Сатира в переводах

резкое проявление комического в искусстве, представляющее собой поэтическое унизительное обличение явлений при помощи различных комических средств (приёмов): сарказма, иронии, гиперболы, гротеска, аллегории, пародии и других.

Значительных успехов в ней достигли Гораций, Персий и в особенности Ювенал, который определил её позднейшую форму для европейского классицизма. На жанр политической сатиры повлияли произведения поэта Аристофана об афинском народовластии. Юмор в сатире используется для того, чтобы разбавить прямую критику, иначе сатира может выглядеть как проповедь. Это характерно уже для первых сатирических произведений.
***
«Наши бедные и нищие братья, рассеяны по суше и морю».
--Масонские настроения



Они встретились в праздничном зале,
  Светильники ярким светом сияли,
И веселой музыки и веселья,
  Содействовал празднику Святого Иоанна.
Мужчины поклялись сохранить здоровье своей королевы
  И из всей Королевской группы,
Флаги тысячи лет,
  Мечи своей Родины.

Затем в середине пришло веселье
  Звук скорбного напряжения,
Как минорный аккорд в музыке,
  Сладкий, но грустный рефрен;
Он поднялся в жарком воздухе,
  Как искренняя мольба скорбящего,
"Наши бедные и нищие братья
  Рассеяны по суше и по морю ".

Бедные и нищие братья
  По миру разбросаны,
Желание, несчастье и горе
  Вокруг них метались яростные дротики;
Блуждая в одиночестве по горам,
  Больной, в обмороке и простуде,
С разбитым сердцем лежать в тюрьмах,
  В трюме врага.

Умирая на полях сражений,
  Никто не ответил
Масонский знак бедствия,
  Ушел на рельсы битвы.
Кораблекрушение в пенящихся водах,
  Цепляясь за сломанные лонжероны,
Умирая в эту ночь святого Иоанна,
  Посреди океана и звезд.

Остальные с голоду падают в обморок - мы
  Попробуйте это богатое и разнообразное мясо -
Угнетение не дает им дома
  Но темные и пустынные улицы.
О Боже милосердный, услышь нас,
  Когда мы просим Тебя о благе,
Для бедных и безденежных братьев
  Рассеяны по суше и по морю.

Бедные и нищие братья,
  Ах, в глазах Мастера,
Мы все претендуем на титул
  В эту нашу фестивальную ночь.
Путешествующие одинокие паломники
  К свету, который указывает выше,
Шагая по клетчатым земляным работам
  Пока мы не достигнем земли любви.

Работайте до ориентира, братья,
  Мы не всегда останемся,
Падающие тени предупреждают нас
  Работать при дневном свете.
Как часто наши шаги поворачиваются
  Где скрывается облик брата,
Иногда мы отливаем вечнозеленые веточки
  На крышке братского гроба.

Ты, дающий каждому
  Какой-то назначенный пост занимать,
Научи нас лелеять слабых,
  Чтобы отдать Твое серебро и золото;
Чтобы охранять как солдат охраняет
  Чистая святыня Чести и Любви,
Отдать свою жизнь за других,
  Как Ты сделал для нас, дай Твое.

Масонам всего мира
  Дай мудрость работать правильно,
Чтобы они могли собраться с миром
  Их рабочие инструменты ночью.
Пусть звезды любви сияют над каждым,
  Среди темноты, шторма или тумана,
Как в эту ночь святого Иоанна,
  Наш самый благословенный евангелист.
Our Poor Brethren.

"Our poor and penniless brethren, dispersed over land and sea."
--Masonic Sentiment



They met in the festive hall,
  Lamps in their brightness shone,
And merry music and mirth,
  Aided the feast of St. John.
Men pledged the health of their Queen
  And of all the Royal band,
The flags of a thousand years,
  The swords of their motherland.

Then mid the revelry came
  The sound of a mournful strain,
Like a minor chord in music,
  A sweet but sad refrain;
It rose on the heated air,
  Like a mourner's earnest plea,
"Our poor and penniless brethren
  Dispersed over land and sea."

Poor and penniless brethren
  Scattered over the world,
Want and misfortune and woe
  Round them fierce darts have hurled;
Wandering alone upon mountains,
  Sick and fainting and cold,
Lying heart-broken in prisons,
  Chained in an enemy's hold.

Dying in fields of combat,
  With none to answer back
The masonic sign of distress,
  Left on the battle's track.
Shipwrecked in foaming waters,
  Clinging to broken spars,
Dying, this night of St. John,
  Mid the ocean and the stars.

Others with hunger faint--we
  Taste these rich and varied meats--
Oppression gives them no home
  But dark and desolate streets.
Oh, God of mercy, hear us,
  As we ask a boon for Thee,
For poor and penniless brethren
  Dispersed over land and sea.

Poor and penniless brethren,
  Ah, in the Master's sight,
We all lay claim to the title
  On this, our festival night.
Lone pilgrims journeying on
  Towards light that points above,
Treading the chequered earthworks
  Till we reach the land of love.

Work up to the landmark, brothers,
  We shall not always stay,
The falling shadows warn us
  To work in the light of day.
How often our footsteps turn
  Where a brother's form is hid,
Oft we cast evergreen sprigs
  On a brother's coffin lid.

Thou, who dost give to each
  Some appointed post to hold,
Teach us to cherish the weak,
  To give Thy silver and gold;
To guard as a soldier guards
  Honor and Love's pure shrine,
To give our lives for others,
  As Thou did'st for us give Thine.

To Masons all over the world
  Give wisdom to work aright,
That they may gather in peace
  Their working tools at night.
May love's star glitter o'er each,
  Amid darkness, storm or mist,
As on this night of St. John,
  Our Blest Evangelist.




Vain Dreams.



    --"Throughout the day, I walk,
My path o'ershadowed by vain dreams of him."
        --Italian Girl's Hymn to the Virgin.


Mother, gazing on thy son,
He, thy precious only one,
Look into his azure eyes,
Clearer than the summer skies.
Mark his course; on scrolls of fame
Read his proud ancestral name;
Pause! a cloud that path will dim,
Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him.

Young bride, for the altar crowned,
Now thy lot with one is bound,
Will _he_ keep each solemn vow?
Will _he_ ever love as now?
Ah! a dreamy shadow lies
In the depths of those bright eyes;
Time will this day's glory dim,
Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him.

Sister, has thy brother gone,
To the fields where fights are won;
Oh! it was an hour of pride
When he was last by thy side;
Thou dost see him coming back
In the conqueror's proud track;
Hush! the bayonets earthward turn,
Dream vain dreams, he'll not return.

Woman, on the cottage green,
Gazing at the sunset scene,
Now the vintage toil is o'er,
But the gleaner comes no more
Through the fields of burnished corn;
Lo! a peasant's bier is borne
By the sparkling river's brim,
Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him.

Maiden, who in every prayer
Breath'st a name thou dost not bear,
Sing again thy lover's song;
Yes, he will be back ere long,
Back in all his manhood's pride,
Back, but with another bride;
Cease those bridal robes to trim,
Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him.

Earthly idols! how we mould
Sand with fruit and clay with gold!
How we cherish crumbling dust,
Then lament our futile trust!
Saviour, who on earth didst prove
All the agony of love,
Fit us for that brighter shore,
Where they dream vain dreams no more.




The Forest River.



Amid the forest verdant shade,
    A peaceful river flowed:
Wild flowers their home on its banks had made,
The sunbeam's rays on its breast were laid,
    When the light of morning glowed.

By its marge the wolf had found a lair,
    He roamed through each lonely spot;
That deep designer, the beaver, there
Built his palace; the shaggy bear
    In the tall tree had his cot.

And voices sweet were heard on the bank
    Of the river's gentle flow;
The whip-poor-will sang when the sun had sank,
And the hum-drum bee to his home had shrank,
    When the wind of eve did blow.

The tree-frog joined with his sonorous call,
    The grasshopper chirped along,
The dormice came out of their underground hole,
The squirrels peeped over their pine-tree wall,
    To list to the revel song.

Nothing disturbed the murmur deep
    Of the river broad and fair;
No one awoke it from peaceful sleep,
Save when floating mice o'er its breast would creep,
    Or the rusty-coated bear.

One morn the sound of an axe was heard
    In the forest, dark and lone;
Then started with fear the beasts disturbed,
Their reign was broke at the woodman's word,
    And they scowled with anger on.

On the river's brink the emigrant's child
    Passed all his lonely hours,
He laughed when he ruffled the bosom mild
Of the flowing streamlet so bright and wild,
    As it bore his boon of flowers.

Soon the throng of the forest heard the horn
    Of the boat, the commerce boat;
Then they started up from the brake and thorn,
And hastening away by the light of the morn,
    They fled from cavern and moat.

And the bird peeped out of a pine tree tower,
    And shrank away at the sight,
The humming-bird fled to his rose-hung bower,
The bright bee curled himself snug in a flower,
    O'ertaken by fear and fright.

And the river which rolled for ages, still
    In a gentle flow unriven,
Now bears on its bosom by man's proud will,
By the arts of industry and skill,
    The blessings to mortals given.

Over its billows the steamboats tread,
    With their waters rushing high,
Or the snowy sail to the wind is spread,
As the noble bark on her way is sped
    To the crowded city nigh.

Oh river bright, we sail over thy breast,
    Once bearing wood runners wild;
But the birds who built on the bank their nest,
Have fled long ago to the boundless west,
    From thee and from man exiled.




Last Words of Sir Henry Lawrence.

"Let there be no fuss about me, bury me with my men."



The shades of death were gathering thick around a soldier's head,
A war stained, dust strewn band of men gathered around his bed.
"Comrade, good-bye; thank God your voice may cheer the dauntless brave
When I, your friend and countryman, am resting in the grave.
Hush, soldiers, hush, no word of thanks, it is little I have done
For the glory of the land we love, toward the setting sun.
I have but one request to make: When all is over, then
Let there be no fuss about me, bury me with my men.

Heap up no splendid monument in memory of my clay,
No tributary words to tell of one who's far away;
It matters not to passers by where lies my crumbling dust,
The cherubim and seraphim may have it in their trust;
And bones of better men than I have bleached all cold and white
Where scorching sunbeam goes by day and the prowling beast by night.
Give me a few spare feet of earth away down in the glen,
Breathing the words of faith and hope, bury me with the men.

Bury me with the men; when the fearful seige was gained,
With British blood and British dead the Indian soil was stained.
Poor Dugald lay that fearful night and never asked for aid,
And Fraser, wounded, cheered us on, and Allan, dying, prayed,
And brave Macdonald cheered the flag with his expiring breath.
These are the men who jeopardised their lives unto the death,
They drove the murderous Sepoys back, the wild wolf to his den;
All honor to their noble hearts; bury me with my men.

Is it death that's coming nearer? how clammy grows my brow;
Yes, I'm going home for promotion, the battle's over now.
Comrades, I often fancy, how upon yon blessed shore,
In that land of recognition, we may yet all meet once more.
Colonel, we'll gather round you then, as in the days of old;
Why do whisper, comrades, are my fingers growing cold?
Oh, tell my brother-officers that I thought about them when
I was going across the river; bury me with my men.

How very dark it's growing, I suppose it's nearly night;
Well, I think we shall see England in the morning's ruddy light.
And my mother and my sister surely I see them stand
Upon the beach, and summer flowers waving in each hand;
And sounds of joy and victory comes on the evening air.
Colonel, if I go down home first, you'll come and see us there?
Do I hear my comrades sighing? Where am I? ah, amen.
Let there be no fuss about me, bury me with my men.




To the Birds.



Onward, sail on in your boundless flight,
Neath shadowing skies and moonbeams bright,
Kissing the clouds as it drops the rain,
Touching the wall of the rainbow's fane;
With your wings unfurled, your lyres strung,
You sail where stars in their orbs are hung,
Or for stranger lands where bright flow'rs spring,
Ye have plumed the down and spread the wing.

We lay the strength of the forest down,
We wear the robe and the shining crown,
We tread down kings in our battle path,
And voices fail at our gathered wrath;
We touch; the numbers forget to pour,
From the serpent's hiss to the lion's roar;
But we may not tread the paths ye've trod,
Though children of men and sons of God.

Ye haste, ye haste, but ye bring not back
To waiting spirits the news we lack,
Ye do not tell what it is to see
The snow capped home of the thunder free,
Ye do not speak of the worlds above,
Ye tell no tales of the things we love,
No height or breadth of the sunbeam's roof,
You touch in your travels--terror proof.

You're strange in bright radience, wonderful;
You're soft in your plumage, beautiful.
Bold to bask in the clouds of even,
Free in your flight to floors of heaven.
Like dews that over the flowers spring,
Like billows rolled over Egypt's king,
You leave no track in the misty air,
Or records of wonders that meet you there.




Initiation  Ode.

Air--Belmont.



Hark! unto thee a voice doth speak,
  A voice of heavenly breath,
And this, the solemn charge it gives,
  Be faithful unto death.

Faithful as stars in heaven's blue skies,
  Though dark clouds roll between,
Or rocks that show their signal lights
  In tempest's wildest scene.

Faithful 'till death, which finally
  Shall close thy mortal strife,
When thy reward shall surely be
  The crown of endless life.




Installation Ode.



Blest Ruler, at whose word
The universe was stirred,
  And there was light;
Look now with gracious love
From Thy bright home above,
Direct in every move,
  Each proved, Sir Knight.

In mysteries well skilled,
Their hearts with courage filled,
  Behold they stand;
Strengthen their faith in thee,
Let hope their anchor be,
And heaven-born charity
  Mark their command.

Endure with holy light
Each suppliant, Sir Knight;
  May each one prove
Faithful in watch and word;
Strong the oppressed, to guard
And win the just reward
  Of Faith and Love.