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Lays and Legends (Second Series)
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We fight for freedom and the souls of men —
Here, and not there, is fought and won our fight!
MOTHER
A little room with scanty grace
Of drapery or ordered ease;
White dimity, and well-scrubbed boards, —
But there's a hum of summer bees,
The sun sends through the quiet place
The scent that honeysuckle hoards.
Outside, the little garden glows
With sun-warmed leaves and blossoms bright;
Beyond lie meadow, lane, and wood
Where trail the briony and wild rose,
And where grow blossoms of delight
In an inviolate solitude.
Through that green world there blows an air
That cools my forehead even here
In this sad city's riotous roar —
And from that room my ears can hear
Tears and the echo of a prayer,
And the world's voice is heard no more.
A BALLAD OF CANTERBURY
Across the grim, gray, northern sea
The Danish warships went,
Snake-shaped, and manned by mighty men
On blood and plunder bent;
And they landed on a smiling land —
The garden-land of Kent.
They sacked the farms, they spoiled the corn,
They set the ricks aflame;
They slew the men with axe and sword,
They slew the maids with shame;
Until, to Canterbury town,
Made mad with blood, they came.
Archbishop Alphege walked the wall
And looked down on the foe.
"Now fly, my lord!" his monks implored,
"While yet a man may go!"
"Shame on you, monks of mine," he cried,
"To shame your bishop so!
"What, would you have the shepherd flee,
Like any hireling knave?
What, leave my church, my poor – God's poor,
To a dark and prayerless grave?
No! by the body of my Lord,
My skin I will not save!"
And when men heard his true, strong word,
They bore them as men should.
For twenty nights and twenty days
The foemen they withstood,
And, day and night, shone tapers bright,
And incense veiled the rood.
The warriors manned the walls without,
The monks prayed on within,
Till Satan, wroth to see how prayer
And valour fared to win,
Whispered a traitor, who stole out
And let the foemen in.
Then through the quiet church there ran
A sudden breath of fear;
The monks made haste to bar the door,
And hide the golden gear;
And to their lord once more they cried,
"Hide, hide! the foe is here!"
Through all the church's windows showed
The sudden laugh of flame;
Along the street went trampling feet,
And through the smoke there came
The voice of women, calling shrill
Upon the Saviour's name.
And "Hide! oh, hide!" the monks all cried,
"Nor meet such foes as these!"
"Be still," he said, "hide if ye will,
Live on, and take your ease!
By my Lord's death, my latest breath,
Like His, shall speak of peace!"
He strode along the dusky aisle,
And flung the church doors wide;
Bright armour shone, and blazing homes
Lit up the world outside,
And in the streets reeled to and fro
A bloody human tide.
The mailed barbarians laughed aloud
To see the brave blood flow;
Here, and not there, is fought and won our fight!
MOTHER
A little room with scanty grace
Of drapery or ordered ease;
White dimity, and well-scrubbed boards, —
But there's a hum of summer bees,
The sun sends through the quiet place
The scent that honeysuckle hoards.
Outside, the little garden glows
With sun-warmed leaves and blossoms bright;
Beyond lie meadow, lane, and wood
Where trail the briony and wild rose,
And where grow blossoms of delight
In an inviolate solitude.
Through that green world there blows an air
That cools my forehead even here
In this sad city's riotous roar —
And from that room my ears can hear
Tears and the echo of a prayer,
And the world's voice is heard no more.
A BALLAD OF CANTERBURY
Across the grim, gray, northern sea
The Danish warships went,
Snake-shaped, and manned by mighty men
On blood and plunder bent;
And they landed on a smiling land —
The garden-land of Kent.
They sacked the farms, they spoiled the corn,
They set the ricks aflame;
They slew the men with axe and sword,
They slew the maids with shame;
Until, to Canterbury town,
Made mad with blood, they came.
Archbishop Alphege walked the wall
And looked down on the foe.
"Now fly, my lord!" his monks implored,
"While yet a man may go!"
"Shame on you, monks of mine," he cried,
"To shame your bishop so!
"What, would you have the shepherd flee,
Like any hireling knave?
What, leave my church, my poor – God's poor,
To a dark and prayerless grave?
No! by the body of my Lord,
My skin I will not save!"
And when men heard his true, strong word,
They bore them as men should.
For twenty nights and twenty days
The foemen they withstood,
And, day and night, shone tapers bright,
And incense veiled the rood.
The warriors manned the walls without,
The monks prayed on within,
Till Satan, wroth to see how prayer
And valour fared to win,
Whispered a traitor, who stole out
And let the foemen in.
Then through the quiet church there ran
A sudden breath of fear;
The monks made haste to bar the door,
And hide the golden gear;
And to their lord once more they cried,
"Hide, hide! the foe is here!"
Through all the church's windows showed
The sudden laugh of flame;
Along the street went trampling feet,
And through the smoke there came
The voice of women, calling shrill
Upon the Saviour's name.
And "Hide! oh, hide!" the monks all cried,
"Nor meet such foes as these!"
"Be still," he said, "hide if ye will,
Live on, and take your ease!
By my Lord's death, my latest breath,
Like His, shall speak of peace!"
He strode along the dusky aisle,
And flung the church doors wide;
Bright armour shone, and blazing homes
Lit up the world outside,
And in the streets reeled to and fro
A bloody human tide.
The mailed barbarians laughed aloud
To see the brave blood flow;
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Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
Далее