Читать книгу The Cup of Comus: Fact and Fancy - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 9

I came upon a pool that shone,

Clear, emerald-like, among the hills,

That seemed old wizards round a stone

Of magic that a vision thrills.

And as I leaned and looked, it seemed

Vague shadows gathered there and here —

A dream, perhaps the water dreamed

Of some wild past, some long-dead year…

A temple of a race unblessed

Rose huge within a hollow land,

Where, on an altar, bare of breast,

One lay, a man, bound foot and hand.

A priest, who served some hideous god,

Stood near him on the altar stair,

Clothed on with gold; and at his nod

A multitude seemed gathered there.

I saw a sword descend; and then

The priest before the altar turned;

He was not formed like mortal man,

But like a beast whose eyeballs burned.

Amorphous, strangely old, he glared

Above the victim he had slain,

Who lay with bleeding bosom bared,

From which dripped slow a crimson rain.

Then turned to me a face of stone

And mocked above the murdered dead,

That fixed its cold eyes on his own

And cursed him with a look of dread.

And then, it seemed, I knew the place,

And how this sacrifice befell:

I knew the god, the priest's wild face,

I knew the dead man – knew him well.

And as I stooped again to look,

I heard the dark hills sigh and laugh,

And in the pool the water shook

As if one stirred it with a staff.

And all was still again and clear:

The pool lay crystal as before,

Temple and priest were gone; the mere

Had closed again its magic door.

A face was there; it seemed to shine

As round it died the sunset's flame —

The victim's face? – or was it mine? —

They were to me the very same.

And yet, and yet – could this thing be? —

And in my soul I seemed to know,

At once, this was a memory

Of some past life, lived long ago.

Recorded by some secret sense,

In forms that we as dreams retain;

Some moment, as experience,

Projects in pictures on the brain.