The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло
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СКАЧАТЬ made by the gale! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee—are all with thee!

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      When descends on the Atlantic

       The gigantic

      Storm-wind of the equinox,

      Landward in his wrath he scourges

       The toiling surges,

      Laden with seaweed from the rocks:

      From Bermuda's reefs; from edges

       Of sunken ledges,

      In some far-off, bright Azore;

      From Bahama, and the dashing,

       Silver-flashing

      Surges of San Salvador;

      From the tumbling surf, that buries

       The Orkneyan skerries,

      Answering the hoarse Hebrides;

      And from wrecks of ships, and drifting

       Spars, uplifting

      On the desolate, rainy seas;—

      Ever drifting, drifting, drifting

       On the shifting

      Currents of the restless main;

      Till in sheltered coves, and reaches

       Of sandy beaches,

      All have found repose again.

      So when storms of wild emotion

       Strike the ocean

      Of the poet's soul, erelong

      From each cave and rocky fastness,

       In its vastness,

      Floats some fragment of a song:

      Front the far-off isles enchanted,

       Heaven has planted

      With the golden fruit of Truth;

      From the flashing surf, whose vision

       Gleams Elysian

      In the tropic clime of Youth;

      From the strong Will, and the Endeavor

       That forever

      Wrestle with the tides of Fate

      From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered,

       Tempest-shattered,

      Floating waste and desolate;—

      Ever drifting, drifting, drifting

       On the shifting

      Currents of the restless heart;

      Till at length in books recorded,

       They, like hoarded

      Household words, no more depart.

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      Just above yon sandy bar,

       As the day grows fainter and dimmer,

      Lonely and lovely, a single star

       Lights the air with a dusky glimmer

      Into the ocean faint and far

       Falls the trail of its golden splendor,

      And the gleam of that single star

       Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender.

      Chrysaor, rising out of the sea,

       Showed thus glorious and thus emulous,

      Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe,

       Forever tender, soft, and tremulous.

      Thus o'er the ocean faint and far

       Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly;

      Is it a God, or is it a star

       That, entranced, I gaze on nightly!

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      Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me

       As I gaze upon the sea!

      All the old romantic legends,

       All my dreams, come back to me.

      Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,

       Such as gleam in ancient lore;

      And the singing of the sailors,

       And the answer from the shore!

      Most of all, the Spanish ballad

       Haunts me oft, and tarries long,

      Of the noble Count Arnaldos

       And the sailor's mystic song.

      Like the long waves on a sea-beach,

       Where the sand as silver shines,

      With a soft, monotonous cadence,

       Flow its unrhymed lyric lines:—

      Telling how the Count Arnaldos,

       With his hawk upon his hand,

      Saw a fair and stately galley,

       Steering onward to the land;—

      How he heard the ancient helmsman

       Chant a song so wild and clear,

      That СКАЧАТЬ