Ïåðåâîä ïåñíè ãíîìîâ èç "Õîááèòà" Äæ.Ð.Ð.Òîëêèíà:
Ìû â ïîäçåìåëüÿõ ìãëèñòûõ ãîð,
Ãäå ìðàê ïåùåð è õîëîä íîð,
Îòûùåì, ëèøü çàáðåçæèò ñâåò,
Áëåñê çà÷àðîâàííûõ ìîíåò.
Çàêëÿòüÿ ãíîìàìè ïëåëèñü,
È ìîëîòû âçëåòàëè ââûñü,
È â ãëóáèíå áûë êðåïîê ñîí
Ïîäçåìíûõ òâàðåé òåõ âðåìåí.
Ìåðöàë â ðóêå ýôåñ ìå÷à...
Òðóäàìè ãíîìîâ ïîëó÷àë
Êîðîëü è ýëüôîâ âëàñòåëèí
Ñîêðîâèùà èç òåõ ãëóáèí.
Ïîéìàâ ëóíó è ñîëíöå â ñåòü,
Îíè òîðîïÿòñÿ óñïåòü
Âåíåö è îæåðåëèé íèòü
Äðàêîíüèì ïëàìåíåì îìûòü.
Ìû â ïîäçåìåëüÿ ìãëèñòûõ ãîð,
Ãäå ìðàê ïåùåð è õîëîä íîð,
Óéäåì è, ëèøü çàáðåçæèò ñâåò,
Âåðíåì çàáûòûé áëåñê ìîíåò.
Óçîðû êóáêîâ, àðôû çâóê -
Ëèëèñü èç-ïîä óìåëûõ ðóê.
Íî òîëüêî ïåñíè íå ñëûøíû
Èç ïîòàåííîé ãëóáèíû.
Ñîñíîâûé áîð øóìåë â íî÷è,
Ãäå âåòðà êðèê åùå çâó÷èò,
Áàãðîâûì ñâåòîì âñïûõíóë ëåñ,
Îãîíü âîçíåññÿ äî íåáåñ.
 äîëèíå - êîëîêîëüíûé çâîí.
Áëåäíåþò ëèöà, ïëà÷ è ñòîí,
Äðàêîíà ãíåâ, è òîëüêî òüìà -
Ãäå áûëè áàøíè è äîìà.
Êëóáèòñÿ äûì, è ÷àñ íàñòàë -
Îñòàâèâ ñâîé ïîäçåìíûé çàë,
Áåæàëè ãíîìû â ÷àñ íî÷íîé
Ïîä ñåðåáðèâøåéñÿ ëóíîé.
Ìû â ïîäçåìåëüÿõ ìãëèñòûõ ãîð,
Ãäå ìðàê ïåùåð è õîëîä íîð,
Îòûùåì, ëèøü çàáðåçæèò ñâåò,
È îòâîþåì áëåñê ìîíåò!
Îðèãèíàë:
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.
For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gloaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.
Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches biased with light,
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.
The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying -fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!





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