Poetry. Alexander Pope

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Why should I sing our better suns or air,

       Whose vital draughts prevent the leech's care,

       While through fresh fields the enlivening odours breathe,

       Or spread with vernal blooms the purple heath?

       VER. 49, 50. Originally thus in the MS.—

       From towns laid waste, to dens and caves they ran

       (For who first stoop'd to be a slave was man.)

       VER. 57, 58:—

       No wonder savages or subjects slain—

       But subjects starved while savages were fed.

       VER. 91–94:—

       Oh may no more a foreign master's rage,

       With wrongs yet legal, curse a future age!

       Still spread, fair Liberty! thy heavenly wings,

       Breathe plenty on the fields, and fragrance on the springs.

       VER. 97–100:—

       When yellow autumn summer's heat succeeds,

       And into wine the purple harvest bleeds,

       The partridge feeding in the new-shorn fields,

       Both morning sports and evening pleasures yields.

       VER. 107–110. It stood thus in the first editions:—

       Pleased, in the General's sight, the host lie down

       Sudden before some unsuspecting town;

       The young, the old, one instant makes our prize,

       And o'er their captive heads Britannia's standard flies.

       VER. 126—

       O'er rustling leaves around the naked groves.

       VER. 129—

       The fowler lifts his levell'd tube on high.

       VER. 233–236—

       Happy the man, who to the shades retires,

       But doubly happy, if the Muse inspires!

       Blest whom the sweets of home-felt quiet please;

       But far more blest, who study joins with ease.

       VER. 231, 232. It stood thus in the MS.—

       And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover still,

       To change Olympus, &c.

       VER. 265–268. It stood thus in the MS.—

       Methinks around your holy scenes I rove,

       And hear your music echoing through the grove:

       With transport visit each inspiring shade

       By god-like poets venerable made.

       VER. 273, 274—

       What sighs, what murmurs fill'd the vocal shore!

       His tuneful swans were heard to sing no more.

       VER. 288. All the lines that follow were not added to the poem till the

       year 1710. What immediately followed this, and made the conclusion, were

       these:—

       My humble Muse in unambitious strains

       Paints the green forests and the flowery plains;

       Where I obscurely pass my careless days,

       Pleased in the silent shade with empty praise,

       Enough for me that to the listening swains

       First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.

       VER. 305, 306. Originally thus in the MS.—

       When brass decays, when trophies lie o'erthrown,

       And mouldering into dust drops the proud stone.

       VER. 319–322. Originally thus in the MS.—

       Oh fact accurst! oh sacrilegious brood,

       Sworn to rebellion, principled in blood!

       Since that dire morn what tears has Albion shed,

       Gods! what new wounds, &c.

       VER. 325, 326. Thus in the MS.—

       Till Anna rose and bade the Furies cease;

       'Let there be peace'—she said, and all was peace.

       Between VER. 328 and 329, originally stood these lines—

       From shore to shore exulting shouts he heard,

       O'er all his banks a lambent light appear'd,

       With sparkling flames heaven's glowing concave shone,

       Fictitious stars, and glories not her own.

       He saw, and gently rose above the stream;

       His shining horns diffuse a golden gleam:

       With pearl and gold his towery front was dress'd,

       The tributes of the distant East and West.

       VER. 361–364. Originally thus in the MS.—

       Let Venice boast her towers amidst the main,

       Where the rough Adrian swells and roars in vain;

       Here not a town, but spacious realm shall have

       A sure foundation on the rolling wave.

       VER. 383–387 were originally thus—

       Now shall our fleets the bloody cross display

       To the rich regions of the rising day,

       Or those green isles, where headlong Titan steeps

       His hissing axle in the Atlantic deeps:

       Tempt icy seas, &c.