evil;

For the story goes round, from the Nile to the Sound,

That Nelson of Bront is a devil — sea devil;

For his prowess proclaims him a devil.

Since poor Copenhagen his Lordship is flegging,

With grape, bomb, and ball, helter-skelter;

Despoil’d of my rest, I dived from my nest

Plump down to your regions, for shelter, grant shelter;

O, Davie, do grant me some shelter!

Says Davie to Paul, be easy, poor saul,

You are safe and as welcome’s a brither;

Come ben — tak’ a seat by your mammie, auld Kate:

What a chance you wan down to your mither, safe hither!

What a comfort to Kate, your auld mither!

Уильям Симсон (1758–1815)

Бегство императора Павла в преисподнюю[45]

Был Павел занозой для нас и угрозой,

И флот волновался во гневе;

Когда ж наши кили пролив бороздили[46],

Он кинулся к старому Дэви, да, к Дэви[47];

Убежища ищет у Дэви.

А Дэви с усмешкой: «Что это за спешка?»

«За мной учинили погоню:

Лорд Нельсон драчливо по водам пролива

Несется в дыму и трезвоне, трезвоне,

Плывет, кораблями фасоня.

Он, как на охоте, палил по пехоте

И форт Кронинбергский разрушил,

Он датские силы отправил в могилу,

На море громил и на суше, на суше,

О бедные, бедные души!

Прибрежные страны от ужаса пьяны,

Дрожат океаны от плача,

И стонут ветрила от Зунда до Нила

Что он — сатана, не иначе, иначе,

За доблесть его и удачу.

Сражен Копенгаген ужасным варягом,

Там рвутся картечь и снаряды;

Лишенный покоя кипением боя,

Нырнул я в преддверие ада, да, ада,

Укрой меня крышею ада!»

А Дэви: «Павлуша, не ерзай, как клуша,

Тебя мы удобно устроим —

Ты к царственной Кате[48] взлезай на полати,

Вам будет удобно обоим, обоим,

Вам с мамкою будет обоим!»

Перевод Ю. Лукача

Janet Little (1759–1813)

On Halloween

Some folk in courts for pleasure sue,

      An’ some ransack the theatre:

The airy nymph is won by few;

She’s of so coy a nature.

She shuns the great bedaub’d with lace,

Intent on rural jokin

An’ spite o’ breeding, deigns to grace

A merry Airshire rockin,

                  Sometimes at night.

At Halloween, when fairy sprites

Perform their mystic gambols,

When ilka witch her neebour greets,

On their nocturnal rambles;

When elves at midnight-hour are seen,

Near hollow caverns sportin,

Then lads an’ lasses aft convene,

In hopes to ken their fortune,

                  By freets that night.

At Jennet Reid’s not long ago,

Was held an annual meeting,

Of lasses fair an’ fine also,

With charms the most inviting:

Though it was wat, an’ wondrous mirk,

It stopp’d nae kind intention;

Some sprightly youths, frae Loudon-kirk,

Did haste to the convention,

                  Wi’ glee that night.

The nuts upon a clean hearthstane,

Were plac’d by ane anither,

An’ some gat lads, an’ some gat nane,

Just as they bleez’d the gither.

Some sullen cooffs refuse to burn;

Bad luck can ne’er be mended;

But or they a’ had got a turn,

The pokeful nits was ended

                  Owre soon that night.

A candle on a stick was hung,

An’ ti’d up to the kipple:

Ilk lad an’ lass, baith auld an’ young,

Did try to catch the apple;

Which aft, in spite o’ a’ their care,

Their furious jaws escaped;

They touch’d it ay, but did nae mair,

Though greedily they gaped,

                  Fu’ wide that night.

The dishes then, by joint advice,

Were plac’d upon the floor;

Some stammer’d on the toom ane thrice,

In that unlucky hour.

Poor Mall maun to the garret go,

Nae rays o’ comfort meeting;

Because sae aft she’s answered no,

She’ll spend her days in greeting,

                  An’ ilka night.

Poor James sat trembling for his fate;

He lang had dree’d the worst o’t;

Though they had tugg’d and rugg’d till yet,

To touch the dish he durst not.

The empty bowl, before his eyes,

Replete with ills appeared;

No man nor maid could make him rise,

The consequence he feared

                  Sae much that night.

Wi’ heartsome glee the minutes past,

Each act to mirth conspired:

The cushion game perform’d at last,

Was most of all admired.

From Janet’s bed a bolster came,

Nor lad nor lass was missing;

But ilka ane wha caught the same,

Was pleas’d wil routh o’ kissing,

                  Fu’ sweet that night.

Soon as they heard the forward clock

Proclaim ’twas nine, they started,

An’ ilka lass took up her rock;

Reluctantly