The Complete Poems. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло
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Название: The Complete Poems

Автор: Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

Серия:

isbn: 4064066396503

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ So long beneath the heaven's o'er-hanging eaves;

       Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended;

      Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves;

       And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,

       Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!

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      Tuscan, that wanderest through the realms of gloom,

       With thoughtful pace, and sad, majestic eyes,

       Stern thoughts and awful from thy soul arise,

       Like Farinata from his fiery tomb.

      Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom;

       Yet in thy heart what human sympathies,

       What soft compassion glows, as in the skies

       The tender stars their clouded lamps relume!

      Methinks I see thee stand, with pallid cheeks,

       By Fra Hilario in his diocese,

       As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks,

      The ascending sunbeams mark the day's decrease;

       And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks,

       Thy voice along the cloister whispers, "Peace!"

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       Table of Contents

      Solemnly, mournfully,

       Dealing its dole,

      The Curfew Bell

       Is beginning to toll.

      Cover the embers,

       And put out the light;

      Toil comes with the morning,

       And rest with the night.

      Dark grow the windows,

       And quenched is the fire;

      Sound fades into silence—

       All footsteps retire.

      No voice in the chambers,

       No sound in the hall!

      Sleep and oblivion

       Reign over all!

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      The book is completed,

       And closed, like the day;

      And the hand that has written it

       Lays it away.

      Dim grow its fancies;

       Forgotten they lie;

      Like coals in the ashes,

       They darken and die.

      Song sinks into silence,

       The story is told,

      The windows are darkened,

       The hearth-stone is cold.

      Darker and darker

       The black shadows fall;

      Sleep and oblivion

       Reign over all.

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      This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

      Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,

      Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,

      Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.

      Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean

      Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

       This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it

      Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman

      Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers—

      Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,

      Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?

      Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!

      Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October

      Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean

      Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

       Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,

      Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,

      List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;

      List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

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