The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

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СКАЧАТЬ goblet, wrought with curious art,

      Is filled with waters, that upstart,

      When the deep fountains of the heart,

      By strong convulsions rent apart,

       Are running all to waste.

      And as it mantling passes round,

      With fennel is it wreathed and crowned,

      Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned

      Are in its waters steeped and drowned,

       And give a bitter taste.

      Above the lowly plants it towers,

      The fennel, with its yellow flowers,

      And in an earlier age than ours

      Was gifted with the wondrous powers,

       Lost vision to restore.

      It gave new strength, and fearless mood;

      And gladiators, fierce and rude,

      Mingled it in their daily food;

      And he who battled and subdued,

       A wreath of fennel wore.

      Then in Life's goblet freely press,

      The leaves that give it bitterness,

      Nor prize the colored waters less,

      For in thy darkness and distress

       New light and strength they give!

      And he who has not learned to know

      How false its sparkling bubbles show,

      How bitter are the drops of woe,

      With which its brim may overflow,

       He has not learned to live.

      The prayer of Ajax was for light;

      Through all that dark and desperate fight

      The blackness of that noonday night

      He asked but the return of sight,

       To see his foeman's face.

      Let our unceasing, earnest prayer

      Be, too, for light—for strength to bear

      Our portion of the weight of care,

      That crushes into dumb despair

       One half the human race.

      O suffering, sad humanity!

      O ye afflicted one; who lie

      Steeped to the lips in misery,

      Longing, and yet afraid to die,

       Patient, though sorely tried!

      I pledge you in this cup of grief,

      Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf!

      The Battle of our Life is brief

      The alarm—the struggle—the relief,

       Then sleep we side by side.

MAIDENHOOD

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      Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies!

      Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run!

      Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet!

      Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse!

      Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream.

      Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian?

      Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly?

      Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar?

      O, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands—Life hath snares Care and age come unawares!

      Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June.

      Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered;—Age, that bough with snows encumbered.

      Gather, then, each flower that grows, When the young heart overflows, To embalm that tent of snows.

      Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand.

      Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth!

      O, that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;

      And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art.

EXCELSIOR

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      The shades of night were falling fast,

      As through an Alpine village passed

      A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,

      A banner with the strange device,

       Excelsior!

      His brow was sad; his eye beneath,

      Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,

      And like a silver clarion rung

      The accents of that unknown tongue,

       Excelsior!

      In happy homes he saw the light

      Of household fires gleam warm and bright;

      Above, the spectral glaciers shone,

      And from his lips escaped a groan,

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