Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold. Arnold Matthew

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ FRIEND)

       Table of Contents

      Omit, omit, my simple friend,

       Still to enquire how parties tend,

       Or what we fix with foreign powers.

       If France and we are really friends,

       And what the Russian Czar intends,

       Is no concern of ours.

      Us not the daily quickening race

       Of the invading populace

       Shall draw to swell that shouldering herd.

       Mourn will we not your closing hour,

       Ye imbeciles in present power,

       Doom'd, pompous, and absurd!

      And let us bear, that they debate

       Of all the engine-work of state,

       Of commerce, laws, and policy,

       The secrets of the world's machine,

       And what the rights of man may mean,

       With readier tongue than we.

      Only, that with no finer art

       They cloak the troubles of the heart

       With pleasant smile, let us take care;

       Nor with a lighter hand dispose

       Fresh garlands of this dewy rose,

       To crown Eugenia's hair.

      Of little threads our life is spun,

       And he spins ill, who misses one.

       But is thy fair Eugenia cold?

       Yet Helen had an equal grace,

       And Juliet's was as fair a face,

       And now their years are told.

      The day approaches, when we must

Be crumbling bones and windy dust; And scorn us as our mistress may, Her beauty will no better be Than the poor face she slights in thee, When dawns that day, that day.

THE SECOND BEST

       Table of Contents

      Moderate tasks and moderate leisure,

       Quiet living, strict-kept measure

       Both in suffering and in pleasure—

       'Tis for this thy nature yearns.

      But so many books thou readest,

       But so many schemes thou breedest,

       But so many wishes feedest,

       That thy poor head almost turns.

      And (the world's so madly jangled,

       Human things so fast entangled)

       Nature's wish must now be strangled

       For that best which she discerns.

      So it must be! yet, while leading A strain'd life, while overfeeding, Like the rest, his wit with reading, No small profit that man earns,

      Who through all he meets can steer him,

       Can reject what cannot clear him,

       Cling to what can truly cheer him;

       Who each day more surely learns

      That an impulse, from the distance

       Of his deepest, best existence,

       To the words, "Hope, Light, Persistence,"

       Strongly sets and truly burns.

CONSOLATION

       Table of Contents

      Mist clogs the sunshine.

       Smoky dwarf houses

       Hem me round everywhere;

       A vague dejection

       Weighs down my soul.

      Yet, while I languish,

       Everywhere countless

       Prospects unroll themselves,

       And countless beings

       Pass countless moods.

      Far hence, in Asia,

       On the smooth convent-roofs,

       On the gilt terraces,

       Of holy Lassa,

       Bright shines the sun.

      Grey time-worn marbles

       Hold the pure Muses;

       In their cool gallery,

       By yellow Tiber,

       They still look fair.

Strange unloved uproar[A] Shrills round their portal; Yet not on Helicon Kept they more cloudless Their noble calm.

      Through sun-proof alleys

       In a lone, sand-hemm'd

       City of Africa,

       A blind, led beggar,

       Age-bow'd, asks alms.

      No bolder robber

       Erst abode ambush'd

       Deep in the sandy waste;

       No clearer eyesight

       Spied prey afar.

      Saharan sand-winds

       Sear'd his keen eyeballs;

       Spent is the spoil he won.

       For him the present

       Holds only pain.

      Two СКАЧАТЬ