По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2024.
✖
The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
The warm blue sky of summer
O'er jagged ice and snow,
And water hurrying gladsome out
From a cavern down below;
The dim light of a beacon
Upon a stormy sea,
Where a lonely ship to windward beats
For life and liberty;
A watery sun-ray gleaming
Athwart a sullen cloud
And falling on some grassy flower
The rain had earthward bowed;
Morn peeping o'er a mountain,
In ambush for the dark,
And a traveller in the vale below
Rejoicing like a lark;
A taper nearly vanished
Amid the dawning gray,
And a maiden lifting up her head,
And lo, the coming day!
I am no skilful painter;
Let who will blame me then
That I would teach thee hope and fear
With my plain-talking pen!—
Fear of the tide of darkness
That floweth fast behind,
And hope to make thee journey on
In the journey of the mind.
FAR AND NEAR. [The fact which suggested this poem is related by Clarke in his Travels.]
I
Blue sky above, blue sea below,
Far off, the old Nile's mouth,
'Twas a blue world, wherein did blow
A soft wind from the south.
In great and solemn heaves the mass
Of pulsing ocean beat,
Unwrinkled as the sea of glass
Beneath the holy feet.
With forward leaning of desire
The ship sped calmly on,
A pilgrim strong that would not tire
Or hasten to be gone.
II
List!—on the wave!—what can they be,
Those sounds that hither glide?
No lovers whisper tremulously
Under the ship's round side!
No sail across the dark blue sphere
Holds white obedient way;
No far-fled, sharp-winged boat is near,
No following fish at play!
'Tis not the rippling of the wave,
Nor sighing of the cords;
No winds or waters ever gave
A murmur so like words;
Nor wings of birds that northward strain,
Nor talk of hidden crew:
The traveller questioned, but in vain—
He found no answer true.
III
A hundred level miles away,
On Egypt's troubled shore,
Two nations fought, that sunny day,
With bellowing cannons' roar.
The fluttering whisper, low and near,
Was that far battle's blare;
A lipping, rippling motion here,
The blasting thunder there.
IV
Can this dull sighing in my breast
So faint and undefined,
Be the worn edge of far unrest
Borne on the spirit's wind?
The uproar of high battle fought
Betwixt the bond and free,
The thunderous roll of armed thought
Dwarfed to an ache in me?
MY ROOM
To G. E. M.
O'er jagged ice and snow,
And water hurrying gladsome out
From a cavern down below;
The dim light of a beacon
Upon a stormy sea,
Where a lonely ship to windward beats
For life and liberty;
A watery sun-ray gleaming
Athwart a sullen cloud
And falling on some grassy flower
The rain had earthward bowed;
Morn peeping o'er a mountain,
In ambush for the dark,
And a traveller in the vale below
Rejoicing like a lark;
A taper nearly vanished
Amid the dawning gray,
And a maiden lifting up her head,
And lo, the coming day!
I am no skilful painter;
Let who will blame me then
That I would teach thee hope and fear
With my plain-talking pen!—
Fear of the tide of darkness
That floweth fast behind,
And hope to make thee journey on
In the journey of the mind.
FAR AND NEAR. [The fact which suggested this poem is related by Clarke in his Travels.]
I
Blue sky above, blue sea below,
Far off, the old Nile's mouth,
'Twas a blue world, wherein did blow
A soft wind from the south.
In great and solemn heaves the mass
Of pulsing ocean beat,
Unwrinkled as the sea of glass
Beneath the holy feet.
With forward leaning of desire
The ship sped calmly on,
A pilgrim strong that would not tire
Or hasten to be gone.
II
List!—on the wave!—what can they be,
Those sounds that hither glide?
No lovers whisper tremulously
Under the ship's round side!
No sail across the dark blue sphere
Holds white obedient way;
No far-fled, sharp-winged boat is near,
No following fish at play!
'Tis not the rippling of the wave,
Nor sighing of the cords;
No winds or waters ever gave
A murmur so like words;
Nor wings of birds that northward strain,
Nor talk of hidden crew:
The traveller questioned, but in vain—
He found no answer true.
III
A hundred level miles away,
On Egypt's troubled shore,
Two nations fought, that sunny day,
With bellowing cannons' roar.
The fluttering whisper, low and near,
Was that far battle's blare;
A lipping, rippling motion here,
The blasting thunder there.
IV
Can this dull sighing in my breast
So faint and undefined,
Be the worn edge of far unrest
Borne on the spirit's wind?
The uproar of high battle fought
Betwixt the bond and free,
The thunderous roll of armed thought
Dwarfed to an ache in me?
MY ROOM
To G. E. M.
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
Последний отзыв
Неведомые места
4.5
4.5
Очень интересно