Читать книгу Legends & Romances of Brittany - Льюис Спенс - Страница 50

Ah, how remote, forlorn

Sounded the sad, sweet horn

In forest gloom enchanted!

I saw the shadows of kings go riding by,

But cerements mingled and paled with their panoply,

And the moss-ways deadened the steps of steeds that never panted.

Ah, what had phantasy

In that sad sound to say,

Sad as a spirit’s wailing?

A call from over the seas of shadowland,

A call the soul of the soul might understand,

But never, ah, never the mind, the steeps of soul assailing.

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