Тропою каменистой в Дублин

Перевод старой ирландской песни XIX века “Rocky Road to Dublin”. Версия этой песни в исполнении коллектива The Dubliners использовалась в фильме «Шерлок Холмс» 2009 года.

Я выйду в поле, я уйду в июне,
Туда, где вольный край и сердцем рад,
Тропою каменистой прямо в Дублин,
Туда, где дышит волей славный град.
Оставил девиц Таума я в струнах
Печальных песен сердца, сея хлад.

С отцом я попрощался, матерь обнял.
Не поминайте лихом! Я вернусь!
Я выпил пинту пива залпом с горя,
Среди страстей и клокотанья чувств.
И вот иду я столь родимым полем,
Покинув край, где понял жизни вкус.

Я срезал прут для гона духов злобных,
Отпора для от гоблинов в пути
И прочих им врагов людей подобных,
Что могут человека извести.
Но храбр я сквозь грусть, туманом словно
Овившей мысли пагубой сети.

Мои ботинки грохотом чугунным
Гремели путь-дорогу шевеля,
И ясным днём и тихой ночью лунной,
Всех псов окрест прогнав. Они, скуля,
Умчались прочь с тропы щебнистой в Дублин,
Куда иду такой упрямый я.

Иду я… Три, четыре пять…
Один, два, три… Чеканя бодро,
Умею я уверенно шагать!
Но зайца упустил, поймав проворно…
Умеет длинноухий убегать

Дорогой каменистой, трудной, горной,
Ведущей в город Дублин, – не догнать.

Оригинальный текст песни:

In the merry month of June, when first from home I started,
And left the girls alone, sad and broken-hearted.
Shook hands with father dear, kissed my darling mother,
Drank a pint of beer, my tears and grief to smother;
Then off to reap the corn, and leave where I was born.
I cut a stout black-thorn to banish ghost or goblin ;
With a pair of bran new brogues, I rattled o’er the bogs —
Sure I frightened all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.

(припев)

For it is the rocky road, here’s the road to Dublin;
Here’s the rocky road, now fire away to Dublin !
The steam-coach was at hand, the driver said he’d cheap ones.
But sure the luggage van was too much for my ha’pence.
For England I was bound, it would never do to balk it.
For every step of the road, bedad I says I, I’ll walk it.
I did not sigh or moan until I saw Athlone.
A pain in my shin bone, it set my heart a-bubbling;
And fearing the big cannon, looking o’er the Shannon,
I very quickly ran on the rocky road to Dublin.
In Mullingar, that night, I rested limbs so weary.
Started by daylight, with spirits light and airy;
Took a drop of the pure, to keep my spirits from sinking,
That’s always an Irishman’s cure, whenever he’s troubled with thinking.
To see the lassies smile, laughing all the while
At my comical style, set my heart a-bubbling.
They axed if I was hired, the wages I required.
Until I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it was a pity
To be so soon deprived of a view of that fine city;
‘Twas then I took a stroll, all among the quality,
My bundle then was stole in a neat locality,
Something crossed my mind, thinks I, I’ll look behind.
No bundle could I find upon my stick a-wobbling.
Inquiring for the rogue, they said my Connaught brogue.
It wasn’t much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.
A coachman raised his hand as if myself was wanting,
I went up to a stand, full of cars for jaunting;
«Step up, my boy!» says he; “Ah, ah I that I will with -pleasure, ”
«And to the strawberry beds, I’ll drive you at your leisure.»
«A strawberry bed?» says I, «faith, that would be too high!»
«On one of straw I’ll lie, and the berries won’t be troubling;»
He drove me out as far, upon an outside car.
Faith! such jolting never wor on the rocky road to Dublin.
I soon got out of that, my spirits never failing,
I landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing.
The captain at me roared, swore that no room had he.
But when I leaped on board, they a cabin found for Paddy.
Down among the pigs I played such rummy rigs,
Danced some hearty jigs, with water round me bubbling.
But when off Holyhead, I wished that I was dead,
Or safely put in bed, on the rocky road to Dublin.
The boys in Liverpool, when on the dock I landed.
Called myself a fool, I could no longer stand it;
My blood began to boil, my temper I was losing.
And poor old Erin’s Isle, they all began abusing.
“Hurrah! my boys, ” says I, my shillelagh I let fly.
Some Galway boys were by, they saw I was a hobble in;
Then with a loud «hurrah !» they joined me in the fray.
Faugh-a-ballagh! clear the way for the rocky road to Dublin.