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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 14
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In the first hour, the seaman in his skiff
Moves through the unmoving bay, to where the town
Its earliest smoke into the air upbreathes,
And the rough hazels climb along the beach.
To the tugged oar the distant echo speaks.
The ship lies resting, where by reef and roost
Thou and thy lights have led her like a child.
This hast thou done, and I – can I be base?
I must arise, O father, and to port
Some lost, complaining seaman pilot home.
XXIX
IN THE STATES
With half a heart I wander here
As from an age gone by
A brother – yet though young in years,
An elder brother, I.
You speak another tongue than mine,
Though both were English born.
I towards the night of time decline
You mount into the morn.
Youth shall grow great and strong and free,
But age must still decay:
To-morrow for the States, – for me,
England and Yesterday.
San Francisco.
XXX
A PORTRAIT
I am a kind of farthing dip,
Unfriendly to the nose and eyes;
A blue-behinded ape, I skip
Upon the trees of Paradise.
At mankind’s feast, I take my place
In solemn, sanctimonious state,
And have the air of saying grace
While I defile the dinner-plate.
I am “the smiler with the knife,”
The battener upon garbage, I —
Dear Heaven, with such a rancid life
Were it not better far to die?
Yet still, about the human pale,
I love to scamper, love to race,
To swing by my irreverent tail
All over the most holy place;
And when at length, some golden day,
The unfailing sportsman, aiming at,
Shall bag, me – all the world shall say:
Thank God, and there’s an end of that!
XXXI
Sing clearlier, Muse, or evermore be still,
Sing truer or no longer sing!
No more the voice of melancholy Jaques
To wake a weeping echo in the hill;
But as the boy, the pirate of the spring,
From the green elm a living linnet takes,
One natural verse recapture – then be still.
XXXII
A CAMP[2 - From “Travels with a Donkey.”]
The bed was made, the room was fit,
By punctual eve the stars were lit;
The air was still, the water ran,
No need was there for maid or man,
When we put up, my ass and I,
At God’s green caravanserai.
XXXIII
THE COUNTRY OF THE CAMISARDS1 (#cn_1)
We travelled in the print of olden wars;
Yet all the land was green;
And love we found, and peace,
Where fire and war had been.
They pass and smile, the children of the sword —
No more the sword they wield;
And O, how deep the corn
Along the battlefield!
XXXIV
SKERRYVORE
Moves through the unmoving bay, to where the town
Its earliest smoke into the air upbreathes,
And the rough hazels climb along the beach.
To the tugged oar the distant echo speaks.
The ship lies resting, where by reef and roost
Thou and thy lights have led her like a child.
This hast thou done, and I – can I be base?
I must arise, O father, and to port
Some lost, complaining seaman pilot home.
XXIX
IN THE STATES
With half a heart I wander here
As from an age gone by
A brother – yet though young in years,
An elder brother, I.
You speak another tongue than mine,
Though both were English born.
I towards the night of time decline
You mount into the morn.
Youth shall grow great and strong and free,
But age must still decay:
To-morrow for the States, – for me,
England and Yesterday.
San Francisco.
XXX
A PORTRAIT
I am a kind of farthing dip,
Unfriendly to the nose and eyes;
A blue-behinded ape, I skip
Upon the trees of Paradise.
At mankind’s feast, I take my place
In solemn, sanctimonious state,
And have the air of saying grace
While I defile the dinner-plate.
I am “the smiler with the knife,”
The battener upon garbage, I —
Dear Heaven, with such a rancid life
Were it not better far to die?
Yet still, about the human pale,
I love to scamper, love to race,
To swing by my irreverent tail
All over the most holy place;
And when at length, some golden day,
The unfailing sportsman, aiming at,
Shall bag, me – all the world shall say:
Thank God, and there’s an end of that!
XXXI
Sing clearlier, Muse, or evermore be still,
Sing truer or no longer sing!
No more the voice of melancholy Jaques
To wake a weeping echo in the hill;
But as the boy, the pirate of the spring,
From the green elm a living linnet takes,
One natural verse recapture – then be still.
XXXII
A CAMP[2 - From “Travels with a Donkey.”]
The bed was made, the room was fit,
By punctual eve the stars were lit;
The air was still, the water ran,
No need was there for maid or man,
When we put up, my ass and I,
At God’s green caravanserai.
XXXIII
THE COUNTRY OF THE CAMISARDS1 (#cn_1)
We travelled in the print of olden wars;
Yet all the land was green;
And love we found, and peace,
Where fire and war had been.
They pass and smile, the children of the sword —
No more the sword they wield;
And O, how deep the corn
Along the battlefield!
XXXIV
SKERRYVORE
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Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее