Волшебница Шалотт и другие стихотворения - Теннисон Альфред (2007)

I, Simeon of the pillar, by surname

Stylites, among men; I, Simeon,

The watcher on the column till the end;

I, Simeon, whose brain the sunshine bakes;

I, whose bald brows in silent hours become

Unnaturally hoar with rime, do now

From my high nest of penance here proclaim

That Pontius and Iscariot by my side

Show’d like fair seraphs. On the coals I lay,

A vessel full of sin: all hell beneath

Made me boil over. Devils pluck’d my sleeve;

Abaddon and Asmodeus caught at me.

I smote them with the cross; they swarm’d again.

In bed like monstrous apes they crush’d my chest:

They flapp’d my light out as I read: I saw

Their faces grow between me and my book:

With colt-like whinny and with hoggish whine

They burst my prayer. Yet this way was left,

And by this way I ’scaped them. Mortify

Your flesh, like me, with scourges and with thorns;

Smite, shrink not, spare not. If it may be, fast

Whole Lents, and pray. I hardly, with slow steps,

With slow, faint steps, and much exceeding pain,

Have scrambled past those pits of fire, that still

Sing in mine ears. But yield not me the praise:

God only thro’ his bounty hath thought fit,

Among the powers and princes of this world,

To make me an example to mankind,

Which few can reach to. Yet I do not say

But that a time may come — yea, even now,

Now, now, his footsteps smite the threshold stairs

Of life — I say, that time is at the doors

When you may worship me without reproach;

For I will leave my relics in your land,

And you may carve a shrine about my dust,

And burn a fragrant lamp before my bones,

When I am gather’d to the glorious saints.

While I spake then, a sting of shrewdest pain

Ran shrivelling thro’ me, and a cloudlike change,

In passing, with a grosser film made thick

These heavy, horny eyes. The end! the end!

Surely the end! What’s here? a shape, a shade,

A flash of light. Is that the angel there

That holds a crown? Come, blessed brother, come.

I know thy glittering face. I waited long;

My brows are ready. What! deny it now?

Nay, draw, draw, draw nigh. So I clutch it. Christ!

’Tis gone: ’tis here again; the crown! the crown!

So now ’tis fitted on and grows to me,

And from it melt the dews of Paradise,

Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and balm, and frankincense.

Ah! let me not be fool’d, sweet saints: I trust

That I am whole, and clean, and meet for Heaven.

Speak, if there be a priest, a man of God,

Among you there, and let him presently

Approach, and lean a ladder on the shaft,

And climbing up into my airy home,

Deliver me the blessed sacrament;

For by the warning of the Holy Ghost,

I prophesy that I shall die to-night,

A quarter before twelve.

But thou, О Lord,

Aid all this foolish people; let them take

Example, pattern: lead them to thy light.

СИМЕОН СТОЛПНИК

Пусть я — ничтожнейший из всех людей,

Коростою греха покрытый, чуждый

Земле и небу, лакомый кусок

Для богохульных и безумных бесов, —

Надежд своих на святость не оставлю,

И буду восклицать, скорбеть, рыдать,

Стучать грозой молитвы в двери неба.

Спаси, Господь, избави от греха.

Великий, справедливый, крепкий Боже,

Сверши, чтоб не напрасно тридцать лет,

Утроенных мученьями моими,

В жару и холод, в голоде и жажде

Я выносил страданья, горечь, боль,

Как знаменье меж небом и землей

Все на столпе своем претерпевая:

Снега, дожди, морозы, ветер, солнце,