Читать книгу XXXII Ballades in Blue China [1885] - Lang Andrew, May Kendall - Страница 2

Ah! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar

Of London, and the bustling street,

For still, by the Sicilian shore,

The murmur of the Muse is sweet.

Still, still, the suns of summer greet

The mountain-grave of Helikê,

And shepherds still their songs repeat

Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea.

What though they worship Pan no more,

That guarded once the shepherd’s seat,

They chatter of their rustic lore,

They watch the wind among the wheat:

Cicalas chirp, the young lambs bleat,

Where whispers pine to cypress tree;

They count the waves that idly beat

Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea.

Theocritus! thou canst restore

The pleasant years, and over-fleet;

With thee we live as men of yore,

We rest where running waters meet:

And then we turn unwilling feet

And seek the world – so must it be —

We may not linger in the heat

Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!

Master, – when rain, and snow, and sleet

And northern winds are wild, to thee

We come, we rest in thy retreat,

Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!