From Heath Drink
Forgot long ago.
And he was sweetering honey,
Drier than wine.

In the boilers cooked it
And drank the whole family
Baby Medskores
In the caves underground.

The king of Scottish came.
Ruthless to enemies
He pressed poor picts
TO rocky shores.

On the heather field
On the field of combat
Lying alive on the dead
And dead - on live.

Summer in the country has come,
Heather blooms again,
But no one cook
Heath Honey.

In their graves are cramped,
In the mountains of the native land
Baby Medskores
They found themselves.

King on the slope goes
Above the sea on horse
And near the seagulls
With an expensive on par.

The king looks sullenly:
"My again in the edge
Flowers a swaw heather
And honey we do not drink! "

But here is his vassals
Note two
Recent medical workers
Survivors.

They came out from under the stone,
Shooting on white light
- Old humpback dwarf
And a boy fifteen years old.

By the seas of steep
They were led to the interrogation,
But none of the prisoners
Words did not say.

Corn Scottish king
Not moving, in the saddle.
And small people
Stood on earth.

An angry king said:
- torture both is waiting
If you do not say, devils,
How did you cook honey!

Son and father were silent
Standing at the edge of the cliff.
Heather ranked over them
Shafts rolled into the sea.

Old age is afraid of death.
I will buy life with treason
Issue cherished secrets!
- Dwarf told the king.

The boy of life is not a pity,
The death of him is nipple.
I sell my conscience
It will be conscable for it.

Let him touch it tight
And throw in the bunch of water
- And I will teach Scottish
Prepare vintage honey! ..

Strong Scottish Warrior
Boy firmly tied
And threw in the open sea
With coastal sheer cliffs.

The waves over it closed.
Measurement Last Creek ...
And it answered it echo
From the cliff father-old man:

I said the truth, Scots,
From my son I was waiting for trouble.
I did not believe in the persistence of young,
Do not shaving beards.

And I'm not afraid of fire.
Let me die
My holy mystery
- My heather honey!

: Heath Med.

Heath Honey

Scottish ballad
(from Robert Stevenson)

From Heath Drink
Forgot long ago.
And he was sweetering honey,
Drier than wine.

In the boilers cooked it
And drank the whole family
Baby Medologies
In the caves underground.

King Scottish came
Ruthless to enemies
He drove poor picts
To the rocky shores.

On the heather field
On the field of combat
Lying alive on the dead
And dead - on live.
_______

Summer in the country has come,
Heather blooms again,
But no one cook
Heath honey.

In their graves are cramped,
In the mountains of the native land
Baby Medologies
They found themselves.

King on the slope goes
Above the sea on horse
And next to the seagulls
With an expensive on par.

The king looks sullenly:
"Again in the edge of my
Flowers a swaw heather
And we do not drink honey! "

But here is his vassals
Note two
Recent medical workers
Survivors.

They came out from under the stone,
Shooting on white light, -
Old humpback dwarf
And a boy fifteen years old.

By the seas of steep
They were led to the interrogation,
But none of the prisoners
Words did not say.

Corn Scottish king
Not moving, in the saddle.
And small people
Stood on earth.

An angry king said:
"Torture is both waiting for
If you do not say, devils,
How did you cook honey! "

Son and father were silent
Standing at the edge of the cliff.
Heather ranked over them
Shafts rolled into the sea.

Old age is afraid of death.
I will buy life with treason
Issue cherished secrets! "-
Dwarf told the king.

The boy of life is not a pity,
The death of him is nipple ...
I sell my conscience
It will be conscable for it.

Let him touch it tight
And throw in the bunch of water -
I teach Scottish
Cook vintage honey! .. "

Strong Scottish Warrior
Boy firmly tied
And threw in the open sea
With coastal sheer cliffs.

The waves over it closed.
Measurement Last Creek ...
And it answered it echo
From the cliff father-old man:

"I truth said, Scots,
From my son I was waiting for trouble.
I did not believe in the persistence of young,
Do not shaving beards.

And I'm not afraid of fire.
Let me die
My holy mystery -
My heather honey! "

From the first class, I smelled to me in the soul of "Verecheskaya honey" in the translation of Marshak, and recently I read it in the translation of the grandfather. It seems that Marshak is easier and responding. Do not find? Scottish ballad
(from Robert Stevenson)

From Heath Drink
Forgot long ago.
And he was sweetering honey,
Drier than wine.

In the boilers cooked it
And drank the whole family
Baby Medologies
In the caves underground.

King Scottish came
Ruthless to enemies
He drove poor picts
To the rocky shores.

On the heather field
On the field of combat
Lying alive on the dead
And dead - on live.
_______

Summer in the country has come,
Heather blooms again,
But no one cook
Heath honey.

In their graves are cramped,
In the mountains of the native land
Baby Medologies
They found themselves.

King on the slope goes
Above the sea on horse
And next to the seagulls
With an expensive on par.

The king looks sullenly:
"Again in the edge of my
Flowers a swaw heather
And we do not drink honey! "

But here is his vassals
Note two
Recent medical workers
Survivors.

They came out from under the stone,
Shooting on white light, -
Old humpback dwarf
And a boy fifteen years old.

By the seas of steep
They were led to the interrogation,
But none of the prisoners
Words did not say.

Corn Scottish king
Not moving, in the saddle.
And small people
Stood on earth.

An angry king said:
"Torture is both waiting for
If you do not say, devils,
How did you cook honey! "

Son and father were silent
Standing at the edge of the cliff.
Heather ranked over them
Shafts rolled into the sea.

Old age is afraid of death.
I will buy life with treason
Issue cherished secrets! "-
Dwarf told the king.

The boy of life is not a pity,
The death of him is nipple ...
I sell my conscience
It will be conscable for it.

Let him touch it tight
And throw in the bunch of water -
I teach Scottish
Cook vintage honey! .. "

Strong Scottish Warrior
Boy firmly tied
And threw in the open sea
With coastal sheer cliffs.

The waves over it closed.
Measurement Last Creek ...
And it answered it echo
From the cliff father-old man:

"I truth said, Scots,
From my son I was waiting for trouble.
I did not believe in the persistence of young,
Do not shaving beards.

And I'm not afraid of fire.
Let me die
My holy mystery -
My heather honey! "

S. Marshak. Lyrics. Translations.
St. Petersburg, Lenazdat, 1996.

Heath El. Chukov's roots.

From bells Verek
Prepared in ancient times El,
Was even honey he is sweeter
There was even wines he is Crown,
Cook and drank together,
Blooming in forgetting
In underground housings, pictages
And the days of the day flowed.

The king in Scotland was
Severe enemies of their own.
He broke picts in battle
And started hunting for them.
In miles from copper-red mountains
People like roe deer exterminated
Everywhere body lay them
Who died who died.

Summer has come in the country
Krashen became heather color,
But those who know the ads
How the El is boiled - no more.
In small, as if children's,
Mountain graves of their own
Lied brahniks Verek
The death of everyone counted them.

King on the red field
Rides in the dwelling day
Bees buzz and crown;
Bring around their trill
Rides the king and malice
On the forehead catches the shadow:
"Edit the country of heather
And do not try El! "

But here luck: vassals,
Wearing on horses Medium Valleys,
Found a shed stone
And two overannants under it.
When they were dragging them
Not a word
Old man and boy - the last
From the little people.

Sitting in the saddle, frowned
King on dwarf eyebrows
And miserable darkness people
He was seen again.
To the shore down dragged them
Put on a terrible break:
"Life You, Rvan, Save,
Mystery drink opening! "

Son and father stood
Just above one than the other
Blooming around peers crimson
Ratched wave for the wave.
The elder suddenly was fixed,
Voice Piscles was and quiet:
"Give the word worthy worthy
The monarch of the ears are only yours! "

"Life is a road; elderly,
And I do not value honor.
I will give you a joy of secret "-
So brought Picture king
His voice sparrow
Piercingly sounds:
"I will give you a joy of secret,
Son only scary me! "

"Life is a trifle
And death with a young,
Ready i sell my conscience
But so, so that I have not seen my son.
Grab, tie and give
Puccin to absorb him
And I will open you a secret,
Which swore to keep! "

Guy servant took and belts
From the neck to the heels tied,
Then swung and threw
In the raven foam at the rocks.
Malts immediately hid the sea,
And standing looked at the water,
From Rock An old man - the last
From the little people.

"The truth of my words were
Son just ruined me!
Who does not wear beard,
That resistance b did not show!
But torture began in vain,
No use on fire now.
Let the mystery die with me
My heather El "

(C) Lastochkin A.Yu. 2009-2011

From Heath Drink

Forgot long ago.

And he was sweetering honey,

Drier than wine.

In the boilers cooked it

And drank the whole family

Baby Medologies

In the caves underground.

King Scottish came

Ruthless to enemies.

He drove poor picts

To the rocky shores.

On the heather field

On the field of combat

Lying alive on the dead

And dead - on live.

Summer in the country has come,

Heather blooms again,

But no one cook

Heath honey.

In their graves are cramped,

In the mountains of the native land

Baby Medologies

They found themselves.

King on the slope goes

Above the sea on horse

And next to the seagulls

With an expensive on par.

The king looks sullenly:

"My again in the edge

Flowers a swaw heather

And honey we do not drink! "

But here is his vassals

Note two

Recent medical workers

Survivors.

They came out from under the stone,

Shooting on white light, -

Old humpback dwarf

And a boy fifteen years old.

By the seas of steep

They were led to the interrogation,

But none of the prisoners

Words did not say.

Corn Scottish king

Not moving, in the saddle.

And small people

Stood on earth.

An angry king said:

Torture both is waiting

If you do not say, devils,

How did you cook honey!

Son and father were silent

Standing at the edge of the cliff.

Heather ranked over them

Listen, Scottish king,

Talk to Tobyu

With the eye on the eye let me!

Old age is afraid of death.

I will buy life with treason

Issue cherished secrets! -

Cold and clearly sounded:

I would give the secret for a long time

If the son did not interfere!

The boy of life is not a pity,

The death of him is nipple.

I sell my conscience

It will be conscable for it.

Let him touch it tight

And throw in the bunch of water,

I teach Scottish

Prepare vintage honey!

Strong Scottish Warrior

Boy firmly tied

And threw in the open sea

With coastal sheer cliffs.

The waves over it closed.

Measurement Last Creek ...

And it answered it echo

From the cliff father-old man.

I said the truth, Scots,

From my son I was waiting for trouble.

I did not believe in the persistence of young,

Do not shaving beards.

And I'm not afraid of fire.

Let me die

My holy mystery -

My heather honey!

Christmas in the sea

Tackle ignose, on the decks of the day rink,

Shkota dug in hands, the wind knocks down from his feet -

From Night Nord-West rose and drove us under the morning

A crow where boils were boiled between the canines of rocks.

Radiant roar of a surf came to us from darkness,

But only with dawn we understood, in what starver we are.

"All hands on deck!" On the deck wade us back and forth,

But we put the topselle and began to look for a passage.

All day we pulled the shock and went to the northern cape,

All day we changed the gallee and reversed the southern.

All day we grease palm praise about the maritime tackle,

So as not to handle the ship and do not disappear.

We avoided the southern, where the waves are roar between the rocks,

And with each maneuver, the northern jerk in front of us got up.

We saw stones, and houses, and swept up with surf,

And border guard on the porch with a pylon pipe.

White ocean foam roof frost Belil,

The windows were hot, smoke from the stoves of Valil,

Good red flame crag up in all foci,

We heard the smell of lunch, or it seemed to us.

On the bell tower happily buzzed bells -

In the church, our service was Christmas.

I have to open you that troubles attacked us Merry Christmas

And that the house behind the ship of the guard was my father's house.

I saw my native dining room where the silence was a conversation,

Fire glare golden old familiar china;

I have seen old mom silver glasses

And the same exactly silver father gray whiskey.

I know what the parents are involved in the evenings -

About the shadow of the house, about the son, wandering around the seas.

What simple and faithful seemed to me their words,

To me, who stacked the shock in the bright day of Christmas!

The lighthouse broke out on the cape, piercing the evening fog.

"Pay all reefs on Brahmel!" - Completed the captain.

The first assistant exclaimed: "But the ship will not stand, no!"

"Maybe. Or maybe withstand, "was a calm answer.

And here the ship was tilted, and, as if by approval,

He accurately followed the wind into a narrow stormy strait.

Storm day ended on the slopes of the winter land;

We escaped from the bay and under the lighthouse passed.

And when the nose of the ship was aiming on the open sea,

Everyone was relieved, everyone, - but not me.

I thought in a black rustling and longing,

What I remove from the house where my old men are growing.

Ballades R. Stevenson on how in ancient times, medical supplies were honeying from herasshed and drank him with the whole family. But the cruel king, ruthless to the enemies, was driven by medical workers to the rocky shores. On the heather field, on the battlefield lying alive on the dead and the dead on live. And when the summer came and bloated heather, nobody cooked honey and no one drank. But here the vassals of the king, notifies two medical workers who remained alive, the last medical groups and led them to high Bank For interrogation. But none of them did not say words. Angrily said the king that the torture is waiting for them if they do not tell the secret how to cook honey ...

Stevenson R - Heath Honey (Cheat. A. Khokhryakov)

From Heath Drink
Forgot long ago,
And he was sweetering honey,
Drier than wine.

In the boilers cooked it
And drank the whole family
Baby Medologies
In the caves underground.

King Scottish came
Ruthless to enemies.
He drove poor picts
To the rocky shores.

On the heather field
On the field of combat
Lying alive on the dead
And dead on live.

Summer in the country has come,
Heather blooms again,
But no one cook
Heath honey.

In their graves close
In the mountains of the native land
Baby Medologies
They found themselves.

King on the slope goes
Above the sea on horse
And next to the seagulls
With an expensive on the equal.

The king looks sullenly
And thinks: "Circle
Flowers honey heather
And we do not drink honey. "

But here is his vassals
Noticed two -
Recent medical workers
Survivors.

They came out from under the stone,
Shooting on white light, -
Old humpback dwarf
And a boy fifteen years old.

By the seas of steep
They were led to the interrogation,
But none of the prisoners
Words did not say.

Sitted King Scottish
Not moving in the saddle,
And small people
Stood on earth.

An angry king said:
- Blets of both waiting,
If you do not say, devils,
How do you cook honey!

Son and father have grown
Standing at the edge of the cliff.
Heather noisy over them
Shafts rolled into the sea.

Old age is afraid of death,
I will buy life with treason
Issue cherished secrets -
Dwarf told the king.

The boy of life is not a pity,
Death to him anything.
I sell my conscience
It will be conscable for it.

Let him be tightly tied
And throw in the bunch of water
And I teach Scottish
Prepare vintage honey.

Strong Scottish Warrior
Boy firmly tied
And threw in the open sea
With coastal sheer cliffs.

Waves over it closed
Measured last cry.
And it answered it echo
From the cliff father-old man:

I said the truth, Scots,
From my son I was waiting for troubles,
I did not believe in the persistence of young,
Do not shaving beards.

And I'm not afraid of fire,
Let me die
My holy mystery
My heather honey.