[опубликовано в 1845]
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Раз в тоскливый час полночный я искал основы прочной Для своих мечтаний-в дебрях теософского труда. Истомлен пустой работой, я поник , сморен дремотой, Вдруг-негромко стукнул кто-то. Словно стукнул в дверь... Да,да! "Верно,гость,- пробормотал я,-гость стучится в дверь.. Да,да! Гость пожаловал сюда". Помню я ту ночь доныне,ночь январской мглы и стыни,- Тлели головни в камине, вспыхивая иногда.... Я с томленьем ждал рассвета; в книгах не было ответа, Чем тоска смирится эта об ушедшей навсегда, Что звалась Линор, теперь же - в сонме звездном навсегда Безымянная звезда. Шорох шелковой портьеры испугал меня без меры: Смяла,сжала дух мой бедный страхов алчная орда Но вселяет бодрость - слово. Встал я, повторяя снова: "Это гость , - так что ж такого, если гость пришел сюда? Постучали,- что ж такого? Гость пожаловал сюда. Запоздалый гость.Да,да!" Нет, бояться недостойно. И отчетливо, спокойно "Сэр,- скзал я,- иль мадам, я краснею от стыда: Так вы тихо постучали,- погружен в свои печали, Не расслышал я вначале. Рад, коль есть во мне нужда. Милости прошу сюда." Никого, лишь тьма ночная! Грозный ужас отгоняя, Я стоял; в мозгу сменялась странных мыслей череда. Тщетно из глухого мрака ждал я отклика иль знака. Я шепнул:" Линор! " - однако зов мой канул в никуда, Дальним эхом повторений зов мой канул в никуда, О Линор, моя звезда! Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more!' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Thouhg its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as `Nevermore.' But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before - On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, `Nevermore.' Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore."' But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking `Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamo-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from tha memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take tha form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!
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