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

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest,

      Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river

      Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight,

      Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit.

      Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden

      Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions

      Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian.

      Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews,

      Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight

      Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longing;

      As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees,

      Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie.

      Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies

      Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers.

      Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens,

      Shone on the eyes of man who had ceased to marvel and worship,

      Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple,

      As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, "Upharsin."

      And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies,

      Wandered alone, and she cried, "O Gabriel! O my beloved!

      Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee?

      Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me?

      Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie!

      Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me!

      Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor,

      Thou hast lain down to rest and to dream of me in thy slumbers!

      When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?"

      Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded

      Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboring thickets,

      Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence.

      "Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness:

      And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!"

       Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the garden

      Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses

      With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal.

      "Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold;

      "See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine,

      And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming."

      "Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended

      Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting.

      Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and gladness,

      Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them,

      Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert.

      Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded,

      Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river,

      Nor, after many days, had they found him; but vague and uncertain

      Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate Country;

      Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes,

      Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord,

      That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions,

      Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies.