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Пытаясь в очередной раз найти (если он вообще существует) оригинал одного текста кн. Эспера Ухтомского (какая вырвиглазная транслитерация! Mooravioff-Amoorsky!), наткнулся на стихотворение Лонгфелло про Белого Царя, в котором идёт рефреном Batyushka! Gosudar!
DOST thou see on the rampart’s height
That wreath of mist, in the light
Of the midnight moon? O, hist!
It is not a wreath of mist;
It is the Czar, the White Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!
He has heard, among the dead,
The artillery roll o’erhead;
The drums and the tramp of feet
Of his soldiery in the street;
He is awake! the White Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!
He has heard in the grave the cries
Of his people: “Awake! arise!”
He has rent the gold brocade
Whereof his shroud was made;
He is risen! the White Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!
From the Volga and the Don,
He has led his armies on,
Over river and morass
Over desert and mountain pass;
The Czar, the Orthodox Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!
He looks from the mountain-chain
Toward the seas, that cleave in twain
The continents; his hand
Points southward o’er the land
Of Roumili! O Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!
And the words break from his lips:
“I am the builder of ships,
And my ships shall sail these seas
To the Pillars of Hercules!
I say it; the White Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!
“The Bosphorus shall be free;
It shall make room for me;
And the gates of its water-streets
Be unbarred before my fleets.
I say it; the White Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!
“And the Christian shall no more
Be crushed, as heretofore,
Beneath thine iron rule,
O Sultan of Istamboul!
I swear it! I the Czar,
Batyushka! Gosudar!”
У Чуковского есть смешной ура-патриторический перевод этих стихов, 1915 года, написанный в духе, в котором потом будет написан «Крокодил». Возмущённый его напускной псевдонародностью, ночью, пока ехал в поезде, я состряпал свой перевод.
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Отсебятины тут очень много, но я по-другому не умею (да и на самом деле так и надо)
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happy
embarrassed