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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
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Rough and rude it lay!
To his knees the knight rose up,
Loosed his gauntlet-band;
Fearing, daring, toward the cup
Went his naked hand;
When, as if it fled from harm,
Sank the holy thing,
And his eager following arm
Plunged into a spring.
Oh the thirst, the water sweet!
Down he lay and quaffed,
Quaffed and rose up on his feet,
Rose and gayly laughed;
Fell upon his knees to thank,
Loved and lauded there;
Stretched him on the mossy bank,
Fell asleep in prayer;
Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low
Ave, pater, creed;
When the fir-tops gan to glow
Waked and called his steed;
Bitted him and drew his girth,
Watered from his helm:
Happier knight or better worth
Was not in the realm!
Belted on him then his sword,
Braced his slackened mail;
Doubting said: "I dreamed the Lord
Offered me the Grail."
III
How sir Galahad gave up the Quest for the Grail
Ere the sun had cast his light
On the water's face,
Firm in saddle rode the knight
From the holy place,
Merry songs began to sing,
Let his matins bide;
Rode a good hour pondering,
And was turned aside,
Saying, "I will henceforth then
Yield this hopeless quest;
Tis a dream of holy men
This ideal Best!"
"Every good for miracle
Heart devout may hold;
Grail indeed was that fair well
Full of water cold!
"Not my thirst alone it stilled
But my soul it stayed;
And my heart, with gladness filled,
Wept and laughed and prayed!
"Spectral church with cryptic niche
I will seek no more;
That the holiest Grail is, which
Helps the need most sore!"
And he spake with speech more true
Than his thought indeed,
For not yet the good knight knew
His own sorest need.
IV
How sir Galahad sought yet again for the Grail
On he rode, to succour bound,
But his faith grew dim;
Wells for thirst he many found,
Water none for him.
Never more from drinking deep
Rose he up and laughed;
Never more did prayerful sleep
Follow on the draught.
Good the water which they bore,
Plenteously it flowed,
Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more
Eased his bosom's load!
For the Best no more he sighed;
Rode as in a trance;
Life grew poor, undignified,
And he spake of chance.
To his knees the knight rose up,
Loosed his gauntlet-band;
Fearing, daring, toward the cup
Went his naked hand;
When, as if it fled from harm,
Sank the holy thing,
And his eager following arm
Plunged into a spring.
Oh the thirst, the water sweet!
Down he lay and quaffed,
Quaffed and rose up on his feet,
Rose and gayly laughed;
Fell upon his knees to thank,
Loved and lauded there;
Stretched him on the mossy bank,
Fell asleep in prayer;
Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low
Ave, pater, creed;
When the fir-tops gan to glow
Waked and called his steed;
Bitted him and drew his girth,
Watered from his helm:
Happier knight or better worth
Was not in the realm!
Belted on him then his sword,
Braced his slackened mail;
Doubting said: "I dreamed the Lord
Offered me the Grail."
III
How sir Galahad gave up the Quest for the Grail
Ere the sun had cast his light
On the water's face,
Firm in saddle rode the knight
From the holy place,
Merry songs began to sing,
Let his matins bide;
Rode a good hour pondering,
And was turned aside,
Saying, "I will henceforth then
Yield this hopeless quest;
Tis a dream of holy men
This ideal Best!"
"Every good for miracle
Heart devout may hold;
Grail indeed was that fair well
Full of water cold!
"Not my thirst alone it stilled
But my soul it stayed;
And my heart, with gladness filled,
Wept and laughed and prayed!
"Spectral church with cryptic niche
I will seek no more;
That the holiest Grail is, which
Helps the need most sore!"
And he spake with speech more true
Than his thought indeed,
For not yet the good knight knew
His own sorest need.
IV
How sir Galahad sought yet again for the Grail
On he rode, to succour bound,
But his faith grew dim;
Wells for thirst he many found,
Water none for him.
Never more from drinking deep
Rose he up and laughed;
Never more did prayerful sleep
Follow on the draught.
Good the water which they bore,
Plenteously it flowed,
Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more
Eased his bosom's load!
For the Best no more he sighed;
Rode as in a trance;
Life grew poor, undignified,
And he spake of chance.
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
Последний отзыв
Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
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