Иван Козловский - Вечерний звон
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Иван Козловский - Вечерний звон - оригинальный текст песни, перевод, видео
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Слова: И. И. Козлов, 1827 г. (перевод стихотворения Т. Мура)
Музыка: А. Алябьев (1828) или В. Волков (обр-ка)
Вечерний звон, вечерний звон!
Как много дум наводит он
О юных днях в краю родном,
Где я любил, где отчий дом,
И как я с ним, навек простясь,
Там слушал звон в последний раз!
Уже не зреть мне светлых дней
Весны обманчивой моей!
И сколько нет теперь в живых
Тогда веселых, молодых!
И крепок их могильный сон:
Не слышен им вечерний звон.
Лежать и мне в земле сырой!
Напев унывный надо мной
В долине ветер разнесет;
Другой певец по ней пройдет,
И уж не я, а будет он
В раздумье петь вечерний звон!
Those Evening Bells
(The Bells of St. Petersburgh)
Those evening bells! Those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth and home and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime.
Those joyous hours are past away:
And many a heart, that then was gay.
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.
And so 'twill be when I am gone:
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!
1818
-----
Letter: Sir Thomas Moore
(возможно, перевод на английский с греческого, из сочинений преп. Георгия Афонского, XI в.)
Музыка: А. Алябьев (1828) или В. Волков (обр-ка)
Вечерний звон, вечерний звон!
Как много дум наводит он
О юных днях в краю родном,
Где я любил, где отчий дом,
И как я с ним, навек простясь,
Там слушал звон в последний раз!
Уже не зреть мне светлых дней
Весны обманчивой моей!
И сколько нет теперь в живых
Тогда веселых, молодых!
И крепок их могильный сон:
Не слышен им вечерний звон.
Лежать и мне в земле сырой!
Напев унывный надо мной
В долине ветер разнесет;
Другой певец по ней пройдет,
И уж не я, а будет он
В раздумье петь вечерний звон!
Those Evening Bells
(The Bells of St. Petersburgh)
Those evening bells! Those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth and home and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime.
Those joyous hours are past away:
And many a heart, that then was gay.
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.
And so 'twill be when I am gone:
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!
1818
-----
Letter: Sir Thomas Moore
(возможно, перевод на английский с греческого, из сочинений преп. Георгия Афонского, XI в.)
Words: I. I. Kozlov, 1827 (translation of the poem T. Mura)
Music: A. Alyabyev (1828) or V. Volkov (Obre)
Evening ringing, evening ringing!
How many thoughts he leads
About young days in the region of the native,
Where I loved, where is the father's house,
And how I am with him, vastly forgiven,
There I listened to the ringing for the last time!
No longer ripen for me bright days
Spring of my deceiving!
And how many are not alive now
Then funny, young!
And strongly their grave dream:
The evening ringing is not heard by them.
Lie down in the ground raw!
The melting of the union over me
In the valley, the wind will smash;
Another singer will pass through it,
And not me, but he will
In thought to sing an evening ringing!
Those Evening Bells
(The Bells of St. Petersburgh)
Those Evening Bells! Those Evening Bells!
How Many A Tale Their Music Tells,
Of youuth and home and that Sweet Time
When Last I Heard Their Soothing Chime.
Those Joyous Hours Are Past Away:
And many a heart, that after gay.
Within the Tomb now Darkly Dwells,
And hears no more Those Evening Bells.
And so 'Twill BE WHEN I am GONE:
That tuneful Peal Will Still Ring on,
While Other Bards Shall Walk Thells,
And Sing Your Praise, Sweet Evening Bells!
1818
-----
Letter: Sir Thomas Moore
(Perhaps a translation into English from Greek, from the works of St. George Athos, XI century)
Music: A. Alyabyev (1828) or V. Volkov (Obre)
Evening ringing, evening ringing!
How many thoughts he leads
About young days in the region of the native,
Where I loved, where is the father's house,
And how I am with him, vastly forgiven,
There I listened to the ringing for the last time!
No longer ripen for me bright days
Spring of my deceiving!
And how many are not alive now
Then funny, young!
And strongly their grave dream:
The evening ringing is not heard by them.
Lie down in the ground raw!
The melting of the union over me
In the valley, the wind will smash;
Another singer will pass through it,
And not me, but he will
In thought to sing an evening ringing!
Those Evening Bells
(The Bells of St. Petersburgh)
Those Evening Bells! Those Evening Bells!
How Many A Tale Their Music Tells,
Of youuth and home and that Sweet Time
When Last I Heard Their Soothing Chime.
Those Joyous Hours Are Past Away:
And many a heart, that after gay.
Within the Tomb now Darkly Dwells,
And hears no more Those Evening Bells.
And so 'Twill BE WHEN I am GONE:
That tuneful Peal Will Still Ring on,
While Other Bards Shall Walk Thells,
And Sing Your Praise, Sweet Evening Bells!
1818
-----
Letter: Sir Thomas Moore
(Perhaps a translation into English from Greek, from the works of St. George Athos, XI century)
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