Читать книгу Charmides, and Other Poems - Оскар Уайльд, Wilde Oscar, F. H. Cornish - Страница 2

He was a Grecian lad, who coming home

   With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily

Stood at his galley’s prow, and let the foam

   Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously,

And holding wave and wind in boy’s despite

Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night.

Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear

   Like a thin thread of gold against the sky,

And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear,

   And bade the pilot head her lustily

Against the nor’west gale, and all day long

Held on his way, and marked the rowers’ time with measured song.

And when the faint Corinthian hills were red

   Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay,

And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head,

   And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary spray,

And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold

Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled,

And a rich robe stained with the fishers’ juice

   Which of some swarthy trader he had bought

Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse,

   And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought,

And by the questioning merchants made his way

Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring day

Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud,

   Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet

Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd

   Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat

Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring

The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd fling

The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang

   His studded crook against the temple wall

To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang

   Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall;

And then the clear-voiced maidens ’gan to sing,

And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering,

A beechen cup brimming with milky foam,

   A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery

Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb

   Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee

Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil

Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked spoil

Stolen from Artemis that jealous maid

   To please Athena, and the dappled hide

Of a tall stag who in some mountain glade

   Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried,

And from the pillared precinct one by one

Went the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had done.

And the old priest put out the waning fires

   Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed

For ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres

   Came fainter on the wind, as down the road

In joyous dance these country folk did pass,

And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished brass.

Long time he lay and hardly dared to breathe,

   And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine,

And the rose-petals falling from the wreath

   As the night breezes wandered through the shrine,

And seemed to be in some entrancèd swoon

Till through the open roof above the full and brimming moon

Flooded with sheeny waves the marble floor,

   When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad,

And flinging wide the cedar-carven door

   Beheld an awful image saffron-clad

And armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glared

From the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin flared

Like a red rod of flame, stony and steeled

   The Gorgon’s head its leaden eyeballs rolled,

And writhed its snaky horrors through the shield,

   And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and cold

In passion impotent, while with blind gaze

The blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze.

The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp

   Far out at sea off Sunium, or cast

The net for tunnies, heard a brazen tramp

   Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blast

Divide the folded curtains of the night,

And knelt upon the little poop, and prayed in holy fright.

And guilty lovers in their venery

   Forgat a little while their stolen sweets,

Deeming they heard dread Dian’s bitter cry;

   And the grim watchmen on their lofty seats

Ran to their shields in haste precipitate,

Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet.

For round the temple rolled the clang of arms,

   And the twelve Gods leapt up in marble fear,

And the air quaked with dissonant alarums

   Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear,

And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed,

And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade.

Ready for death with parted lips he stood,

   And well content at such a price to see

That calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood,

   The marvel of that pitiless chastity,

Ah! well content indeed, for never wight

Since Troy’s young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a sight.

Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air

   Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh,

And off his brow he tossed the clustering hair,

   And from his limbs he throw the cloak away;

For whom would not such love make desperate?

And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands violate

Undid the cuirass, and the crocus gown,

   And bared the breasts of polished ivory,

Till from the waist the peplos falling down

   Left visible the secret mystery

Which to no lover will Athena show,

The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of snow.

Those who have never known a lover’s sin

   Let them not read my ditty, it will be

To their dull ears so musicless and thin

   That they will have no joy of it, but ye

To whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile,

Ye who have learned who Eros is, – O listen yet awhile.

A little space he let his greedy eyes

   Rest on the burnished image, till mere sight

Half swooned for surfeit of such luxuries,

   And then his lips in hungering delight

Fed on her lips, and round the towered neck

He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion’s will to check.

Never I ween did lover hold such tryst,

   For all night long he murmured honeyed word,

And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed

   Her pale and argent body undisturbed,

And paddled with the polished throat, and pressed

His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.

It was as if Numidian javelins

   Pierced through and through his wild and whirling brain,

And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins

   In exquisite pulsation, and the pain

Was such sweet anguish that he never drew

His lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew.

They who have never seen the daylight peer

   Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain,

And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear

   And worshipped body risen, they for certain

Will never know of what I try to sing,

How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering.

The moon was girdled with a crystal rim,

   The sign which shipmen say is ominous

Of wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim,

   And the low lightening east was tremulous

With the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn,

Ere from the silent sombre shrine his lover had withdrawn.

Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast

   Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan,

And heard the goat-foot snoring as he passed,

   And leapt upon a grassy knoll and ran

Like a young fawn unto an olive wood

Which in a shady valley by the well-built city stood;

And sought a little stream, which well he knew,

   For oftentimes with boyish careless shout

The green and crested grebe he would pursue,

   Or snare in woven net the silver trout,

And down amid the startled reeds he lay

Panting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day.

On the green bank he lay, and let one hand

   Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly,

And soon the breath of morning came and fanned

   His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonly

The tangled curls from off his forehead, while

He on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile.

And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak

   With his long crook undid the wattled cotes,

And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke

   Curled through the air across the ripening oats,

And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayed

As through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle strayed.

And when the light-foot mower went afield

   Across the meadows laced with threaded dew,

And the sheep bleated on the misty weald,

   And from its nest the waking corncrake flew,

Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream

And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem,

Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said,

   ‘It is young Hylas, that false runaway

Who with a Naiad now would make his bed

   Forgetting Herakles,’ but others, ‘Nay,

It is Narcissus, his own paramour,

Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.’

And when they nearer came a third one cried,

   ‘It is young Dionysos who has hid

His spear and fawnskin by the river side

   Weary of hunting with the Bassarid,

And wise indeed were we away to fly:

They live not long who on the gods immortal come to spy.’

So turned they back, and feared to look behind,

   And told the timid swain how they had seen

Amid the reeds some woodland god reclined,

   And no man dared to cross the open green,

And on that day no olive-tree was slain,

Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain,

Save when the neat-herd’s lad, his empty pail

   Well slung upon his back, with leap and bound

Raced on the other side, and stopped to hail,

   Hoping that he some comrade new had found,

And gat no answer, and then half afraid

Passed on his simple way, or down the still and silent glade

A little girl ran laughing from the farm,

   Not thinking of love’s secret mysteries,

And when she saw the white and gleaming arm

   And all his manlihood, with longing eyes

Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity

Watched him awhile, and then stole back sadly and wearily.

Far off he heard the city’s hum and noise,

   And now and then the shriller laughter where

The passionate purity of brown-limbed boys

   Wrestled or raced in the clear healthful air,

And now and then a little tinkling bell

As the shorn wether led the sheep down to the mossy well.

Through the grey willows danced the fretful gnat,

   The grasshopper chirped idly from the tree,

In sleek and oily coat the water-rat

   Breasting the little ripples manfully

Made for the wild-duck’s nest, from bough to bough

Hopped the shy finch, and the huge tortoise crept across the slough.

On the faint wind floated the silky seeds

   As the bright scythe swept through the waving grass,

The ouzel-cock splashed circles in the reeds

   And flecked with silver whorls the forest’s glass,

Which scarce had caught again its imagery

Ere from its bed the dusky tench leapt at the dragon-fly.

But little care had he for any thing

   Though up and down the beech the squirrel played,

And from the copse the linnet ’gan to sing

   To its brown mate its sweetest serenade;

Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen

The breasts of Pallas and the naked wonder of the Queen.

But when the herdsman called his straggling goats

   With whistling pipe across the rocky road,

And the shard-beetle with its trumpet-notes

   Boomed through the darkening woods, and seemed to bode

Of coming storm, and the belated crane

Passed homeward like a shadow, and the dull big drops of rain

Fell on the pattering fig-leaves, up he rose,

   And from the gloomy forest went his way

Past sombre homestead and wet orchard-close,

   And came at last unto a little quay,

And called his mates aboard, and took his seat

On the high poop, and pushed from land, and loosed the dripping sheet,

And steered across the bay, and when nine suns

   Passed down the long and laddered way of gold,

And nine pale moons had breathed their orisons

   To the chaste stars their confessors, or told

Their dearest secret to the downy moth

That will not fly at noonday, through the foam and surging froth

Came a great owl with yellow sulphurous eyes

   And lit upon the ship, whose timbers creaked

As though the lading of three argosies

   Were in the hold, and flapped its wings and shrieked,

And darkness straightway stole across the deep,

Sheathed was Orion’s sword, dread Mars himself fled down the steep,

And the moon hid behind a tawny mask

   Of drifting cloud, and from the ocean’s marge

Rose the red plume, the huge and hornèd casque,

   The seven-cubit spear, the brazen targe!

And clad in bright and burnished panoply

Athena strode across the stretch of sick and shivering sea!

To the dull sailors’ sight her loosened looks

   Seemed like the jagged storm-rack, and her feet

Only the spume that floats on hidden rocks,

   And, marking how the rising waters beat

Against the rolling ship, the pilot cried

To the young helmsman at the stern to luff to windward side

But he, the overbold adulterer,

   A dear profaner of great mysteries,

An ardent amorous idolater,

   When he beheld those grand relentless eyes

Laughed loud for joy, and crying out ‘I come’

Leapt from the lofty poop into the chill and churning foam.

Then fell from the high heaven one bright star,

   One dancer left the circling galaxy,

And back to Athens on her clattering car

   In all the pride of venged divinity

Pale Pallas swept with shrill and steely clank,

And a few gurgling bubbles rose where her boy lover sank.

And the mast shuddered as the gaunt owl flew

   With mocking hoots after the wrathful Queen,

And the old pilot bade the trembling crew

   Hoist the big sail, and told how he had seen

Close to the stern a dim and giant form,

And like a dipping swallow the stout ship dashed through the storm.

And no man dared to speak of Charmides

   Deeming that he some evil thing had wrought,

And when they reached the strait Symplegades

   They beached their galley on the shore, and sought

The toll-gate of the city hastily,

And in the market showed their brown and pictured pottery.

But some good Triton-god had ruth, and bare

   The boy’s drowned body back to Grecian land,

And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair

   And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching hand;

Some brought sweet spices from far Araby,

And others bade the halcyon sing her softest lullaby.

And when he neared his old Athenian home,

   A mighty billow rose up suddenly

Upon whose oily back the clotted foam

   Lay diapered in some strange fantasy,

And clasping him unto its glassy breast

Swept landward, like a white-maned steed upon a venturous quest!

Now where Colonos leans unto the sea

   There lies a long and level stretch of lawn;

The rabbit knows it, and the mountain bee

   For it deserts Hymettus, and the Faun

Is not afraid, for never through the day

Comes a cry ruder than the shout of shepherd lads at play.

But often from the thorny labyrinth

   And tangled branches of the circling wood

The stealthy hunter sees young Hyacinth

   Hurling the polished disk, and draws his hood

Over his guilty gaze, and creeps away,

Nor dares to wind his horn, or – else at the first break of day

The Dryads come and throw the leathern ball

   Along the reedy shore, and circumvent

Some goat-eared Pan to be their seneschal

   For fear of bold Poseidon’s ravishment,

And loose their girdles, with shy timorous eyes,

Lest from the surf his azure arms and purple beard should rise.

On this side and on that a rocky cave,

   Hung with the yellow-belled laburnum, stands

Smooth is the beach, save where some ebbing wave

   Leaves its faint outline etched upon the sands,

As though it feared to be too soon forgot

By the green rush, its playfellow, – and yet, it is a spot

So small, that the inconstant butterfly

   Could steal the hoarded money from each flower

Ere it was noon, and still not satisfy

   Its over-greedy love, – within an hour

A sailor boy, were he but rude enow

To land and pluck a garland for his galley’s painted prow,

Would almost leave the little meadow bare,

   For it knows nothing of great pageantry,

Only a few narcissi here and there

   Stand separate in sweet austerity,

Dotting the unmown grass with silver stars,

And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars.

Hither the billow brought him, and was glad

   Of such dear servitude, and where the land

Was virgin of all waters laid the lad

   Upon the golden margent of the strand,

And like a lingering lover oft returned

To kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire burned,

Ere the wet seas had quenched that holocaust,

   That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead,

Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost

   Had withered up those lilies white and red

Which, while the boy would through the forest range,

Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change.

And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand,

   Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spied

The boy’s pale body stretched upon the sand,

   And feared Poseidon’s treachery, and cried,

And like bright sunbeams flitting through a glade

Each startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade.

Save one white girl, who deemed it would not be

   So dread a thing to feel a sea-god’s arms

Crushing her breasts in amorous tyranny,

   And longed to listen to those subtle charms

Insidious lovers weave when they would win