Читать книгу The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1 - George MacDonald - Страница 36

  Julian.

  I wish she would come home. When the child wakes,

  I cannot bear to see her eyes first rest

  On me, then wander searching through the room,

  And then return and rest. And yet, poor Lilia!

  'Tis nothing strange thou shouldst be glad to go

  From this dull place, and for a few short hours

  Have thy lost girlhood given back to thee;

  For thou art very young for such hard things

  As poor men's wives in cities must endure.

  I am afraid the thought is not at rest,

  But rises still, that she is not my wife—

  Not truly, lawfully. I hoped the child

  Would kill that fancy; but I fear instead,

  She thinks I have begun to think the same—

  Thinks that it lies a heavy weight of sin

  Upon my heart. Alas, my Lilia!

  When every time I pray, I pray that God

  Would look and see that thou and I be one!

  Lily

  (starting up in her crib).

  Oh, take me! take me!

  Julian

  (going up to her with a smile).

  What is the matter with my little child?

  Lily.

  I don't know, father; I was very frightened.

  Julian.

  'Twas nothing but a dream. Look—I am with you.

  Lily.

  I am wake now; I know you're there; but then

  I did not know it.

  Julian.

  Lie down now, darling. Go to sleep again.

  Lily

  (beseechingly).

  Not yet. Don't tell me go to sleep again;

  It makes me so, so frightened! Take me up,

  And let me sit upon your knee.—Where's mother?

  I cannot see her.

  Julian.

                She's not at home, my child;

  But soon she will be back.

  Lily.

                               But if she walk

  Out in the dark streets—so dark, it will catch her.

  Julian.

  She will not walk—but what would catch her, sweet?

  Lily.

  I don't know. Tell me a story till she comes.

  Julian

  (taking her, and sitting with her on his knees by the fire).

  Come then, my little Lily, I will tell you

  A story I have read this very night.

  There was a man who had a little boy,

  And when the boy grew big, he went and asked

  His father to give him a purse of money.

  His father gave him such a large purse full!

  And then he went away and left his home.

  You see he did not love his father much.

  Lily.

  Oh! didn't he?—If he had, he wouldn't have gone!

  Julian.

  Away he went, far far away he went,

  Until he could not even spy the top

  Of the great mountain by his father's house.

  And still he went away, away, as if

  He tried how far his feet could go away;

  Until he came to a city huge and wide,

  Like London here.

  Lily.

                    Perhaps it was London.

  Julian.

  Perhaps it was, my child. And there he spent

  All, all his father's money, buying things

  That he had always told him were not worth,

  And not to buy them; but he would and did.

  Lily.

  How very naughty of him!

  Julian.

                             Yes, my child.

  And so when he had spent his last few pence,

  He grew quite hungry. But he had none left

  To buy a piece of bread. And bread was scarce;

  Nobody gave him any. He had been

  Always so idle, that he could not work.

  But at last some one sent him to feed swine.

  Lily.

  Swine! Oh!

  Julian.

  Yes, swine: 'twas all that he could do;

  And he was glad to eat some of their food.

  But at the last, hunger and waking love

  Made him remember his old happy home.

  "How many servants in my father's house

  Have plenty, and to spare!" he said. "I'll go

  And say, 'I have done very wrong, my father;

  I am not worthy to be called your son;

  Put me among your servants, father, please.'"

  Then he rose up and went; but thought the road

  So much, much farther to walk back again,

  When he was tired and hungry. But at last

  He saw the blue top of the great big hill

  That stood beside his father's house; and then

  He walked much faster. But a great way off,

  His father saw him coming, lame and weary

  With his long walk; and very different

  From what he had been. All his clothes were hanging

  In tatters, and his toes stuck through his shoes—

Lily (sobbing). Like that poor beggar I saw yesterday?

  Julian.

  Yes, my dear child.

  Lily.

                        And was he dirty too?

  Julian.

  Yes, very dirty; he had been so long

  Among the swine.

  Lily.

          Is it all true though, father?

  Julian.

  Yes, my darling; all true, and truer far

  Than you can think.

  Lily.

                   What was his father like?

  Julian.

  A tall, grand, stately man.

  Lily.

                              Like you, dear father?

  Julian.

  Like me, only much grander.

  Lily.

                               I love you

  The best though.

  Julian.

                      Well, all dirty as he was,

  And thin, and pale, and torn, with staring eyes,

  His father knew him, the first look, far off,

  And ran so fast to meet him! put his arms

  Around his neck and kissed him.

  Lily.

                           Oh, how dear!

  I love him too;—but not so well as you.

  Julian.

  There is your mother.

  Lily.

                          I am glad, so glad!

  Lilia.

  You naughty child, why are you not in bed?

  Lily

  (pouting).

  I am not naughty. I am afraid to go,

  Because you don't go with me into sleep;

  And when I see things, and you are not there,

  Nor father, I am so frightened, I cry out,

  And stretch my hands, and so I come awake.

  Come with me into sleep, dear mother; come.