Читать книгу Moral Emblems - Роберт Стивенсон - Страница 3

With storms a-weather, rocks a-lee,

The dancing skiff puts forth to sea.

The lone dissenter in the blast

Recoils before the sight aghast.

But she, although the heavens be black,

Holds on upon the starboard tack,

For why? although to-day she sink,

Still safe she sails in printer’s ink,

And though to-day the seamen drown,

My cut shall hand their memory down.

The careful angler chose his nook

At morning by the lilied brook,

And all the noon his rod he plied

By that romantic riverside.

Soon as the evening hours decline

Tranquilly he’ll return to dine,

And, breathing forth a pious wish,

Will cram his belly full of fish.

The Abbot for a walk went out,

A wealthy cleric, very stout,

And Robin has that Abbot stuck

As the red hunter spears the buck.

The djavel or the javelin

Has, you observe, gone bravely in,

And you may hear that weapon whack

Bang through the middle of his back.

Hence we may learn that Abbots should

Never go walking in a wood.

The frozen peaks he once explored,

But now he’s dead and by the board.

How better far at home to have stayed

Attended by the parlour maid,

And warmed his knees before the fire

Until the hour when folks retire!

So, if you would be spared to friends,

Do nothing but for business ends.

Industrious pirate! see him sweep

The lonely bosom of the deep,

And daily the horizon scan

From Hatteras or Matapan.

Be sure, before that pirate’s old,

He will have made a pot of gold,

And will retire from all his labours

And be respected by his neighbours.

You also scan your life’s horizon

For all that you can clap your eyes on.