Complete Poetical Works. Bret Harte
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Название: Complete Poetical Works

Автор: Bret Harte

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Поэзия

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СКАЧАТЬ Nor in rash precipitation

           Upset Tyndall's calculation.

           Know you not what fate awaits you,

           Or to whom the future mates you?

           All ye icebergs, make salaam,—

           You belong to Uncle Sam!

           On the spot where Eugene Sue

           Led his wretched Wandering Jew,

           Stands a form whose features strike

           Russ and Esquimaux alike.

           He it is whom Skalds of old

           In their Runic rhymes foretold;

           Lean of flank and lank of jaw,

           See the real Northern Thor!

           See the awful Yankee leering

           Just across the Straits of Behring;

           On the drifted snow, too plain,

           Sinks his fresh tobacco stain,

           Just beside the deep inden-

           Tation of his Number 10.

           Leaning on his icy hammer

           Stands the hero of this drama,

           And above the wild-duck's clamor,

           In his own peculiar grammar,

           With its linguistic disguises,

           La! the Arctic prologue rises:

           "Wall, I reckon 'tain't so bad,

           Seein' ez 'twas all they had.

           True, the Springs are rather late,

           And early Falls predominate;

           But the ice-crop's pretty sure,

           And the air is kind o' pure;

           'Tain't so very mean a trade,

           When the land is all surveyed.

           There's a right smart chance for fur-chase

           All along this recent purchase,

           And, unless the stories fail,

           Every fish from cod to whale;

           Rocks, too; mebbe quartz; let's see,—

           'Twould be strange if there should be,—

           Seems I've heerd such stories told;

           Eh!—why, bless us,—yes, it's gold!"

           While the blows are falling thick

           From his California pick,

           You may recognize the Thor

           Of the vision that I saw,—

           Freed from legendary glamour,

           See the real magician's hammer.

      ST. THOMAS

(A GEOGRAPHICAL SURVEY, 1868)

           Very fair and full of promise

           Lay the island of St. Thomas:

           Ocean o'er its reefs and bars

           Hid its elemental scars;

           Groves of cocoanut and guava

           Grew above its fields of lava.

           So the gem of the Antilles—

           "Isles of Eden," where no ill is—

           Like a great green turtle slumbered

           On the sea that it encumbered.

           Then said William Henry Seward,

           As he cast his eye to leeward,

           "Quite important to our commerce

           Is this island of St. Thomas."

           Said the Mountain ranges, "Thank'ee,

           But we cannot stand the Yankee

           O'er our scars and fissures poring,

           In our very vitals boring,

           In our sacred caverns prying,

           All our secret problems trying,—

           Digging, blasting, with dynamit

           Mocking all our thunders!  Damn it!

           Other lands may be more civil;

           Bust our lava crust if we will!"

           Said the Sea, its white teeth gnashing

           Through its coral-reef lips flashing,

           "Shall I let this scheming mortal

           Shut with stone my shining portal,

           Curb my tide and check my play,

           Fence with wharves my shining bay?

           Rather let me be drawn out

           In one awful waterspout!"

           Said the black-browed Hurricane,

           Brooding down the Spanish Main,

           "Shall I see my forces, zounds!

           Measured by square inch and pounds,

           With detectives at my back

           When I double on my track,

           And my secret paths made clear,

           Published o'er the hemisphere

           To each gaping, prying crew?

           Shall I?  Blow me if I do!"

           So the Mountains shook and thundered,

           And the Hurricane came sweeping,

           And the people stared and wondered

           As the Sea came on them leaping:

           Each, according to his promise,

           Made things lively at St. Thomas.

           Till one morn, when Mr. Seward

           Cast his weather eye to leeward,

           There was not an inch of dry land

           Left to mark his recent island.

           Not a flagstaff or a sentry,

           Not a wharf or port of entry,—

           Only—to cut matters shorter—

           Just a patch of muddy water

           In the open ocean lying,

           And a gull above it flying.

      OFF SCARBOROUGH

(SEPTEMBER, 1779)I

           "Have a care!" the bailiffs cried

             From their cockleshell that СКАЧАТЬ