THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott
Чтение книги онлайн.

Читать онлайн книгу THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT - Walter Scott страница 94

Название: THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT

Автор: Walter Scott

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Книги для детей: прочее

Серия:

isbn: 9788027201907

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ To meet and know his Phantom Sire!

       In vain, to soothe his wayward fate,

       The cloister oped her pitying gate;

       In vain the learning of the age

       Unclasped the sable-lettered page;

       Even in its treasures he could find

       Food for the fever of his mind.

       Eager he read whatever tells

       Of magic, cabala, and spells,

       And every dark pursuit allied

       To curious and presumptuous pride;

       Till with fired brain and nerves o’erstrung,

       And heart with mystic horrors wrung,

       Desperate he sought Benharrow’s den,

       And hid him from the haunts of men.

       VII

      The desert gave him visions wild,

       Such as might suit the spectre’s child.

       Where with black cliffs the torrents toil,

       He watched the wheeling eddies boil,

       Jill from their foam his dazzled eyes

       Beheld the River Demon rise:

       The mountain mist took form and limb

       Of noontide hag or goblin grim;

       The midnight wind came wild and dread,

       Swelled with the voices of the dead;

       Far on the future battle-heath

       His eye beheld the ranks of death:

       Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled,

       Shaped forth a disembodied world.

       One lingering sympathy of mind

       Still bound him to the mortal kind;

       The only parent he could claim

       Of ancient Alpine’s lineage came.

       Late had he heard, in prophet’s dream,

       The fatal Ben-Shie’s boding scream;

       Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast

       Of charging steeds, careering fast

       Along Benharrow’s shingly side,

       Where mortal horseman ne’er might ride;

       The thunderbolt had split the pine,—

       All augured ill to Alpine’s line.

       He girt his loins, and came to show

       The signals of impending woe,

       And now stood prompt to bless or ban,

       As bade the Chieftain of his clan.

       VIII

      ‘T was all prepared;—and from the rock

       A goat, the patriarch of the flock,

       Before the kindling pile was laid,

       And pierced by Roderick’s ready blade.

       Patient the sickening victim eyed

       The lifeblood ebb in crimson tide

       Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb,

       Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim.

       The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer,

       A slender crosslet framed with care,

       A cubit’s length in measure due;

       The shaft and limbs were rods of yew,

       Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave

       Their shadows o’er Clan-Alpine’s grave,

       And, answering Lomond’s breezes deep,

       Soothe many a chieftain’s endless sleep.

       The Cross thus formed he held on high,

       With wasted hand and haggard eye,

       And strange and mingled feelings woke,

       While his anathema he spoke:—

       IX

      ‘Woe to the clansman who shall view

       This symbol of sepulchral yew,

       Forgetful that its branches grew

       Where weep the heavens their holiest dew

       On Alpine’s dwelling low!

       Deserter of his Chieftain’s trust,

       He ne’er shall mingle with their dust,

       But, from his sires and kindred thrust,

       Each clansman’s execration just

       Shall doom him wrath and woe.’

       He paused; — the word the vassals took,

       With forward step and fiery look,

       On high their naked brands they shook,

       Their clattering targets wildly strook;

       And first in murmur low,

       Then like the billow in his course,

       That far to seaward finds his source,

       And flings to shore his mustered force,

       Burst with loud roar their answer hoarse,

       ‘Woe to the traitor, woe!’

       Ben-an’s gray scalp the accents knew,

       The joyous wolf from covert drew,

       The exulting eagle screamed afar,—

       They knew the voice of Alpine’s war.

       X

      The shout was hushed on lake and fell,

       The Monk resumed his muttered spell:

       Dismal and low its accents came,

       The СКАЧАТЬ