Текст оригинала на английском языке From “Irish Melodies”. 45. Nay, Tell Me Not, Dear NAY, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns One charm of feeling, one fond regret; Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns Are all I’ve sunk in its bright wave yet. Ne’er hath a beam Been lost in the stream That ever was shed from thy form or soul; The spell of those eyes, The balm of thy sighs, Still float on the surface, and hallow by bowl. Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal One blissful dream of the heart from me; Like founts that awaken the pilgrim’s zeal, The bowl but brightens my love for thee. They tell us the Love in his fairy bower Had two blush-roses, of birth divine; He sprinkled the one with a rainbow’s shower, But bathed the other with mantling wine. Soon did the buds That drunk of the floods Distill’d by the rainbow decline and fade; While those which the tide Of ruby had dyed All blush’d into beauty, like thee, sweet maid! Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal One blissful dream of the heart from me; Like founts that awaken the pilgrim’s zeal, The bowl but brightens my love for thee. |
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