The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

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СКАЧАТЬ ASK FOR A BLESSING ON THE PSALTERIES AND ON THEMSELVES

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      Three voices together:

      Hurry to bless the hands that play,

      The mouths that speak, the notes and strings,

      O masters of the glittering town!

      O! lay the shrilly trumpet down,

      Though drunken with the flags that sway

      Over the ramparts and the towers,

      And with the waving of your wings.

      First voice:

      Maybe they linger by the way.

      One gathers up his purple gown;

      One leans and mutters by the wall—

      He dreads the weight of mortal hours.

      Second voice:

      O no, O no! they hurry down

      Like plovers that have heard the call.

      Third voice:

      O kinsmen of the Three in One,

      O kinsmen bless the hands that play.

      The notes they waken shall live on

      When all this heavy history’s done;

      Our hands, our hands must ebb away.

      Three voices together:

      The proud and careless notes live on,

      But bless our hands that ebb away.

THE HAPPY TOWNLAND

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      There’s many a strong farmer

      Whose heart would break in two,

      If he could see the townland

      That we are riding to;

      Boughs have their fruit and blossom

      At all times of the year;

      Rivers are running over

      With red beer and brown beer.

      An old man plays the bagpipes

      In a golden and silver wood;

      Queens, their eyes blue like the ice,

      Are dancing in a crowd.

      The little fox he murmured,

      ‘O what of the world’s bane?’

      The sun was laughing sweetly,

      The moon plucked at my rein;

      But the little red fox murmured,

      ‘O do not pluck at his rein,

      He is riding to the townland

      That is the world’s bane.’

      When their hearts are so high

      That they would come to blows,

      They unhook their heavy swords

      From golden and silver boughs;

      But all that are killed in battle

      Awaken to life again:

      It is lucky that their story

      Is not known among men.

      For O, the strong farmers

      That would let the spade lie,

      Their hearts would be like a cup

      That somebody had drunk dry.

      The little fox he murmured,

      ‘O what of the world’s bane?’

      The sun was laughing sweetly,

      The moon plucked at my rein;

      But the little red fox murmured,

      ‘O do not pluck at his rein,

      He is riding to the townland

      That is the world’s bane.’

      Michael will unhook his trumpet

      From a bough overhead,

      And blow a little noise

      When the supper has been spread.

      Gabriel will come from the water

      With a fish tail, and talk

      Of wonders that have happened

      On wet roads where men walk,

      And lift up an old horn

      Of hammered silver, and drink

      Till he has fallen asleep

      Upon the starry brink.

      The little fox he murmured,

      ‘O what of the world’s bane?’

      The sun was laughing sweetly,

      The moon plucked at my rein;

      But the little red fox murmured,

      ‘O do not pluck at his rein,

      He is riding to the townland

      That is the world’s bane.’

EARLY POEMS

       I

       BALLADS AND LYRICS

       Table of Contents

      ‘The СКАЧАТЬ