dedicated to the memory of Maureen Cooper
(words and music: Dr. Robert Dwyer Joyce)
I sat within the valley green
I sat me with my true love.
My sad heart strove the two between
The old love and the new love.
The old for her, the new
That made me think of Ireland dearly
While soft of the wind blew down the glade
and shook the golden barley.
'Twas hard the woeful words to frame
To break the ties that bound us.
But harder still to bear the shame
of foreign chains around us.
And so I said, "The mountain glen
I'll meet at morning early
And I'll join the bold united men",
While soft winds shake the barley.
'Twas sad I kissed away her tears
My fond arm round her flinging.
When a foe, man's shot burst on our ears
From out the wild woods ringing
A bullet pierced my true love's side
In lifes young spring so early.
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley
But blood for blood without remorse
I've ta'en at Oulart Hollow.
I've lain my true love's clay like corpse
Where I full soon must follow.
Around her grave I've wandered drear
Noon, night and morning early.
With breaking heart when e'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley.
------------------------------------------------
Ветер, колышущий ячмень
(перевод на русский: Мария Бубнова)
Сидел средь зелени долины
с любовью истинной моей
А сердце познавало битву
И был я весь истерзан ей.
И старая любовь сражалась
С любовью новой,
Для неё
Суть старой, крылась в гласе новой,
Что сердце тронула моё.
И это делало меня нежней
В сплошь Ирландских думах,
А мягкий ветер средь полей
Трепал ячмень златой угрюмо.
И было горько подобрать слова,
Что б выразить оковы связей,
Но хуже – вынести позор
Кольца враждебного вокруг.
И я ответил миру:
«Долы,
горы, реки,
Слышьте, знайте,
Я утром рано присягаю
Ко братству смелых!»
Ветер…
Дол…
А я целую её слёзы,
Что соль росы с листвы стираю,
А ветер всё ячмень колышет,
Златой в ирландском солнце.
И пусть она любовью дышит,
Я защищу в ладонях
От взрывов, выстрелов врагов,
Что я уж слышу издалёка
И лес невинный
В звоне пули вдруг содрогнулся и умолк…
Любимая была убита
Столь рано в юности весны
В крови, припав к груди моей
Теперь навеки видит сны.
А ветер треплет боль-ячмень.
А кровь за кровь – уж без раскаянья
Я брошу вызов Пустоте,
Что поглотила жизнь любимой,
Вобрало тело бездыханно.
И скоро я продолжу битву.
Теперь и ночь, и утром рано
Я вновь брожу вокруг могилы,
Взношу молитву
Вопросом страшным и туманным
И сердце горько разбивает
Ветер,
Колышущий ячмень на поле… dedicated to the memory of Maureen Cooper
(words and music: Dr. Robert Dwyer Joyce)
I sat within the valley green
I sat me with my true love.
My sad heart strove the two between
The old love and the new love.
The old for her, the new
That made me think of Ireland dearly
While soft of the wind blew down the glade
and shook the golden barley.
'Twas hard the woeful words to frame
To break the ties that bound us.
But harder still to bear the shame
of foreign chains around us.
And so I said, & quot; The mountain glen
I'll meet at morning early
And I'll join the bold united men & quot ;,
While soft winds shake the barley.
'Twas sad I kissed away her tears
My fond arm round her flinging.
When a foe, man's shot burst on our ears
From out the wild woods ringing
A bullet pierced my true love's side
In lifes young spring so early.
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley
But blood for blood without remorse
I've ta'en at Oulart Hollow.
I've lain my true love's clay like corpse
Where I full soon must follow.
Around her grave I've wandered drear
Noon, night and morning early.
With breaking heart when e'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley.
------------------------------------------------
Wind , waving barley
(translated into Russian : Maria Bubnov )
Sitting among green valley
with the love of my true
A heart is knowable battle
And I was all tormented her.
And old love fighting
Love the new ,
for her
The essence of the old , lay in the voice of a new ,
What touched my heart .
And it makes me gently
In entirely Irish ballads ,
A soft wind through the fields
Ruffled golden barley grimly .
And it was a bitter loss for words ,
What would express the shackles links
But worse - bring shame
Rings around hostile .
And I said to the world:
" Doly ,
mountains, rivers,
Slyshte , you know ,
I swear early in the morning
To brotherhood brave ! "
Wind ...
Dol ...
And I kiss her tears ,
The salt dew foliage wash ,
The wind stirs everything barley ,
Irish golden sun.
And let it breathe love ,
I will protect in his hands
Explosions , shots enemies
What I do hear from afar
The forest innocent
In the ringing of the bullets suddenly shuddered and paused ...
My favorite was killed
So early in the spring of youth
In the blood , having dropped to my chest
Now the dreams forever .
A breeze ruffled the pain - barley.
A blood for blood - so without remorse
I will challenge the Void
That swallowed favorite life ,
Absorbed the body without breath .
And soon I will continue to fight.
Now the night and early in the morning
Once again, I wander around the grave ,
Vznoshu prayer
Frightening and obscure question
And my heart is bitter splits
wind ,
Waving barley in the field ... Смотрите также: | |
