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 Bedeafened with the jangling knell,

       Was watching where the sunbeams fell,

       Through the stained casement gleaming;

       But, while I marked what next befell,

       It seemed as I were dreaming.

       Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight,

       In azure gown, with cincture white;

       His forehead bald, his head was bare,

       Down hung at length his yellow hair.

       Now, mock me not, when, good my lord,

       I pledged to you my knightly word,

       That, when I saw his placid grace.

       His simple majesty of face,

       His solemn bearing, and his pace

       So stately gliding on,

       Seemed to me ne’er did limner paint

       So just an image of the Saint,

       Who propped the Virgin in her faint -

       The loved Apostle John!

       XVII

      “He stepped before the monarch’s chair,

       And stood with rustic plainness there,

       And little reverence made:

       Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent,

       But on the desk his arm he leant,

       And words like these he said,

       In a low voice—but never tone

       So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone:-

       ‘My mother sent me from afar,

       Sir King, to warn thee not to war -

       Woe waits on thine array;

       If war thou wilt, of woman fair,

       Her witching wiles and wanton snare,

       James Stuart, doubly warned, beware:

       God keep thee as he may!’

       The wondering monarch seemed to seek

       For answer, and found none;

       And when he raised his head to speak,

       The monitor was gone.

       The marshal and myself had cast

       To stop him as he outward passed:

       But, lighter than the whirlwind’s blast,

       He vanished from our eyes,

       Like sunbeam on the billow cast,

       That glances but, and dies.”

       XVIII

      While Lindesay told his marvel strange,

       The twilight was so pale,

       He marked not Marmion’s colour change,

       While listening to the tale;

       But, after a suspended pause,

       The baron spoke:- “Of Nature’s laws

       So strong I held the force,

       That never superhuman cause

       Could e’er control their course;

       And, three days since, had judged your aim

       Was but to make your guest your game.

       But I have seen, since passed the Tweed,

       What much has changed my sceptic creed,

       And made me credit aught.” He stayed,

       And seemed to wish his words unsaid:

       But, by that strong emotion pressed,

       Which prompts us to unload our breast,

       E’en when discovery’s pain,

       To Lindesay did at length unfold

       The tale his village host had told,

       At Gifford, to his train.

       Nought of the Palmer says he there,

       And nought of Constance, or of Clare:

       The thoughts which broke his sleep, he seems

       To mention but as feverish dreams.

       XIX

      “In vain,” said he, “to rest I spread

       My burning limbs, and couched my head:

       Fantastic thoughts returned;

       And, by their wild dominion led,

       My heart within me burned.

       So sore was the delirious goad,

       I took my steed, and forth I rode,

       And, as the moon shone bright and cold,

       Soon reached the camp upon the wold.

       The southern entrance I passed through,

       And halted, and my bugle blew.

       Methought an answer met my ear -

       Yet was the blast so low and drear,

       So hollow, and so faintly blown,

       It might be echo of my own.

       XX

      “Thus judging, for a little space

       I listened, ere I left the place;

       But scarce could trust my eyes,

       Nor yet can think they served me true,

       When sudden in the ring I view,

       In form distinct of shape and hue,

       A mounted champion rise.

       I’ve fought, LordLion, many a day,

       In single fight, and mixed affray,

       And ever, I myself may say,

       Have СКАЧАТЬ