Поиск

БЛАГОДАРЮ, ЛЕНА! К чтению и слушанию этой книги каждый раз можно приступать с самыми разными мыслями и чувствами. Но каждый «сеанс» Иеремии Дрекселя завершается безусловным согласием с ним. На протяжении 23 лет он был придворным священником при дворе Максимилиана I, курфюрста Баварии. По воспоминаниям современников, его голос при проповедях был настолько сильным, что его было слышно в каждом уголке церкви, а его проповеди были настолько захватывающе увлекательными, что по прошествии часа слушателям казалось, что прошло всего несколько минут <a href="https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%94%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%BA%D1%81%D0%B5%D0%BB%D1%8C,_%D0%98%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%BC%D0%B8%D1%8F" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noreferrer noopener">ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%94%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%BA%D1%81%D0%B5%D0%BB%D1%8C,_%D0%98%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%BC%D0%B8%D1%8F</a>

Иеремия Дрексель родился в 1581 г. в Баварии, в городе Аугсбург, где первоначально воспитывался в лютеранской вере. Впоследствии был обращен в католичество и преподавал в иезуитской семинарии в Диллингене, в качестве профессора риторики. На протяжении 23 лет являлся придворным священником при дворе Максимилиана I, курфюрста Баварии. По воспоминаниям современников, его голос при проповедях был настолько сильным, что его было слышно в каждом уголке церкви, а его проповеди были настолько захватывающе увлекательными, что по прошествии часа слушателям казалось, что прошло всего несколько минут <a href="https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%94%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%BA%D1%81%D0%B5%D0%BB%D1%8C,_%D0%98%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%BC%D0%B8%D1%8F" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noreferrer noopener">ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%94%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%BA%D1%81%D0%B5%D0%BB%D1%8C,_%D0%98%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%BC%D0%B8%D1%8F</a>

Никогда не оставляет равнодушным тема ВОЛКОВ.<br/>
Сильный рассказ. Спасибо.<br/>
<br/>
Волчье сердце<br/>
— <br/>Нынче доброй была охота –<br/>
три матёрых, а самки мех…<br/>
Просто сказка. Легка работа<br/>
свежевать. Разговоры, смех.<br/>
Юный пёс кровь почуяв, воет,<br/>
с языка стекает слюна.<br/>
– Хочешь мяса? Лови! Достоин.<br/>
В сердце волчье вгрызайся. На!<br/>
На лету пойман сгусток ловчей,<br/>
и проглочен почти за раз…<br/>
Вздрогнул пёс, будто голос волчий<br/>
померещился, всполох глаз.<br/>
И охотник в ознобе плечи<br/>
передёрнул:" Домой, Алтай!..<br/>
Что-то зябкий сегодня вечер,<br/>
ужин впору и крепкий чай".<br/>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/>
Ночью ныла метель, металась,<br/>
им всё чудился волчий вой…<br/>
То ли волчья душа осталась,<br/>
то ли их забрала с собой.<br/>
.<br/>
<br/>
<a href="https://stihi.ru/2016/11/06/450" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noreferrer noopener">stihi.ru/2016/11/06/450</a><br/>
<br/>
© Copyright: Леонид Валериевич Жмурко, 2016

Jerry, перевод сохранил большую точность:<br/>
<br/>
The baron of Smaylho'me rose with day,<br/>
He spurr'd his courser on,<br/>
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way,<br/>
That leads to Brotherstone.<br/>
<br/>
He went not with the bold Buccleuch,<br/>
His banner broad to rear;<br/>
He went not 'gainst the English yew,<br/>
To lift the Scottish spear.<br/>
<br/>
Yet his plate-jack was braced, and his helmet was laced,<br/>
And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore;<br/>
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe,<br/>
Full ten pound weight and more.<br/>
<br/>
The Baron return'd in three days' space,<br/>
And his looks were sad and sour;<br/>
And weary was his courser's pace,<br/>
As he reach'd his rocky tower.<br/>
<br/>
He came not from where Ancram Moor<br/>
Ran red with English blood;<br/>
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch,<br/>
'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.<br/>
<br/>
Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd,<br/>
His acton pierced and tore,<br/>
His axe and his dagger with blood inbrued,-<br/>
But it was not English gore.<br/>
<br/>
He lighted at the Chapellage,<br/>
He held him close and still;<br/>
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,<br/>
His name was English Will.<br/>
<br/>
'Come thou hither, my little foot-page,<br/>
Come hither to my knee;<br/>
Though thou art young, and tender of age,<br/>
I think thou art true to me.<br/>
<br/>
'Come, tell me all that thou hast seen,<br/>
And look thou tell me true!<br/>
Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been,<br/>
What did thy lady do?'-<br/>
<br/>
'My lady, each night, sought the lonely light,<br/>
That burns on the wild Watchfold;<br/>
For, from height to height, the beacons bright<br/>
Of the English foemen told.<br/>
<br/>
'The bittern clamour'd from the moss,<br/>
The wind blew loud and shrill;<br/>
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross<br/>
To the eiry Beacon Hill.<br/>
<br/>
'I watch'd her steps, and silent came<br/>
Where she sat her on a stone;-<br/>
No watchman stood by the dreary flame,<br/>
It burned all alone.<br/>
<br/>
'The second night I kept her in sight,<br/>
Till to the fire she came,<br/>
And, by Mary's might! an Armed Knight<br/>
Stood by the lonely flame.<br/>
<br/>
'And many a word that warlike lord<br/>
Did speak to my lady there:<br/>
But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast,<br/>
And I heard not what they were.<br/>
<br/>
'The third night there the sky was fair,<br/>
And the mountain-blast was still,<br/>
As again I watch'd the secret pair,<br/>
On the lonesome Beacon Hill.<br/>
<br/>
'And I heard her name the midnight hour,<br/>
And name this holy eve;<br/>
And say, 'Come this night to thy lady's bower;<br/>
Ask no bold Baron's leave.<br/>
<br/>
'He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch;<br/>
His lady is all alone;<br/>
The door she'll undo, to her knight so true,<br/>
On the eve of good St. John.'-<br/>
<br/>
''I cannot come; I must not come;<br/>
I dare not come to thee;<br/>
On the eve of St. John I must wander alone:<br/>
In thy bower I may not be.'-<br/>
<br/>
''Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight!<br/>
Thou shouldst not say me nay;<br/>
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet,<br/>
Is worth the whole summer's day.<br/>
<br/>
''And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound,<br/>
And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair;<br/>
So, by the black rood-stone, and by Holy St. John,<br/>
I conjure thee, my love, to be there!'-<br/>
<br/>
''Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot,<br/>
And the warder his bugle should not blow,<br/>
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,<br/>
And my footstep he would know.'-<br/>
<br/>
''O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east!<br/>
For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en;<br/>
And there to say mass, till three days do pass,<br/>
For the soul of a knight that is slayne.'-<br/>
<br/>
'He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd;<br/>
Then he laugh'd right scornfully-<br/>
'He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight,<br/>
May as well say mass for me:<br/>
<br/>
''At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power,<br/>
In thy chamber will I be.'-<br/>
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,<br/>
And no more did I see.'<br/>
<br/>
Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow,<br/>
From the dark to the blood-red high;<br/>
'Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen,<br/>
For, by Mary, he shall die!'-<br/>
<br/>
'His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light;<br/>
His plume it was scarlet and blue;<br/>
On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound,<br/>
And his crest was a branch of the yew.'-<br/>
<br/>
'Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page,<br/>
Loud dost thou lie to me!<br/>
For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould,<br/>
All under the Eildon-tree.'-<br/>
<br/>
'Yet hear but my word, my noble lord!<br/>
For I heard her name his name;<br/>
And that lady bright, she called the knight<br/>
Sir Richard of Coldinghame.'-<br/>
<br/>
The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow,<br/>
From high blood-red to pale — <br/>'The grave is deep and dark — and the corpse is stiff and stark-<br/>
So I may not trust thy tale.<br/>
<br/>
'Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,<br/>
And Eildon slopes to the plain,<br/>
Full three nights ago, by some secret foe,<br/>
That gay gallant was slain.<br/>
<br/>
'The varying light deceived thy sight,<br/>
And the wild winds drown'd the name;<br/>
For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing,<br/>
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!'<br/>
<br/>
He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower-gate,<br/>
And he mounted the narow stair,<br/>
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait,<br/>
He found his lady fair.<br/>
<br/>
That lady sat in mournful mood;<br/>
Look'd over hill and vale;<br/>
Over Tweed's fair flod, and Mertoun's wood,<br/>
And all down Teviotdale.<br/>
<br/>
'Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!'-<br/>
'Now hail, thou Baron true!<br/>
What news, what news, from Ancram fight?<br/>
What news from the bold Buccleuch?'-<br/>
<br/>
'The Ancram Moor is red with gore,<br/>
For many a southron fell;<br/>
And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore,<br/>
To watch our beacons well.'-<br/>
<br/>
The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said:<br/>
Nor added the Baron a word:<br/>
Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair,<br/>
And so did her moody lord.<br/>
<br/>
In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd and turn'd,<br/>
And oft to himself he said,-<br/>
'The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep……<br/>
It cannot give up the dead!'-<br/>
<br/>
It was near the ringing of matin-bell,<br/>
The night was wellnigh done,<br/>
When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell,<br/>
On the eve of good St. John.<br/>
<br/>
The lady look'd through the chamber fair,<br/>
By the light of a dying flame;<br/>
And she was aware of a knight stood there-<br/>
Sir Richard of Coldinghame!<br/>
<br/>
'Alas! away, away!' she cried,<br/>
'For the holy Virgin's sake!'-<br/>
'Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side;<br/>
But, lady, he will not awake.<br/>
<br/>
'By Eildon-tree, for long nights three,<br/>
In bloody grave have I lain;<br/>
The mass and the death-prayer are said for me,<br/>
But, lady, they are said in vain.<br/>
<br/>
'By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand,<br/>
Most foully slain, I fell;<br/>
And my restless sprite on the beacon's height,<br/>
For a space is doom'd to dwell.<br/>
<br/>
'At our trysting-place, for a certain space,<br/>
I must wander to and fro;<br/>
But I had not had power to come to thy bower<br/>
Had'st thou not conjured me so.'-<br/>
<br/>
Love master'd fear — her brow she cross'd;<br/>
'How, Richard, hast thou sped?<br/>
And art thou saved, or art thou lost?'-<br/>
The vision shook his head!<br/>
<br/>
'Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life;<br/>
So bid thy lord believe;<br/>
That lawless love is guilt above,<br/>
This awful sign receive.'<br/>
<br/>
He laid his left palm on an oaken beam;<br/>
His right upon her hand;<br/>
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,<br/>
For it scorch'd like a fiery brand.<br/>
<br/>
The sable score, of fingers, four,<br/>
Remains on that board impress'd;<br/>
And for evermore that lady wore<br/>
A covering on her wrist.<br/>
<br/>
There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,<br/>
Ne'er looks upon the sun;<br/>
There is a monk in Melrose tower,<br/>
He speaketh word to none.<br/>
<br/>
That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,<br/>
That monk, who speaks to none-<br/>
That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,<br/>
That monk the bold Baron.

не просто капут, а скорый капут<br/>
в конституциях про капуты не пишут, а вот предпосылки капута на лицо, как экономические, так и политические, не говоря уже об общественных<br/>
Жаль мне Америку…<br/>
Давайте споем наш родной гимн<br/>
<br/>
<a href="https://youtu.be/o_z4jw9cmGo?si=Wmzm7yQbW-bu-QhQ" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noreferrer noopener">youtu.be/o_z4jw9cmGo?si=Wmzm7yQbW-bu-QhQ</a><br/>
<br/>
O say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,<br/>
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming?<br/>
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,<br/>
O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?<br/>
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,<br/>
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.<br/>
O say does that star spangled banner yet wave<br/>
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?<br/>
<br/>
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep.<br/>
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,<br/>
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,<br/>
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?<br/>
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,<br/>
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:<br/>
‘Tis the Star-Spangled Banner! O long may it wave<br/>
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.<br/>
<br/>
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore<br/>
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion<br/>
A home and a country should leave us no more?<br/>
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution.<br/>
No refuge could save the hireling and slave<br/>
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:<br/>
And the Star-Spangled Banner, in triumph doth wave<br/>
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.<br/>
<br/>
O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand<br/>
Between their loved homes and the war’s desolation!<br/>
Blest with vict’ry and peace, may the Heaven-rescued land<br/>
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.<br/>
Then conquer we must when our cause it is just<br/>
And this be our motto: «In God is our Trust.»<br/>
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave<br/>
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!