Читать книгу The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell - James Russell Lowell - Страница 12

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A beggar through the world am I,

From place to place I wander by.

Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me,

For Christ's sweet sake and charity!

A little of thy steadfastness,

Bounded with leafy gracefulness,

Old oak, give me,

That the world's blasts may round me blow,

And I yield gently to and fro,

While my stout-hearted trunk below

And firm-set roots unshaken be.

Some of thy stern, unyielding might,

Enduring still through day and night

Rude tempest-shock and withering blight,

That I may keep at bay

The changeful April sky of chance

And the strong tide of circumstance—

Give me, old granite gray.

Some of thy pensiveness serene,

Some of thy never-dying green,

Put in this scrip of mine,

That griefs may fall like snowflakes light,

And deck me in a robe of white,

Ready to be an angel bright,

O sweetly mournful pine.

A little of thy merriment,

Of thy sparkling, light content,

Give me, my cheerful brook,

That I may still be full of glee

And gladsomeness, where'er I be,

Though fickle fate hath prisoned me

In some neglected nook.

Ye have been very kind and good

To me, since I've been in the wood;

Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart;

But good-by, kind friends, every one,

I've far to go ere set of sun;

Of all good things I would have part,

The day was high ere I could start,

And so my journey's scarce begun.

Heaven help me! how could I forget

To beg of thee, dear violet!

Some of thy modesty,

That blossoms here as well, unseen,

As if before the world thou'dst been,

Oh, give, to strengthen me.