou but a harbinger of woe?
Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more,
But orphan wailings to the fainting ear;
Each stop a sigh, tach sound draws forth a tear,
Be therefore silent as in woods before:
Or if that any hand to touch thee deign,
Like wedowed turtle still her loss complain.

                           * * *

That I so slenderly set forth my mind,
Writing I wot not what in ragged rhymes,
And, charged with brass into these golden times,
When other tower so high, am left behind,
I crave not Phoebus leave his sacred cell
To bind my brows with fresh Aonian* bays;
Let them have that who tuning sweetest lays
By Tempe* sit, or Aganippe* well.
Nor yet to Venus' tree do I aspire,
Sith she for whom I might affect that praise
My best attempt with cruel words gainsays;
And I seek not that others me admire.
Of weeping myrrh the crown is which I crave,
With a sad cypress to adorn my grave.

Sonnet (From Flowers of Sion)

A good that never satisfies the mind,
A beauty fading like the April flowers,
A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined,
A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A honor that more fickle is than wind,
A glory at opinion's frown than wind,
A treasury which bankrupt time devours,
A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,
A vain delight our equals to command,
A style of greatness, in effect a dream,
A fabulous thought of holding sea and a land,
A servile lot, decked with a pompous name,
Are the strange ends we toil for here below,
Till wisest death make us our errors know.

Предыдущие публикации и об авторе - РГ №4 2013г., №2 2012г.
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