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In the Saddle: A Collection of Poems on Horseback-Riding
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Год написания книги
2017
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"No sacrament can quench this fire,
Or slake this scorching pain;
No sacrament can bid the dead
Arise and live again.
"O break, my heart, – O break at once!
Be thou my god, Despair!
Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me,
And vain each fruitless prayer." —
"O enter not in judgment, Lord,
With thy frail child of clay!
She knows not what her tongue has spoke;
Impute it not, I pray!
"Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,
And turn to God and grace;
Well can devotion's heavenly glow
Convert thy bale to bliss." —
"O mother, mother, what is bliss?
O mother, what is bale?
Without my William what were heaven,
Or with him what were hell?" —
Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,
Upbraids each sacred power,
Till, spent, she sought her silent room,
All in the lonely tower.
She beat her breast, she wrung her hands,
Till sun and day were o'er,
And through the glimmering lattice shone
The twinkling of the star.
Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell
That o'er the moat was hung;
And, clatter! clatter! on its boards
The hoof of courser rung.
The clank of echoing steel was heard
As off the rider bounded;
And slowly on the winding stair
A heavy footstep sounded.
And hark! and hark! a knock – Tap! tap!
A rustling stifled noise; —
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring; —
At length a whispering voice.
"Awake, awake, arise, my love!
How, Helen, dost thou fare?
Wakest thou, or sleepest? laughest thou, or weepest?
Hast thought on me, my fair?" —
"My love! my love! – so late by night! —
I waked, I wept for thee:
Much have I borne since dawn of morn;
Where, William, couldst thou be!" —
"We saddle late – from Hungary
I rode since darkness fell;
And to its bourne we both return
Before the matin-bell." —
"O rest this night within my arms,
And warm thee in their fold!
Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind: —
My love is deadly cold." —
"Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush!
This night we must away;
The steed is wight, the spur is bright;
I cannot stay till day.
"Busk, busk, and boune![1 - Busk– to dress. Boune– to prepare one's self for a journey.] Thou mount'st behind
Upon my black barb steed:
O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles,
We haste to bridal bed." —
"To-night – to-night a hundred miles! —
O dearest William, stay!
The bell strikes twelve – dark, dismal hour?
O wait, my love, till day!" —
"Look here, look here – the moon shines clear —
Full fast I ween we ride;
Mount and away! for ere the day
We reach our bridal bed.
"The black barb snorts, the bridle rings;
Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee!
The feast is made, the chamber spread,
The bridal guests await thee." —
Strong love prevailed: she busks, she bounes,
She mounts the barb behind,
And round her darling William's waist
Her lily arms she twines.
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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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