Читать книгу Time's Laughingstocks, and Other Verses - Thomas Hardy, Eleanor Bron, Томас Харди (Гарди) - Страница 3

From Wynyard’s Gap the livelong day,

      The livelong day,

We beat afoot the northward way

   We had travelled times before.

The sun-blaze burning on our backs,

Our shoulders sticking to our packs,

By fosseway, fields, and turnpike tracks

   We skirted sad Sedge-Moor.

Full twenty miles we jaunted on,

      We jaunted on, —

My fancy-man, and jeering John,

   And Mother Lee, and I.

And, as the sun drew down to west,

We climbed the toilsome Poldon crest,

And saw, of landskip sights the best,

   The inn that beamed thereby.

For months we had padded side by side,

      Ay, side by side

Through the Great Forest, Blackmoor wide,

   And where the Parret ran.

We’d faced the gusts on Mendip ridge,

Had crossed the Yeo unhelped by bridge,

Been stung by every Marshwood midge,

   I and my fancy-man.

Lone inns we loved, my man and I,

      My man and I;

“King’s Stag,” “Windwhistle” high and dry,

   “The Horse” on Hintock Green,

The cosy house at Wynyard’s Gap,

“The Hut” renowned on Bredy Knap,

And many another wayside tap

   Where folk might sit unseen.

Now as we trudged – O deadly day,

      O deadly day! —

I teased my fancy-man in play

   And wanton idleness.

I walked alongside jeering John,

I laid his hand my waist upon;

I would not bend my glances on

   My lover’s dark distress.

Thus Poldon top at last we won,

      At last we won,

And gained the inn at sink of sun

   Far-famed as “Marshal’s Elm.”

Beneath us figured tor and lea,

From Mendip to the western sea —

I doubt if finer sight there be

   Within this royal realm.

Inside the settle all a-row —

      All four a-row

We sat, I next to John, to show

   That he had wooed and won.

And then he took me on his knee,

And swore it was his turn to be

My favoured mate, and Mother Lee

   Passed to my former one.

Then in a voice I had never heard,

      I had never heard,

My only Love to me: “One word,

   My lady, if you please!

Whose is the child you are like to bear? —

His?  After all my months o’ care?”

God knows ’twas not!  But, O despair!

   I nodded – still to tease.

Then up he sprung, and with his knife —

      And with his knife

He let out jeering Johnny’s life,

   Yes; there, at set of sun.

The slant ray through the window nigh

Gilded John’s blood and glazing eye,

Ere scarcely Mother Lee and I

   Knew that the deed was done.

The taverns tell the gloomy tale,

      The gloomy tale,

How that at Ivel-chester jail

   My Love, my sweetheart swung;

Though stained till now by no misdeed

Save one horse ta’en in time o’ need;

(Blue Jimmy stole right many a steed

   Ere his last fling he flung.)

Thereaft I walked the world alone,

      Alone, alone!

On his death-day I gave my groan

   And dropt his dead-born child.

’Twas nigh the jail, beneath a tree,

None tending me; for Mother Lee

Had died at Glaston, leaving me

   Unfriended on the wild.

And in the night as I lay weak,

      As I lay weak,

The leaves a-falling on my cheek,

   The red moon low declined —

The ghost of him I’d die to kiss

Rose up and said: “Ah, tell me this!

Was the child mine, or was it his?

   Speak, that I rest may find!”

O doubt not but I told him then,

      I told him then,

That I had kept me from all men

   Since we joined lips and swore.

Whereat he smiled, and thinned away

As the wind stirred to call up day.

– ’Tis past!  And here alone I stray

   Haunting the Western Moor.