Уильям Моррис - Лес за Гранью Мира (сборник). Страница 189

Седловúна – понижение в горной цепи.

Так шло время до самого Сретения

Христианский праздник Сретения приходится на 2 февраля в западной традиции и на 15 февраля (2 февраля по старому стилю) в России.

На шлеме

На этот раз описывается бацинет – полусферический тип шлема с кольчужной бармицей (защитой шеи).

в руке он держал гизарму

Гизáрма (гвизáрма) – вид алебарды с двумя наконечниками: прямой и длинный служил для поражения врага, а искривленным перерезали сухожилия у лошади противника или стягивали его с седла.

У нас есть пословица, что и графы, и крестьяне – все они, если говорить проще, – люди

Графы, крестьяне – earls, churls. Выбранные слова происходят от древнеанглийских обозначений раннесредневековых слоёв населения. Эрлы (др. англ. eorl, совр. англ. earl «граф») – аристократия, керлы (др. англ. ceorl «человек», совр. англ. churl «мужлан, грубиян») – свободные землевладельцы.

потом подвёл к скамье

См. комментарий к главе XIV книги первой.

когда они встретились тёмной ночью в лесу на востоке

Собственно, Ральф выехал из отчего дома на юг, но дальнейший его маршрут неоднократно менялся. Под встречей в лесу на востоке имеется в виду встреча влюблённых после бегства от лорда Аттербола.

Стихотворения

Из романа «Источник на Краю Мира»

Art thou man, art thou maid, through the long grass agoing?For short shirt thou bearest, and no beard I see,And the last wind ere moonrise about thee is blowing.Would'st thou meet with thy maiden or look'st thou for me?

Bright shineth the moon now, I see thy gown longer;And down by the hazels Joan meeteth her lad:But hard is thy palm, lass, and scarcely were strongerWat's grip than thine hand-kiss that maketh me glad.

And now as the candles shine on us and over,Full shapely thy feet are, but brown on the floor,As the bare-footed mowers amidst of the cloverWhen the gowk's note is broken and mid-June is o'er.

O hard are mine hand-palms because on the ridgesI carried the reap-hook and smote for thy sake;And in the hot noon-tide I beat off the midgesAs thou slep'st 'neath the linden o'er-loathe to awake.

And brown are my feet now because the sun burnethHigh up on the down-side amidst of the sheep,And there in the hollow wherefrom the wind turneth,Thou lay'st in my lap while I sung thee to sleep.

O friend of the earth, O come nigher and nigher,Thou art sweet with the sun's kiss as meads of the May,O'er the rocks of the waste, o'er the water and fire,Will I follow thee, love, till earth waneth away.

Clashed sword on shieldIn the harvest field;And no man blamesThe red red flames,War's candle-wickOn roof and rick.Now dead lies the yeoman unwept and unknownOn the field he hath furrowed, the ridge he hath sown:And all in the middle of wethers and neatThe maidens are driven with blood on their feet;For yet 'twixt the Burg-gate and battle half-wonThe dust-driven highway creeps uphill and on,And the smoke of the beacons goes coiling aloft,While the gathering horn bloweth loud, louder and oft.

Throw wide the gatesFor nought night waits;Though the chase is deadThe moon's o'erheadAnd we need the clearOur spoil to share.Shake the lots in the helm then for brethren are we,And the goods of my missing are gainful to thee.Lo! thine are the wethers, and his are the kine;And the colts of the marshland unbroken are thine,With the dapple-grey stallion that trampled his groom;And Giles hath the gold-blossomed rose of the loom.Lo! leaps out the last lot and nought have I won,But the maiden unmerry, by battle undone.

Still now is the stithy this morning unclouded,Nought stirs in the thorp save the yellow-haired maidA-peeling the withy last Candlemas shroudedFrom the mere where the moorhen now swims unafraid.

For over the Ford now the grass and the cloverFly off from the tines as the wind driveth on;And soon round the Sword-howe the swathe shall lie over,And tomorrow at even the mead shall be won.

But the Hall of the Garden amidst the hot morning,It drew my feet thither; I stood at the door,And felt my heart harden 'gainst wisdom and warningAs the sun and my footsteps came on to the floor.

When the sun lay behind me, there scarce in the dimnessI say what I sought for, yet trembled to find;But it came forth to find me, until the sleek slimnessOf the summer-clad woman made summer o'er kind.

There we the once-sundered together were blended,We strangers, unknown once, were hidden by naught.I kissed and I wondered how doubt was all ended,How friendly her excellent fairness was wrought.

Round the hall of the Garden the hot sun is burning,But no master nor minstrel goes there in the shade,It hath never a warden till comes the returning,When the moon shall hang high and all winds shall be laid.

Waned the day and I hied me afield, and thereafterI sat with the mighty when daylight was done,But with great men beside me, midst high-hearted laughter,I deemed me of all men the gainfullest one.

To wisdom I hearkened; for there the wise fatherCast the seed of his learning abroad o'er the hall,Till men's faces darkened, but mine gladdened ratherWith the thought of the knowledge I knew over all.

Sang minstrels the story, and with the song's wellingMen looked on each other and glad were they grown,But mine was the glory of the tale and its tellingHow the loved and the lover were naught but mine own.

Leave we the cup!For the moon is up,And bright is the gleamOf the rippling stream,

That runneth his roadTo the old abode,Where the walls are whiteIn the moon and the night;The house of the neighbour that drave us awayWhen strife ended labour amidst of the hay,And no road for our riding was left us but oneWhere the hill's brow is hiding that earth's ways are done,And the sound of the billows comes up at the lastLike the wind in the willows ere autumn is past.

But oft and againComes the ship from the main,And we came once moreAnd no lading we boreBut the point and the edge,And the ironed ledge,And the bolt and the bow,And the bane of the foe.To the House 'neath the mountain we came in the morn,Where welleth the fountain up over the corn,And the stream is a-running fast on to the HouseOf the neighbours uncunning who quake at the mouse,As their slumber is broken; they know not for why;Since yestreen was not token on earth or in sky.

Come, up, then up!Leave board and cup,And follow the gleamOf the glittering streamThat leadeth the roadTo the old abode,High-walled and whiteIn the moon and the night;Where low lies the neighbour that drave us awaySleep-sunk from his labour amidst of the hay.No road for our riding is left us save one,Where the hills' brow is hiding the city undone,And the wind in the willows is with us at last,And the house of the billows is done and o'er-past.

Haste! mount and hasteEre the short night waste,For night and day,Late turned away,Draw nigh againAll kissing-fain;And the morn and the moonShall be married full soon.So ride we together with wealth-winning wand,The steel o'er the leather, the ash in the hand.Lo! white walls before us, and high are they built;But the luck that outwore us now lies on their guilt;Lo! the open gate biding the first of the sun,And to peace are we riding when slaughter is done.

Примечания

1

Здесь и далее объяснение слов, отмеченных «звездочками», см. в Комментариях.

2

Здесь и далее объяснение слов, отмеченных «звездочками», см. в Комментариях.

3

Здесь и далее объяснение слов, отмеченных «звездочками», см. в Комментариях.