(Äæ.Ð.Ð.Òîëêèåí, ïåð. È.Ãðèíøïóíà)
Áûë çåëåí ïëþù, è âèëñÿ õìåëü,
Ëèëàñü ëèñòâû ïîëíî÷íîé òåíü,
Êðóæèëàñü çâåçäíàÿ ìåòåëü
 òèøè ïîëÿí, â ïëåòåíüè òðàâ.
Òàì òàíöåâàëà Ëóòèýí;
Åé ïåëà òèõàÿ ñâèðåëü,
Óêðûâøèñü â ñóìðà÷íóþ òåíü
Áåçìîëâíî äðåìëþùèõ äóáðàâ.
Øåë Áåðåí îò õîëîäíûõ ãîð,
Èñïîëíåí ñêîðáè, îäèíîê,
Îí óñòðåìëÿë ïå÷àëüíûé âçîð,
Âî òüìó, èùà óãàñøèé äåíü.
Åãî óêðûë ëåñíîé ÷åðòîã,
È âñïûõíóë çîëîòîé óçîð
Öâåòîâ, ïðîíçàþùèõ ïîòîê
Âîëîñ ëåòÿùèõ Ëóòèýí.
Îí ïîñïåøèë íà ýòîò ñâåò,
Ïëûâóùèé ìåæ ãóñòîé ëèñòâû,
Îí çâàë, íî ñëûøàëñÿ â îòâåò
Ëèøü øîðîõ â áåçäíå òèøèíû.
È íà ñîöâåòèÿõ òðàâû
Äðîæàë ïîä âåòðîì ñâåòëûé ñëåä
Íà áëèêàõ òåìíîé ñèíåâû,
 ëó÷àõ áëåäíåþùåé ëóíû.
Ïðè ñâåòå óòðåííåé çâåçäû
Îí ñíîâà øåë è ñíîâà çâàë;
 îòâåò ëèøü øîðîõ òåìíîòû,
Ðó÷üåâ ïîäçåìíûõ ñìåõ è ïëà÷.
Íî õìåëü ïîíèê, è òåðí óâÿë,
Áåçìîëâíî óìåðëè öâåòû,
È çåìëþ ìåäëåííî îáúÿë
Ñóõîé ëèñòâû øóðøàùèé ïëàù...
Øåë Áåðåí ÷åðåç ìåðòâûé ëåñ,
 òîñêå áðîäèë ñðåäè õîëìîâ,
Åãî ìàíèë ïîëåò íåáåñ
È äàëüíèé îòáëåñê çèìíèõ ãðåç.
 ñëó÷àéíîì òàíöå îáëàêîâ
Îí âèäåë îáëèê, ÷òî èñ÷åç,
 èçâèâàõ ïëÿøóùèõ âåòðîâ
Îí âèäåë øåëê åå âîëîñ.
Îíà ïðåäñòàëà ïåðåä íèì
 íàðÿäå ñîëíå÷íûõ îãíåé,
Ïîä íåáîì íåæíî-ãîëóáûì
 öâåòàõ îòòàÿâøåé çåìëè;
Òàê ïðîáóæäàåòñÿ ðó÷åé,
Äîòîëå õîëîäîì òîìèì,
Òàê ëüåòñÿ ÷èùå è íåæíåé
Ìîòèâ, ÷òî ïòèöû ïðèíåñëè...
Îíà ïðèøëà - è â òîò æå ìèã
Èñ÷åçëà âíîâü, íî îí âîççâàë:
-Òèíóâèýëü! - È ñêîðáíûé êðèê
Çâó÷àë â ëåñàõ è îáëàêàõ.
È ñâåòëûé ðîê íà çåìëþ ïàë,
È ñâåòëûé ðîê åå íàñòèã,
È íåæíûé ñâåò åå ìåðöàë,
Äðîæà ó Áåðåíà â ðóêàõ.
Îí çàãëÿíóë â åå ãëàçà -
 íèõ îòðàæàëñÿ ïóòü ñâåòèë,
 íèõ áèëàñü âåøíÿÿ ãðîçà,
È â ýòîò ÷àñ, è â ýòîò äåíü
Íåñëà ðîæäåíüå íîâûõ ñèë
Åå áåññìåðòíàÿ êðàñà.
Ñâåðøèëîñü òî, ÷òî ðîê ñóëèë
Äëÿ Áåðåíà è Ëóòèýí.
 ãëóøè ëåñîâ, ãäå ãàñíåò âçîð,
 õîëîäíîì öàðñòâå ñåðûõ ñêàë,
 èçâèâàõ ÷åðíûõ ðóäíûõ íîð
Èõ ñòåðåãëè ìîðÿ ðàçëóê.
Íî ìèã ñâèäàíüÿ âíîâü íàñòàë,
Êàê ðîê ñóëèë, è ñ ýòèõ ïîð
Íà òîì ïóòè, ÷òî èõ ïðèçâàë,
Îíè íå ðàçíèìàëè ðóê.
The Song of Beren and Luthien
(J.R.R.Tolkien)
The leaves was long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw the mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and gray,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
Hellawes ©