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William Cullen Bryant
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The African Chief
Here is another
Chained in the market-place he stood,
A man of giant frame,
Amid the gathering multitude
That shrunk to hear his name--
All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground:--
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.
Vainly, but well, that chief had fought,
He was a captive now,
Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow.
The scars his dark broad bosom wore,
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.
Then to his conqueror he spake--
'My brother is a king;
Undo this necklace from my neck,
And take this bracelet ring,
And send me where my brother reigns,
And I will fill thy hands
With store of ivory from the plains,
And gold-dust from the sands.'
'Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;
That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle-spear again.
A price thy nation never gave
Shall yet be paid for thee;
For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,
In lands beyond the sea.'
Then wept the warrior chief, and bade
To shred his locks away;
And one by one, each heavy braid
Before the victor lay.
Thick were the platted locks, and long,
And closely hidden there
Shone many a wedge of gold among
The dark and crisped hair.
'Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold
Long kept for sorest need:
Take it--thou askest sums untold,
And say that I am freed.
Take it--my wife, the long, long day,
Weeps by the cocoa-tree,
And my young children leave their play,
And ask in vain for me.'
'I take thy gold--but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife will wait thee long.'
Strong was the agony that shook
The captive's frame to hear,
And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.
His heart was broken--crazed his brain:
At once his eye grew wild;
He struggled fiercely with his chain,
Whispered, and wept, and smiled;
Yet wore not long those fatal bands,
And once, at shut of day,
They drew him forth upon the sands,
The foul hyena's prey.
Редьярд Киплинг (1865 – 1936) – английский писатель, поэт, новеллист.
- Первый англичанин, получивший Нобелевскую премию по литературе.
- Родился и начал карьеру журналиста в Индии.
- Был назван в честь английского озера, где познакомились родители.
- Много путешествовал: проехал всю Азию, США, Южную Африку.
- Когда обанкротился, обосновался в США и стал писать для детей.
- Потерял сына в Первой мировой войне.
Rudyard Kipling
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The Settler
(South African War ended, May, 1902)
Here, where my fresh-turned furrows run,
And the deep soil glistens red,
I will repair the wrong that was done
To the living and the dead.
Here, where the senseless bullet fell,
And the barren shrapnel burst,
I will plant a tree, I will dig a well,
Against the heat and the thirst.
Here, in a large and a sunlit land,
Where no wrong bites to the bone,
I will lay my hand in my neighbour's hand,
And together we will atone
For the set folly and the red breach
And the black waste of it all;
Giving and taking counsel each
Over the cattle-kraal.
Here will we join against our foes--
The hailstroke and the storm,
And the red and rustling cloud that blows
The locust's mile-deep swarm.
Frost and murrain and floods let loose
Shall launch us side by side
In the holy wars that have no truce
'Twixt seed and harvest-tide.
Earth, where we rode to slay or be slain,
Our love shall redeem unto life.
We will gather and lead to her lips again
The waters of ancient strife,
From the far and fiercely guarded streams
And the pools where we lay in wait,
Till the corn cover our evil dreams
And the young corn our hate.
And when we bring old fights to mind,
We will not remember the sin--
If there be blood on his head of my kind,
Or blood on my head of his kin--
For the ungrazed upland, the untilled lea
Cry, and the fields forlorn:
" The dead must bury their dead, but ye-
Ye serve an host unborn."
Bless then, Our God, the new-yoked plough
And the good beasts that draw,
And the bread we eat in the sweat of our brow
According to Thy Law.
After us cometh a multitude--
Prosper the work of our hands,
That we may feed with our land's food
The folk of all our lands!
Here, in the waves and the troughs of the plains,
Where the healing stillness lies,
And the vast, benignant sky restrains
And the long days make wise--
Bless to our use the rain and the sun
And the blind seed in its bed,
That we may repair the wrong that was done
To the living and the dead!
Rudyard Kipling
South Africa
Lived a woman wonderful,
(May the Lord amend her!)
Neither simple, kind, nor true,
But her Pagan beauty drew
Christian gentlemen a few
Hotly to attend her.
Christian gentlemen a few
From Berwick unto Dover;
For she was South Africa,
Ana she was South Africa,
She was Our South Africa,
Africa all over!
Half her land was dead with drouth,
Half was red with battle;
She was fenced with fire and sword
Plague on pestilence outpoured,
Locusts on the greening sward
And murrain on the cattle!
True, ah true, and overtrue.
That is why we love her!
For she is South Africa,
And she is South Africa,
She is Our South Africa,
Africa all over!
Bitter hard her lovers toild,
Scandalous their paymen, --
Food forgot on trains derailed;
Cattle -- dung where fuel failed;
Water where the mules had staled;
And sackcloth for their raiment!
So she filled their mouths with dust
And their bones with fever;
Greeted them with cruel lies;
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Treated them despiteful-wise;
Meted them calamities
Till they vowed to leave her!
They took ship and they took sail,
Raging, from her borders --
In a little, none the less,
They forgat their sore duresse;
They forgave her waywardness
And returned for orders!
They esteemed her favour more
Than a Throne's foundation.
For the glory of her face
Bade farewell to breed and race --
Yea, and made their burial-place
Altar of a Nation!
Wherefore, being bought by blood,
And by blood restored
To the arms that nearly lost,
She, because of all she cost,
Stands, a very woman, most
Perfect and adored!
On your feet, and let them know
This is why we love her!
For she is South Africa,
She is Our South Africa,
Is Our Own 5outh Africa,
Africa all over!
Уэйн Виссер (1970) – учредитель и директор CSR International, поэт.
- Родился в Кейптауне, живёт в Лондоне.
- Написал 23 книги, из которых 16 посвящены бизнесу, остальные – поэзии.
Wayne Visser
Child of Africa
I am a child of Africa –
Young and wild and free
I play on streets of sunny hope
And feed on dusty dreams
I am a child of Africa –
Young and bold and bright
I think a million sparkling thoughts
And wish on shooting stars
I do not want your pity –
For I am not a helpless pup
I do not want your charity –
For I will thrive at first chance
I do not want your mistrust –
For being young is not a crime
I do no want your prejudice –
For that is your prison not mine
You will know me
Not by the colour of my skin
But by the spectrum of my ideas
For I am Africa’s child
You will know me
Not by the name of my tribe
But by the poetry of my ideals
For I am Africa’s child
I may look young
But I am older than you
For I was born at the beginning of time
I may look weak
But I am stronger than you
For I was weaned on the milk of the sun
I may look simple
But I am smarter than you
For I was schooled at the knee of wise elders
You will know me
Not by the poverty of my means
But by the wealth of my ends
For I am Africa’s child
You will know me
Not by the shadows of my past
But by the brilliance of my future
For I am Africa’s child
I do not want your visions –
For I have dreams of my own
I do not want your fears –
For I have monsters enough
I do not want your leftovers –
For I have freshly baked needs
I do not want your playthings –
For I have imagination aplenty
I am a child of Africa
Young and shy and sweet
I smile to hide my nervous pride
And laugh with crystal joy
I am a child of Africa
Young and hip and cool
I dance my way to destiny
And rise on wings of change
Wayne Visser
I am an African
I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa
When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing
I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life
When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
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And I become the essence of music
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history
I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred
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