Читать книгу Lyrical Ballads, With a Few Other Poems (1798) - William Wordsworth, Coleridge Samuel Taylor - Страница 7

O sleep, it is a gentle thing

  Belov'd from pole to pole!

To Mary-queen the praise be yeven

She sent the gentle sleep from heaven

  That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck

  That had so long remain'd,

I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew

  And when I awoke it rain'd.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,

  My garments all were dank;

Sure I had drunken in my dreams

  And still my body drank.

I mov'd and could not feel my limbs,

  I was so light, almost

I thought that I had died in sleep,

  And was a blessed Ghost.

The roaring wind! it roar'd far off,

  It did not come anear;

But with its sound it shook the sails

  That were so thin and sere.

The upper air bursts into life,

  And a hundred fire-flags sheen

To and fro they are hurried about;

And to and fro, and in and out

  The stars dance on between.

The coming wind doth roar more loud;

  The sails do sigh, like sedge:

The rain pours down from one black cloud

  And the Moon is at its edge.

Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,

  And the Moon is at its side:

Like waters shot from some high crag,

The lightning falls with never a jag

  A river steep and wide.

The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd

  And dropp'd down, like a stone!

Beneath the lightning and the moon

  The dead men gave a groan.

They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose,

  Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:

It had been strange, even in a dream

  To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steerd, the ship mov'd on;

  Yet never a breeze up-blew;

The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,

  Where they were wont to do:

They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools —

  We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son

  Stood by me knee to knee:

The body and I pull'd at one rope,

  But he said nought to me —

And I quak'd to think of my own voice

  How frightful it would be!

The day-light dawn'd – they dropp'd their arms,

  And cluster'd round the mast:

Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths

  And from their bodies pass'd.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,

  Then darted to the sun:

Slowly the sounds came back again

  Now mix'd, now one by one.

Sometimes a dropping from the sky

  I heard the Lavrock sing;

Sometimes all little birds that are

How they seem'd to fill the sea and air

  With their sweet jargoning,

And now 'twas like all instruments,

  Now like a lonely flute;

And now it is an angel's song

  That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceas'd: yet still the sails made on

  A pleasant noise till noon,

A noise like of a hidden brook

  In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night

  Singeth a quiet tune.

Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!

  "Marinere! thou hast thy will:

"For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make

  "My body and soul to be still."

Never sadder tale was told

  To a man of woman born:

Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!

  Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.

Never sadder tale was heard

  By a man of woman born:

The Marineres all return'd to work

  As silent as beforne.

The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,

  But look at me they n'old:

Thought I, I am as thin as air —

  They cannot me behold.

Till noon we silently sail'd on

  Yet never a breeze did breathe:

Slowly and smoothly went the ship

  Mov'd onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep

  From the land of mist and snow

The spirit slid: and it was He

  That made the Ship to go.

The sails at noon left off their tune

  And the Ship stood still also.

The sun right up above the mast

  Had fix'd her to the ocean:

But in a minute she 'gan stir

  With a short uneasy motion —

Backwards and forwards half her length

  With a short uneasy motion.

Then, like a pawing horse let go,

  She made a sudden bound:

It flung the blood into my head,

  And I fell into a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,

  I have not to declare;

But ere my living life return'd,

I heard and in my soul discern'd

  Two voices in the air,

"Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the man?

  "By him who died on cross,

"With his cruel bow he lay'd full low

  "The harmless Albatross.

"The spirit who 'bideth by himself

  "In the land of mist and snow,

"He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man

  "Who shot him with his bow."

The other was a softer voice,

  As soft as honey-dew:

Quoth he the man hath penance done,

  And penance more will do.