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«Властитель наших дум». Байрон и русская литература. Джордж Гордон Байрон 1788 - 1824. MY SOUL IS DARK My soul is dark – Oh! Quickly string The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let the gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs ov’r mine ear.

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«Властитель наших дум»

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1788 - 1824


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MY SOUL IS DARK

My soul is dark Oh! Quickly string

The harp I yet can brook to hear;

And let the gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmurs ovr mine ear.

If in his heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again:

If in this eyes there lurk a tear,

twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,

Not let thy notes of joy be first:

I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,

Or else this this heavy hear will burst;

For it hath been by sorrow nursed,

And ached in sleepless silence long;

And now tis doomed to know the worst,

And break at once or yield to song.


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SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

She walks in Beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies:

And all thats best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens oer her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and oer that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!


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LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA

As oer the cold sepulchral stone

Some name arrests the passer-by;

Thus, when thou viewst this page alone,

May mine attract the pensive eye!

And when by thee that name is read,

Perchance in some succeeding year,

Reflect on me as on the dead,

And think my Heart is buried here.


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