Rhymes a la Mode. Lang Andrew
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Название: Rhymes a la Mode

Автор: Lang Andrew

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Зарубежная классика

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СКАЧАТЬ sunlike in that shadowy isle

      The face of Helen and her smile

         Makes glad the souls of them that knew

      Grief for her sake a little while!

      And all true Greeks and wise are there;

      And with his hand upon the hair

         Of Phaedo, saw I Socrates,

      About him many youths and fair,

         Hylas, Narcissus, and with these

      Him whom the quoit of Phoebus slew

         By fleet Eurotas, unaware!

      All these their mirth and pleasure made

         Within the plain Elysian,

            The fairest meadow that may be,

      With all green fragrant trees for shade

         And every scented wind to fan,

            And sweetest flowers to strew the lea;

      The soft Winds are their servants fleet

         To fetch them every fruit at will

         And water from the river chill;

      And every bird that singeth sweet

         Throstle, and merle, and nightingale

         Brings blossoms from the dewy vale, —

      Lily, and rose, and asphodel —

         With these doth each guest twine his crown

         And wreathe his cup, and lay him down

            Beside some friend he loveth well.

      There with the shining Souls I lay

      When, lo, a Voice that seemed to say,

         In far-off haunts of Memory,

      Whoso death taste the Dead Men’s bread,

      Shall dwell for ever with these Dead,

         Nor ever shall his body lie

      Beside his friends, on the grey hill

      Where rains weep, and the curlews shrill

         And the brown water wanders by!

      Then did a new soul in me wake,

      The dead men’s bread I feared to break,

      Their fruit I would not taste indeed

      Were it but a pomegranate seed.

      Nay, not with these I made my choice

      To dwell for ever and rejoice,

      For otherwhere the River rolls

      That girds the home of Christian souls,

      And these my whole heart seeks are found

      On otherwise enchanted ground.

      Even so I put the cup away,

         The vision wavered, dimmed, and broke,

         And, nowise sorrowing, I woke

      While, grey among the ruins grey

      Chill through the dwellings of the dead,

         The Dawn crept o’er the Northern sea,

      Then, in a moment, flushed to red,

         Flushed all the broken minster old,

         And turned the shattered stones to gold,

      And wakened half the world with me!

      L’Envoi

To E. W. G(Who also had rhymed on the Fortune Islands of Lucian)

      Each in the self-same field we glean

      The field of the Samosatene,

      Each something takes and something leaves

         And this must choose, and that forego

      In Lucian’s visionary sheaves,

         To twine a modern posy so;

      But all any gleanings, truth to tell,

      Are mixed with mournful asphodel,

      While yours are wreathed with poppies red,

         With flowers that Helen’s feet have kissed,

      With leaves of vine that garlanded

         The Syrian Pantagruelist,

      The sage who laughed the world away,

         Who mocked at Gods, and men, and care,

      More sweet of voice than Rabelais,

         And lighter-hearted than Voltaire.

      THE NEW MILLENIUM

(THE UNFORTUNATE ISLANDS.)

      A VISION IN THE STRAND

      The jaded light of late July

         Shone yellow down the dusty Strand,

      The anxious people bustled by,

      Policeman, Pressman, you and I,

         And thieves, and judges of the land.

      So swift they strode they had not time

         To mark the humours of the Town,

      But I, that mused an idle rhyme,

         Looked here and there, and up and down,

      And many a rapid cart I spied

         That drew, as fast as ponies can,

      The Newspapers of either side,

         These joys of every Englishman!

      The Standard here, the Echo there,

      And cultured ev’ning papers fair,

      With din and fuss and shout and blare

      Through all the eager land they bare,

         The rumours of our little span.

      ’Midst these, but ah, more slow of speed,

         A biggish box of sanguine hue

      Was tugged on a velocipede,

         And in and out the crowd, and through,

      An earnest stripling urged it well

      Perched on a cranky tricycle!

      A seedy tricycle he rode,

         Perchance some three miles in the hour,

      But, on the big red box that glowed

         Behind him, was a name of Power,

      Justice, (I read it e’er I wist,)

      The Organ of the Socialist!

      The paper carts fled fleetly by

         And vanished up the roaring Strand,

      And eager purchasers drew nigh

         Each with his penny in his hand,

      But Justice, scarce more fleet than I,

         Began to permeate the land,

      And dark, methinks, the twilight fell,

         Or ever Justice reached Pall Mall.

      Oh Man, (I stopped to moralize,)

         How eager thou to fight with Fate,

      To bring Astraea from the skies;

         Yet ah, how too inadequate

      The means by which thou fain wouldst СКАЧАТЬ