Читать книгу The Seven Seas - Rudyard Kipling - Страница 1

The Cities are full of pride,

Challenging each to each —

This from her mountain-side,

That from her burthened beach.

They count their ships full tale —

Their corn and oil and wine,

Derrick and loom and bale,

And rampart's gun-flecked line;

City by city they hail:

"Hast aught to match with mine?"

And the men that breed from them

They traffic up and down,

But cling to their cities' hem

As a child to the mother's gown.

When they talk with the stranger bands,

Dazed and newly alone;

When they walk in the stranger lands,

By roaring streets unknown;

Blessing her where she stands

For strength above their own.

(On high to hold her fame

That stands all fame beyond,

By oath to back the same,

Most faithful-foolish-fond;

Making her mere-breathed name

Their bond upon their bond.)

So thank I God my birth

Fell not in isles aside —

Waste headlands of the earth,

Or warring tribes untried —

But that she lent me worth

And gave me right to pride.

Surely in toil or fray

Under an alien sky,

Comfort it is to say:

"Of no mean city am I."

(Neither by service nor fee

Come I to mine estate —

Mother of Cities to me,

For I was born in her gate,

Between the palms and the sea,

Where the world-end steamers wait.)

Now for this debt I owe,

And for her far-borne cheer

Must I make haste and go

With tribute to her pier.

And she shall touch and remit

After the use of kings

(Orderly, ancient, fit)

My deep-sea plunderings,

And purchase in all lands.

And this we do for a sign

Her power is over mine,

And mine I hold at her hands.