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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
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His rumoured grandeur didst receive,
And sit with pondering brows,
Until thy maidens' gathered tale
With possible marvel teems:
Thou sleepest, and the prisoner pale
Returneth in thy dreams.
Well mightst thou suffer things not few
For his sake all the night!
In pale eclipse he suffers, who
Is of the world the light.
Precious it were to know thy dream
Of such a one as he!
Perhaps of him we, waking, deem
As poor a verity.
XI.
THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA
In the hot sun, for water cool
She walked in listless mood:
When back she ran, her pitcher full
Forgot behind her stood.
Like one who followed straying sheep,
A weary man she saw,
Who sat upon the well so deep,
And nothing had to draw.
"Give me to drink," he said. Her hand
Was ready with reply;
From out the old well of the land
She drew him plenteously.
He spake as never man before;
She stands with open ears;
He spake of holy days in store,
Laid bare the vanished years.
She cannot still her throbbing heart,
She hurries to the town,
And cries aloud in street and mart,
"The Lord is here: come down."
Her life before was strange and sad,
A very dreary sound:
Ah, let it go—or good or bad:
She has the Master found!
XII.
MARY MAGDALENE
With wandering eyes and aimless zeal,
She hither, thither, goes;
Her speech, her motions, all reveal
A mind without repose.
She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea,
By madness tortured, driven;
One hour's forgetfulness would be
A gift from very heaven!
She slumbers into new distress;
The night is worse than day:
Exulting in her helplessness,
Hell's dogs yet louder bay.
The demons blast her to and fro;
She has no quiet place,
Enough a woman still, to know
A haunting dim disgrace.
A human touch! a pang of death!
And in a low delight
Thou liest, waiting for new breath.
For morning out of night.
Thou risest up: the earth is fair,
The wind is cool; thou art free!
Is it a dream of hell's despair
Dissolves in ecstasy?
That man did touch thee! Eyes divine
Make sunrise in thy soul;
Thou seëst love in order shine:—
His health hath made thee whole!
Thou, sharing in the awful doom,
Didst help thy Lord to die;
Then, weeping o'er his empty tomb,
Didst hear him Mary cry.
He stands in haste; he cannot stop;
Home to his God he fares:
"Go tell my brothers I go up
To my Father, mine and theirs."
And sit with pondering brows,
Until thy maidens' gathered tale
With possible marvel teems:
Thou sleepest, and the prisoner pale
Returneth in thy dreams.
Well mightst thou suffer things not few
For his sake all the night!
In pale eclipse he suffers, who
Is of the world the light.
Precious it were to know thy dream
Of such a one as he!
Perhaps of him we, waking, deem
As poor a verity.
XI.
THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA
In the hot sun, for water cool
She walked in listless mood:
When back she ran, her pitcher full
Forgot behind her stood.
Like one who followed straying sheep,
A weary man she saw,
Who sat upon the well so deep,
And nothing had to draw.
"Give me to drink," he said. Her hand
Was ready with reply;
From out the old well of the land
She drew him plenteously.
He spake as never man before;
She stands with open ears;
He spake of holy days in store,
Laid bare the vanished years.
She cannot still her throbbing heart,
She hurries to the town,
And cries aloud in street and mart,
"The Lord is here: come down."
Her life before was strange and sad,
A very dreary sound:
Ah, let it go—or good or bad:
She has the Master found!
XII.
MARY MAGDALENE
With wandering eyes and aimless zeal,
She hither, thither, goes;
Her speech, her motions, all reveal
A mind without repose.
She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea,
By madness tortured, driven;
One hour's forgetfulness would be
A gift from very heaven!
She slumbers into new distress;
The night is worse than day:
Exulting in her helplessness,
Hell's dogs yet louder bay.
The demons blast her to and fro;
She has no quiet place,
Enough a woman still, to know
A haunting dim disgrace.
A human touch! a pang of death!
And in a low delight
Thou liest, waiting for new breath.
For morning out of night.
Thou risest up: the earth is fair,
The wind is cool; thou art free!
Is it a dream of hell's despair
Dissolves in ecstasy?
That man did touch thee! Eyes divine
Make sunrise in thy soul;
Thou seëst love in order shine:—
His health hath made thee whole!
Thou, sharing in the awful doom,
Didst help thy Lord to die;
Then, weeping o'er his empty tomb,
Didst hear him Mary cry.
He stands in haste; he cannot stop;
Home to his God he fares:
"Go tell my brothers I go up
To my Father, mine and theirs."
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
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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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