Читать книгу The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1 - George MacDonald - Страница 10

  Julian.

  Once more I tread thy courts, O God of heaven!

  I lay my hand upon a rock, whose peak

  Is miles away, and high amid the clouds.

  Perchance I touch the mountain whose blue summit,

  With the fantastic rock upon its side,

  Stops the eye's flight from that high chamber-window

  Where, when a boy, I used to sit and gaze

  With wondering awe upon the mighty thing,

  Terribly calm, alone, self-satisfied,

  The hitherto of my child-thoughts. Beyond,

  A sea might roar around its base. Beyond,

  Might be the depths of the unfathomed space,

  This the earth's bulwark over the abyss.

  Upon its very point I have watched a star

  For a few moments crown it with a fire,

  As of an incense-offering that blazed

  Upon this mighty altar high uplift,

  And then float up the pathless waste of heaven.

  From the next window I could look abroad

  Over a plain unrolled, which God had painted

  With trees, and meadow-grass, and a large river,

  Where boats went to and fro like water-flies,

  In white and green; but still I turned to look

  At that one mount, aspiring o'er its fellows:

  All here I saw—I knew not what was there.

  O love of knowledge and of mystery,

  Striving together in the heart of man!

  "Tell me, and let me know; explain the thing."—

  Then when the courier-thoughts have circled round:

  "Alas! I know it all; its charm is gone!"

  But I must hasten; else the sun will set

  Before I reach the smoother valley-road.

  I wonder if my old nurse lives; or has

  Eyes left to know me with. Surely, I think,

  Four years of wandering since I left my home,

  In sunshine and in snow, in ship and cell,

  Must have worn changes in this face of mine

  Sufficient to conceal me, if I will.