Читать книгу The Old Soldier's Story: Poems and Prose Sketches - Riley James Whitcomb - Страница 29

The chiming seas may clang; and Tubal Cain

May clink his tinkling metals as he may;

Or Pan may sit and pipe his breath away;

Or Orpheus wake his most entrancing strain

Till not a note of melody remain! —

But thou, O cricket, with thy roundelay,

Shalt laugh them all to scorn! So wilt thou, pray,

Trill me thy glad song o'er and o'er again:

I shall not weary; there is purest worth

In thy sweet prattle, since it sings the lone

Heart home again. Thy warbling hath no dearth

Of childish memories – no harsher tone

Than we might listen to in gentlest mirth,

Thou poor plebeian minstrel of the hearth.