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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
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To the sear heap below!
Ha! deeper,
Down steeper,
The infidels go!
"Azrael
Sheer to hell
Shoots the foul shoals!
There Monker
And Nakir
Torture their souls!
"But when drop
On their crop
The scimitars red,
And under
War's thunder
The faithful lie dead,
"Oh, bright
Is the light
On hero slow breaking!
Rapturous faces
Bent for embraces
Watch for his waking!
"And he hears
In his ears
The voice of Life's river,
Like a song
Of the strong,
Jubilant ever!
"Oh, the wine
Of the vine
May lead to the gates,
But the rattle
Of battle
Wakes the angel who waits!
"To the lord
Of the sword
Open it must!
The drinker,
The thinker
Sits in the dust!
"He dreams
Of the gleams
Of their garments of white;
He misses
Their kisses,
The maidens of light!
"They long
For the strong
Who has burst through alarms—
Up, by the labour
Of stirrup and sabre,
Up to their arms!
"Oh, the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost!
The wine of the fight is the joy of a host!"
When Saad came home from the far pursuit,
An hour he sat, and an hour was mute.
Then he opened his mouth: "Ah, wife, the fight
Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might
Sudden rose up on the crest of the battle,
Flashed blue lightnings, thundered steel rattle,
Took up the fighting, and drove it on—
Enoch sure, or the good Saint John!
Wherever he leaped, like a lion he,
The battle was thickest, or soon to be!
Wherever he sprang with his lion roar,
In a minute the battle was there no more!
With a headlong fear, the sinners fled,
And we swept them down the steep of the dead:
Before us, not from us, did they flee,
They ceased in the depths of a new Red Sea!
But him who saved us we saw no more;
He went as he came, by a secret door!
And strangest of all—nor think I err
If a miracle I for truth aver—
I was close to him thrice—the holy Force
Wore my silver-ringed hauberk, rode Abdon my horse!"
The lady rose up, withholding her word,
And led to the terrace her wondering lord,
Where, song-soothed, and weary with battle strain,
Abu Midjan sat counting the links of his chain:
"The battle was raging, he raging worse;
I freed him, harnessed him, gave him thy horse."
"Abu Midjan! the singer of love and of wine!
The arm of the battle, it also was thine?
Rise up, shake the irons from off thy feet:
For the lord of the fight are fetters meet?
If thou wilt, then drink till thou be hoar:
Allah shall judge thee; I judge no more!"
Ha! deeper,
Down steeper,
The infidels go!
"Azrael
Sheer to hell
Shoots the foul shoals!
There Monker
And Nakir
Torture their souls!
"But when drop
On their crop
The scimitars red,
And under
War's thunder
The faithful lie dead,
"Oh, bright
Is the light
On hero slow breaking!
Rapturous faces
Bent for embraces
Watch for his waking!
"And he hears
In his ears
The voice of Life's river,
Like a song
Of the strong,
Jubilant ever!
"Oh, the wine
Of the vine
May lead to the gates,
But the rattle
Of battle
Wakes the angel who waits!
"To the lord
Of the sword
Open it must!
The drinker,
The thinker
Sits in the dust!
"He dreams
Of the gleams
Of their garments of white;
He misses
Their kisses,
The maidens of light!
"They long
For the strong
Who has burst through alarms—
Up, by the labour
Of stirrup and sabre,
Up to their arms!
"Oh, the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost!
The wine of the fight is the joy of a host!"
When Saad came home from the far pursuit,
An hour he sat, and an hour was mute.
Then he opened his mouth: "Ah, wife, the fight
Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might
Sudden rose up on the crest of the battle,
Flashed blue lightnings, thundered steel rattle,
Took up the fighting, and drove it on—
Enoch sure, or the good Saint John!
Wherever he leaped, like a lion he,
The battle was thickest, or soon to be!
Wherever he sprang with his lion roar,
In a minute the battle was there no more!
With a headlong fear, the sinners fled,
And we swept them down the steep of the dead:
Before us, not from us, did they flee,
They ceased in the depths of a new Red Sea!
But him who saved us we saw no more;
He went as he came, by a secret door!
And strangest of all—nor think I err
If a miracle I for truth aver—
I was close to him thrice—the holy Force
Wore my silver-ringed hauberk, rode Abdon my horse!"
The lady rose up, withholding her word,
And led to the terrace her wondering lord,
Where, song-soothed, and weary with battle strain,
Abu Midjan sat counting the links of his chain:
"The battle was raging, he raging worse;
I freed him, harnessed him, gave him thy horse."
"Abu Midjan! the singer of love and of wine!
The arm of the battle, it also was thine?
Rise up, shake the irons from off thy feet:
For the lord of the fight are fetters meet?
If thou wilt, then drink till thou be hoar:
Allah shall judge thee; I judge no more!"
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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