The Dynasts. Томас Харди

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Thus far we've got. The said “Bucentaure” chief:

       The “Santa Ana,” the “Redoubtable,”

       The “Fougueux,” the “Santisima Trinidad,”

       “San Augustino, “San Francisco,” “Aigle”;

       And our old “Swiftsure,” too, we've grappled back,

       To every seaman's joy. But now their van

       Has tacked to bear round on the “Victory”

       And crush her by sheer weight of wood and brass:

       Three of our best I am therefore calling up,

       And make no doubt of worsting theirs, and France.

      NELSON

       That's well. I swore for twenty.—But it's well.

      HARDY

       We'll have 'em yet! But without you, my lord,

       We have to make slow plodding do the deeds

       That sprung by inspiration ere you fell;

       And on this ship the more particularly.

      NELSON

       No, Hardy.—Ever 'twas your settled fault

       So modestly to whittle down your worth.

       But I saw stuff in you which admirals need

       When, taking thought, I chose the “Victory's” keel

       To do my business with these braggarts in.

       A business finished now, for me!—Good friend,

       Slow shades are creeping me... I scarce see you.

      HARDY

       The smoke from ships upon our win'ard side,

       And the dust raised by their worm-eaten hulks,

       When our balls touch 'em, blind the eyes, in truth.

      NELSON

       No; it is not that dust; 'tis dust of death

       That darkens me.

       [A shock overhead. HARDY goes up. On or two other officers go up,

       and by and by return.]

       What was that extra noise?

      OFFICER

       The “Formidable' passed us by, my lord,

       And thumped a stunning broadside into us.—

       But, on their side, the “Hero's” captain's fallen;

       The “Algeciras” has been boarded, too,

       By Captain Tyler, and the captain shot:

       Admiral Gravina desperately holds out;

       They say he's lost an arm.

      NELSON

       And we, ourselves—

       Who have we lost on board here? Nay, but tell me!

      BEATTY

       Besides poor Scott, my lord, and Charles Adair,

       Lieutenant Ram, and Whipple, captain's clerk,

       There's Smith, and Palmer, midshipmen, just killed.

       And fifty odd of seamen and marines.

      NELSON

       Poor youngsters! Scarred old Nelson joins you soon.

      BEATTY

       And wounded: Bligh, lieutenant; Pasco, too,

       and Reeves, and Peake, lieutenants of marines,

       And Rivers, Westphall, Bulkeley, midshipmen,

       With, of the crew, a hundred odd just now,

       Unreckoning those late fallen not brought below.

      BURKE

       That fellow in the mizzen-top, my lord,

       Who made it his affair to wing you thus,

       We took good care to settle; and he fell

       Like an old rook, smack from his perch, stone dead.

      NELSON

       'Twas not worth while!—He was, no doubt, a man

       Who in simplicity and sheer good faith

       Strove but to serve his country. Rest be to him!

       And may his wife, his friends, his little ones,

       If such be had, be tided through their loss,

       And soothed amid the sorrow brought by me.

       [HARDY re-enters.]

       Who's that? Ah—here you come! How, Hardy, now?

      HARDY

       The Spanish Admiral's rumoured to be wounded,

       We know not with what truth. But, be as 'twill,

       He sheers away with all he could call round,

       And some few frigates, straight to Cadiz port.

       [A violent explosion is heard above the confused noises on deck.

       A midshipman goes above and returns.]

      MIDSHIPMAN [in the background]

       It is the enemy's first-rate, the “Achille,”

       Blown to a thousand atoms!—While on fire,

       Before she burst, the captain's woman there,

       Desperate for life, climbed from the gunroom port

       Upon the rudder-chains; stripped herself stark,

       And swam for the Pickle's boat. Our men in charge,

       Seeing her great breasts bulging on the brine,

       Sang out, “A mermaid 'tis, by God!”—then rowed

       And hauled her in.—

      BURKE

       Such unbid sights obtrude

       On death's dyed stage!

СКАЧАТЬ