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 And like blows of autumn flail

           Sharply threshed the iron hail.

           Bunny, thrilled by unknown fears,

           Raised his soft and pointed ears,

           Mumbled his prehensile lip,

           Quivered his pulsating hip,

           As the sharp vindictive yell

           Rose above the screaming shell;

           Thought the world and all its men,—

           All the charging squadrons meant,—

           All were rabbit-hunters then,

           All to capture him intent.

           Bunny was not much to blame:

           Wiser folk have thought the same,—

           Wiser folk who think they spy

           Every ill begins with "I."

           Wildly panting here and there,

           Bunny sought the freer air,

           Till he hopped below the hill,

           And saw, lying close and still,

           Men with muskets in their hands.

           (Never Bunny understands

           That hypocrisy of sleep,

           In the vigils grim they keep,

           As recumbent on that spot

           They elude the level shot.)

           One—a grave and quiet man,

           Thinking of his wife and child

           Far beyond the Rapidan,

           Where the Androscoggin smiled—

           Felt the little rabbit creep,

           Nestling by his arm and side,

           Wakened from strategic sleep,

           To that soft appeal replied,

           Drew him to his blackened breast,

           And—  But you have guessed the rest.

           Softly o'er that chosen pair

           Omnipresent Love and Care

           Drew a mightier Hand and Arm,

           Shielding them from every harm;

           Right and left the bullets waved,

   –

        Saved the saviour for the saved.

           Who believes that equal grace

           God extends in every place,

           Little difference he scans

           Twixt a rabbit's God and man's.

      THE REVEILLE

           Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands,

             And of armed men the hum;

           Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered

             Round the quick alarming drum,—

                 Saying, "Come,

                 Freemen, come!

           Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum.

           "Let me of my heart take counsel:

             War is not of life the sum;

           Who shall stay and reap the harvest

             When the autumn days shall come?"

                 But the drum

                 Echoed, "Come!

           Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn-sounding drum.

           "But when won the coming battle,

             What of profit springs therefrom?

           What if conquest, subjugation,

             Even greater ills become?"

                 But the drum

                 Answered, "Come!

           You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee answering drum.

           "What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder,

             Whistling shot and bursting bomb,

           When my brothers fall around me,

             Should my heart grow cold and numb?"

                 But the drum

                 Answered, "Come!

           Better there in death united, than in life a recreant.—Come!"

           Thus they answered,—hoping, fearing,

             Some in faith, and doubting some,

           Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming,

             Said, "My chosen people, come!"

                 Then the drum,

                 Lo! was dumb,

           For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, "Lord, we come!"

      OUR PRIVILEGE

           Not ours, where battle smoke upcurls,

             And battle dews lie wet,

           To meet the charge that treason hurls

             By sword and bayonet.

           Not ours to guide the fatal scythe

             The fleshless Reaper wields;

           The harvest moon looks calmly down

             Upon our peaceful fields.

           The long grass dimples on the hill,

             The pines sing by the sea,

           And Plenty, from her golden horn,

             Is pouring far and free.

           O brothers by the farther sea!

             Think still our faith is warm;

           The same bright flag above us waves

             That swathed our baby form.

           The same red blood that dyes your fields

             Here throbs in patriot pride,—

           The blood that flowed when Lander fell,

             And Baker's crimson tide.

           And thus apart our hearts keep time

             With every pulse ye feel,

           And Mercy's ringing gold shall chime

             With Valor's clashing steel.

СКАЧАТЬ