THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott
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Название: THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT

Автор: Walter Scott

Издательство: Bookwire

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isbn: 9788027201907

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СКАЧАТЬ And O, forget its ruder part!

      The vacant purse shall be my share,

       Which in my barrel-cap I’ll bear,

       Perchance, in jeopardy of war,

       Where gayer crests may keep afar.’

       With thanks—‘twas all she could—the maid

       His rugged courtesy repaid.

       XI

      When Ellen forth with Lewis went,

       Allan made suit to John of Brent:—

       ‘My lady safe, O let your grace

       Give me to see my master’s face!

       His minstrel I,—to share his doom

       Bound from the cradle to the tomb.

       Tenth in descent, since first my sires

       Waked for his noble house their Iyres,

       Nor one of all the race was known

       But prized its weal above their own.

       With the Chief’s birth begins our care;

       Our harp must soothe the infant heir,

       Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace

       His earliest feat of field or chase;

       In peace, in war, our rank we keep,

       We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep,

       Nor leave him till we pour our verse—

       A doleful tribute!—o’er his hearse.

       Then let me share his captive lot;

       It is my right,—deny it not!’

       ‘Little we reck,’ said John of Brent,

       ‘We Southern men, of long descent;

       Nor wot we how a name—a word—

       Makes clansmen vassals to a lord:

       Yet kind my noble landlord’s part,—

       God bless the house of Beaudesert!

       And, but I loved to drive the deer

       More than to guide the labouring steer,

       I had not dwelt an outcast here.

       Come, good old Minstrel, follow me;

       Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see.’

       XII

      Then, from a rusted iron hook,

       A bunch of ponderous keys he took,

       Lighted a torch, and Allan led

       Through grated arch and passage dread.

       Portals they passed, where, deep within,

       Spoke prisoner’s moan and fetters’ din;

       Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored,

       Lay wheel, and axe, and headsmen’s sword,

       And many a hideous engine grim,

       For wrenching joint and crushing limb,

       By artists formed who deemed it shame

       And sin to give their work a name.

       They halted at a Iow-browed porch,

       And Brent to Allan gave the torch,

       While bolt and chain he backward rolled,

       And made the bar unhasp its hold.

       They entered:—‘twas a prison-room

       Of stern security and gloom,

       Yet not a dungeon; for the day

       Through lofty gratings found its way,

       And rude and antique garniture

       Decked the sad walls and oaken floor,

       Such as the rugged days of old

       Deemed fit for captive noble’s hold.

       ‘Here,’ said De Brent, ‘thou mayst remain

       Till the Leech visit him again.

       Strict is his charge, the,warders tell,

       To tend the noble prisoner well.’

       Retiring then the bolt he drew,

       And the lock’s murmurs growled anew.

       Roused at the sound, from lowly bed

       A captive feebly raised his head.

       The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew—

       Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu!

       For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,

       They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought.

       XIII

      As the tall ship, whose lofty prore

       Shall never stem the billows more,

       Deserted by her gallant band,

       Amid the breakers lies astrand,—

       So on his couch lay Roderick Dhu!

       And oft his fevered limbs he threw

       In toss abrupt, as when her sides

       Lie rocking in the advancing tides,

       That shake her frame with ceaseless beat,

       Yet cannot heave her from her seat;—

       O, how unlike her course at sea!

       Or his free step on hill and lea!—

       Soon as the Minstrel he could scan,—

       ‘What of thy lady?—of my clan?—

       My mother?—Douglas?—tell me all!

       Have they been ruined in my fall?

       Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here?

       Yet speak,—speak boldly,—do not fear.’—

       СКАЧАТЬ