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Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 2
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"Ah!" said the Briar, "Blame me not!
Why should we dwell in strife?
We who in this, our natal spot,
Once liv'd a happy life!
You stirr'd me on my rocky bed —
What pleasure thro' my veins you spread!
The Summer long from day to day
My leaves you freshen'd and bedew'd;
Nor was it common gratitude
That did your cares repay."
When Spring came on with bud and bell,
Among these rocks did I
Before you hang my wreath to tell
That gentle days were nigh!
And in the sultry summer hours
I shelter'd you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves now shed and gone
The linnet lodg'd and for us two
Chaunted his pretty songs when you
Had little voice or none.
But now proud thoughts are in your breast —
What grief is mine you see.
Ah! would you think, ev'n yet how blest
Together we might be!
Though of both leaf and flower bereft,
Some ornaments to me are left —
Rich store of scarlet hips is mine,
With which I in my humble way
Would deck you many a Winter's day,
A happy Eglantine!
What more he said, I cannot tell.
The stream came thundering down the dell
And gallop'd loud and fast;
I listen'd, nor aught else could hear,
The Briar quak'd and much I fear.
Those accents were his last.
The OAK and the BROOM,
A PASTORAL
His simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;
A careful student he had been
Among the woods and hills.
One winter's night when through the Trees
The wind was thundering, on his knees
His youngest born did Andrew hold:
And while the rest, a ruddy quire
Were seated round their blazing fire,
This Tale the Shepherd told.
I saw a crag, a lofty stone
As ever tempest beat!
Out of its head an Oak had grown,
A Broom out of its feet.
The time was March, a chearful noon —
The thaw-wind with the breath of June
Breath'd gently from the warm South-west;
When in a voice sedate with age
This Oak, half giant and half sage,
His neighbour thus address'd.
"Eight weary weeks, thro' rock and clay,
Along this mountain's edge
The Frost hath wrought both night and day,
Wedge driving after wedge.
Look up, and think, above your head
What trouble surely will be bred;
Last night I heard a crash – 'tis true,
The splinters took another road —
I see them yonder – what a load
For such a Thing as you!"
You are preparing as before
To deck your slender shape;
And yet, just three years back – no more —
You had a strange escape.
Down from yon Cliff a fragment broke,
It came, you know, with fire and smoke
And hither did it bend its way.
This pond'rous block was caught by me,
And o'er your head, as you may see,
'Tis hanging to this day.
The Thing had better been asleep,
Whatever thing it were,
Or Breeze, or Bird, or fleece of Sheep,
That first did plant you there.
For you and your green twigs decoy
The little witless Shepherd-boy
To come and slumber in your bower;
And trust me, on some sultry noon,
Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon!
Will perish in one hour.
Другие электронные книги автора William Wordsworth
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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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