Читать книгу Fringilla - R. D. Blackmore, Richard Doddridge Blackmore - Страница 3

     Twice the moon hath waxed and wasted,

       Lavish of her dew-bright horn;

       And the wheeling sun hath hasted

     Fifty days, towards Capricorn.

     Thebes, and all the Misric nation,

     Float upon the inundation;

     Each man shouts and laughs, before

     Landing at his own house door.

     There the good wife doth return it,

       Grumbling, as she shows the dish,

     Chervil, basil, chives, and burnet

       Feed, instead of seasoning, fish.

     Palm trees, grouped upon the highland,

     Here and there make pleasant island;

     On the bark some wag hath wrote—

     "Who would fly, when he can float?"

     Udder'd cows are standing—pensive,

       Not belonging to that ilk;

     How shall horn, or tail defensive,

       Keep the water from their milk?

     Lo, the black swan, paddling slowly,

     Pintail ducks, and sheldrakes holy,

     Nile-goose flaked, and herons gray,

     Silver-voiced at fall of day!

     Flood hath swallowed dikes and hedges,

       Lately by Sesostris planned;

     Till, like ropes, its matted edges

       Quiver on the desert sand.

     Then each farmer, brisk and mellow,

     Graspeth by the hand his fellow;

     And, as one gone labour-proof,

     Shakes his head at the drowned shadoof

     Soon the Nuphar comes, beguiling

       Sedgy spears, and swords around,

     Like that cradled infant smiling,

       Whom, the royal maiden found.

     But the time of times foe wonder,

     Is when ruddy sun goes under;

     And the dusk throws, half afraid,

     Silver shuttles of long shade.

     Opens then a scene, the fairest

       Ever burst on human view;

     Once behold, and thou comparest

       Nothing in the world thereto.

     While the broad flood murmurs glistening

     To the moon that hangeth listening—

     Moon that looketh down the sky,

     Like an aloe-bloom on high—

     Sudden conch o'er the wave ringeth!

       Ere the date-leaves cease to snake,

     All, that hath existence, springeth

       Into broad light, wide-awake.

     As at a window of heaven thrown up,

     All in a dazzling blaze are shown up,

     Mellowing, ere our eyes avail,

     To some soft enchanter's tale.

     Every skiff a big ship seemeth,

       Every bush with tall wings clad;

     Every man his good brain deemeth

       The only brain that is not mad.

     Hark!  The pulse of measured rowing,

     And the silver clarions blowing,

     From the distant darkness, break

     Into this illumined lake.

     Tis Sesostris, lord of nations,

       Victor of three continents,

     Visiting the celebrations,

       Priests, and pomps, and regiments.

     Kings, from Indus, and Araxes,

     Ister, and the Boreal axes,

     Horsed his chariot to the waves,

     Then embarked, his galley-slaves.

     Glittering stands the giant royal,

       Four tall sons are at his back;

     Twain, with their own corpses loyal,

       Bridged the flames Pelusiac.

     As he passeth, myriads bless him,

     Glorious Monarch all confess him,

     Sternly upright, to condone

     No injustice, save his own.

     He, well-pleased, his sceptre swingeth,

       While his four sons strike the gong;

     Till the sparkling water ringeth

       Joy and laughter, joke and song.

     Ah, but while loud merry-making

     Sets the lights and shadows shaking,

     While the mad world casts away

     Every thought that is not gay,

     Hath not earth, our sweet step-mother,

       Very different scene hard by,

     Tossing one, and trampling other,

       Some to laugh, and some to sigh?

     Where the fane of Hathor Iowereth,

     And the black Myrike embowereth,

     Weepeth one her life gone by;

     Over young, oh death, to die!

     Nay, but lately she was yearning

       To be quit of life's turmoil,

     In the land of no returning,

       Where all travel ends, and toil.

     What temptations now entice her?

     What hath made the world seem nicer?

     Whence the charm, that strives anew

     To prolong this last adieu?

     Ah, her heart can understand it,

       Though her tongue can ne'er explain:

     Let yon granite Sphinx demand it—

       Riddle, ever solved in vain.

     No constraint of hands hath bound her,

     Not a chain hath e'er been round her;

     Silver star hath sealed her brow,

     Holy as an Isis cow.

     Free to wander where she listeth;

       No immurement must defile

     (So the ancient law insisteth)

       This, the hallowed bride of Nile.

     What recks Abraham's descendant

     Idols, priests, and pomps attendant?

     And how long shall nature heed

     What the stocks and stones decreed?

     "Fiendish superstitions hold thee

       To a vile and hideous death.

     Break their bonds; let love enfold thee;

       Off, and fly with me;"—he saith.

     "Off! while priests are cutting capers—

     Priests of beetles, cats, and tapirs,

     Brutes, who would thy beauty truck,

     For an inch of yellow muck.

     "Lo, my horse, Pyropus, yearneth

       For the touch of thy light form;

     Like the lightning, his eye burneth;

       And his nostril, like the storm.

     "What are those unholy pagans?

     Can they ride?   No more than Dagons.

     Fishtails ne'er could sit a steed;

     That belongs to Esau's seed.

     "I will make thee Queen of far lands,

       Flocks, and herds, and camel-trains,

     Milk and honey, fruit and garlands,

       Vines and venison, woods and wains.

     "God is with us; He shall speed us;

     Or (if this vile crew impede us)

     Let some light into their brain,

     By the sword of Tubal Cain."

     "Nay," she answered, deeply sighing,

       As the maid grew womanish—

     "Love, how hard have I been trying'

       To believe the thing I wish!

     "Thou hast taught me holy teachings,

     Where to offer my beseechings,

     Homage due to Heaven alone,

     Not to ghosts, and graven stone,

     "Thou hast shown me truth and freedom,

       Love, and faith in One most High;

     But thou hast not, Prince of Edom,

       Taught me therewithal, to lie.

     "Little cause had I for fretting,

     None on earth to be regretting;

     Till I saw thee, brave and kind;

     And my heart undid my mind.

     "Better, if the Gods had slain me,

       When no difference could be;

     Ere the joy had come to pain me,

       And, alas, my dear one, thee!

     "But shall my poor life throw shame on

     Royal lineage of Amor?

     Tis of Egypt's oldest strains;

     Kingly blood flows in my veins.

     "Thou hast seen; my faith is plighted,

       That I will not fly my doom.

     Honour is a flower unblighted,

       Though the fates cut off its bloom.

     "I have sent my last sun sleeping,

     And I am ashamed of weeping.

     God, my new God, give me grace

     To be worthy of my race.

     "Though this death our bodies sever,

       Thou shalt find me there above;

     Where I shall be learning ever,

       To be worthy of thy love."

     From his gaze she turned, to borrow

     Pride's assistance against sorrow—

     God vouchsafes that scanty loan,

     When He taketh all our own.

     Sudden thought of heaven's inspiring

       Flashed through bold Duke Iram's heart;

     Angels more than stand admiring,

       When a man takes his own part.

     'Tis the law the Lord hath taught us,

     To undo what Satan wrought us;

     To confound the foul fiend's plan,

     With the manliness of man.

     "Thou art right," he answered lowly,

       As a youth should sneak a maid;

     "Like thyself, thy word is holy;

       Love is hate, if it degrade.

     "But when thou hast well surrendered,

     And thy sacrifice is tendered—

     God do so, and more to me,

     If I slay not, who slay thee!

     "Abraham's God hath ne'er forsaken

       Them who trust in Him alway.

     Thy sweet life shall not be taken.

       Rest, and calm thee, while I pray."

     Like a little child, that kneeleth

     To tell God whate'er he feeleth,

     Bent the tall young warrior there,

     And the palm-trees whispered prayer.

     She, outworn with woe and weeping,

       Shared that influence from above;

     And the fear of death went sleeping

       In the maiden faith and love.

     Less the stormy water waileth,

     E'en the human tumult faileth;

     Stars their silent torches light,

     To conduct the car of night