Lived a woman wonderful,
  (May the Lord amend her!)
Neither simple, kind, nor true,
But her Pagan beauty drew
Christian gentlemen a few
  Hotly to attend her.

Чудо-женщина жила
   («Господи, прости ей!»)
Не добра и не мила,
Но краса её влекла 
Джентельменов без числа
   Дьявольской стихией.

Christian gentlemen a few
  From Berwick unto Dover;
For she was South Africa,
Ana she was South Africa,
She was Our South Africa,
  Africa all over!

Джентельменов без числа
  От Дувра до Хольспая,
  
Африкой она была,
Южной Африкой была,
   Африкой без края!

Half her land was dead with drouth,
  Half was red with battle;
She was fenced with fire and sword
Plague on pestilence outpoured,
Locusts on the greening sward
  And murrain on the cattle!

В страшной жажде полстраны,
   Полстраны в разрухе,
Кровь и меч вошли в дома,
И зараза, и чума,
Саранчи нависла тьма,
   Падал скот, как мухи!

True, ah true, and overtrue.
  That is why we love her!
For she is South Africa,
And she is South Africa,
She is Our South Africa,
  Africa all over!

Правда, слишком правда то,
   Что она такая!
Африкой её зовут,
Южной Африкой зовут,
Нашей Африкой зовут,
   Африкой без края.

Bitter hard her lovers toild,
  Scandalous their paymen, –
Food forgot on trains derailed;
Cattle – dung where fuel failed;
Water where the mules had staled;
  And sackcloth for their raiment!

Не было страшней труда
   И позорней платы, –
Хлеб с разбитых поездов
Да навоз взамену дров,
Грязная вода из рвов,
   Дыры и заплаты!

So she filled their mouths with dust
  And their bones with fever;
Greeted them with cruel lies;
Treated them despiteful-wise;
Meted them calamities
  Till they vowed to leave her!

Жгла она им рты в пыли,
   Кости – в лихорадке,
Ночи им лгала и дни,
Их терзала искони, 
И клялись бежать они
   Прочь и без оглядки.

They took ship and they took sail,
  Raging, from her borders –
In a little, none the less,
They forgat their sore duresse;
They forgave her waywardness
  And returned for orders!

Поднимали паруса
   В ярости суровой, –
Вскоре, многого скорей,
Забывали горечь дней,
Злость и ложь прощали ей,
   Возвращались снова.

They esteemed her favour more
  Than a Throne's foundation.
For the glory of her face
Bade farewell to breed and race –
Yea, and made their burial-place
  Altar of a Nation!

Чтили милости её
   Больше небосвода,
Но глаза её и рот 
Забывали племя, род,
И могила их встаёт,
   Как Алтарь Народа.

Wherefore, being bought by blood,
  And by blood restored
To the arms that nearly lost,
She, because of all she cost,
Stands, a very woman, most
  Perfect and adored!

Кровью куплена она,
   Возродилась в дыме,
И звала к оружью тех,
Для кого была их грех, –
Женщина прекрасней всех,
   Всех боготворимей.

On your feet, and let them know
  This is why we love her!
For she is South Africa,
She is Our South Africa,
Is Our Own South Africa,
  Africa all over!

На ноги, пусть слышат все:
   Вот она какая!
Африкой её зовут,

Нашей Африкой зовут,
   Африкой без края.