hurry!” said the Carpenter.

They thanked him much for that.

“A loaf of bread”, the Walrus said,

“Is what we chiefly need:

Pepper and vinegar besides

Are very good indeed —

Now, if you’re ready, Oysters dear,

We can begin to feed”.

“But not on us!” the Oysters cried,

Turning a little blue.

“After such kindness, that would be

A dismal thing to do!”

“The night is fine”, the Walrus said,

“Do you admire the view?”

“It was so kind of you to come!

And you are very nice!”

The Carpenter said nothing but

“Cut us another slice —

I wish you were not quite so deaf —

I’ve had to ask you twice!”

“It seems a shame”, the Walrus said,

“To play them such a trick.

After we’ve brought them out so far,

And made them trot so quick!”

The Carpenter said nothing but

“The butter’s spread too thick!”

“I weep for you”, the Walrus said:

“I deeply sympathize”.

With sobs and tears he sorted out

Those of the largest size,

Holding his pocket-handkerchief

Before his streaming eyes.

“O Oysters”, said the Carpenter,

“You’ve had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?”

But answer came there none —

And this was scarcely odd, because

They’d eaten every one.

The Mad Gardener’s Song

He thought he saw an Elephant,

That practised on a fife:

He looked again, and found it was

A letter from his wife.

“At length I realise”, he said,

The bitterness of Life!”

He thought he saw a Buffalo

Upon the chimney-piece:

He looked again, and found it was

His Sister’s Husband’s Niece.

“Unless you leave this house”, he said,

’I’ll send for the Police!’

He thought he saw a Rattlesnake

That questioned him in Greek:

He looked again, and found it was

The Middle of Next Week.

“The one thing I regret”, he said,

“Is that it cannot speak!”

He thought he saw a Banker’s Clerk

Descending from the bus:

He looked again, and found it was

A Hippopotamus.

“If this should stay to dine”, he said,

“There won’t be much for us!”

He thought he saw a Kangaroo

That worked a coffee-mill:

He looked again, and found it was

A Vegetable-Pill.

“Were I to swallow this”, he said,

“I should be very ill!”

He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four

That stood beside his bed:

He looked again, and found it was

A Bear without a Head.

“Poor thing”, he said, “poor silly thing!

It’s waiting to be fed!”

He thought he saw an Albatross

That fluttered round the lamp:

He looked again, and found it was

A Penny-Postage Stamp.

“You’d best be getting home”, he said:

’The nights are very damp!’

He thought he saw a Garden-Door

That opened with a key:

He looked again, and found it was

A Double Rule of Three:

“And all its mystery”, he said,

“Is clear as day to me!”

He thought he saw a Argument

That proved he was the Pope:

He looked again, and found it was

A Bar of Mottled Soap.

“A fact so dread”, he faintly said,

“Extinguishes all hope!”

Льюис Кэрролл (1832–1898)

* * *

Под знойным солнцем мы плывем

Лениво в челноке.

Две пары детских рук гребут,

Влача весло в песке.

А третья, завладев рулем,

Нас кружит по реке.

Ах, эти Трое! В зной такой

Потребовать рассказ!

Для сказок — полдень на реке

Не место и не час.

Но против бойких голосков

Бессилен робкий глас!

Приказ от Первой — начинать

Скорей, без лишних Фраз!

Второй желательно, чтоб был

«Бессмысленней» рассказ!

А Третья может перебить

В минуту десять раз!

И вот следят они втроем,

Смешно разинув рты,

Как бродит по Стране Чудес

Дитя моей Мечты,

Как запросто болтают с ней

То Зайцы, то Коты.

А только станет потухать

Фантазии костер,

И скажешь, утомясь плести

Живой и пестрый вздор: —

Конец потом… — Уже потом! —

Кричит веселый хор.

И вновь — разинутые рты,

В глазах — восторг немой…

Так вырос, за главой глава,

Рассказ чудесный мой.

И вот — веселый экипаж —

Плывем назад, домой.

Алиса! Сказку детских дней,

Невинный плод Мечты —

В далеком уголке души

Храни ревниво ты,

Как пилигрим хранит давно

Засохшие цветы!

Перевод А. Д’Актиля

Бармаглот

Варкалось. Хливкие шорьки

Пырялись по наве,

И хрюкотали зелюки,

Как мюмзики в мове.

О бойся Бармаглота, сын!

Он так свирлеп и дик,

А в глуше рымит исполин —

Злопастный Брандашмыг!

Но взял он меч, и взял он щит,

Высоких полон дум.

В глущобу путь его лежит

Под дерево Тумтум.

Он стал под дерево и ждёт.

И вдруг граахнул гром —