«Харперс Нью Менсли Мэгэзин, Том III, № 13, Июнь 1851»

And life shoots swift through all the lighten'd limbs.

Вокруг прилегающего ручка [ручья], что журчит вдоль Голосистой рощи, то сердито катясь по скале, То едва двигаясь через заросший камышом прус [пруд], То превращаясь в стремительный поток, а то Мягко разливаясь в прозрачную гладь, Разнообразную группу составляют стада и одомашненные животные — Деревенский беспорядок! На травянистом берегу Одни лежат жвачные; в то время как другие стоят Наполовину в воде и часто, наклоняясь, потягивают Окружающую поверхность. Посредине изнемогает Сильный трудолюбивый вол с честным лбом, Который он непринужденно встряхивает; и со своих боков Сгоняет надоедливых насекомых хвостом, Возвращаясь к этому снова и снова. Среди своих подданных в безопасности Дремлет монарх-пастух: его беззаботная рука

Thrown round his head, on downy moss sustain'd:

Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands fill'd;

There, listening every noise, his watchful dog.

Light fly his slumbers, if perchance a flight

Of angry gadflies fasten on the herd;

That startling scatters from the shallow brook,

In search of lavish stream. Tossing the foam,

They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain

Through all the bright severity of noon;

While, from their laboring breasts, a hollow moan

Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the hills.

Oft in this season too the horse, provok'd,

While his big sinews full of spirits swell,

Trembling with vigor, in the heat of blood,

Springs the high fence; and, o'er the field effus'd,

Darts on the gloomy flood, with steadfast eye,

And heart estrang'd to fear: his nervous chest,

Luxuriant and erect, the seat of strength!

Bears down the opposing stream; quenchless his thirst,

He takes the river at redoubled draughts:

And with wide nostrils, snorting, skims the wave.

Still let me pierce into the midnight depth

Of yonder grove, of wildest, largest growth;

That, forming high in air a woodland quire,

Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step,

Solemn and slow, the shadows blacker fall,

And all is awful listening gloom around.

These are the haunts of meditation, these

The scenes where ancient bards the inspiring breath,

Ecstatic, felt: and, from this world retir'd.

Общался с ангелами и бессмертными формами, Склонными к благодатным поручениям: спасти падение Добродетели, борющейся на краю порока; В бодрствующих шепотах и повторяющихся снах Намекать чистую мысль и предостерегать любимую душу, Обреченную на подготовку к будущим испытаниям; Побуждать поэта, который преданно отдает Свою музу лучшим темам; утешать муки Умирающего достоинства и от груди патриота (Неохотно вмешивающегося в ненавистную войну, Но первенствующего в бою) отвратить смерть; И бесчисленные подобные обязанности любви, Ежедневно и еженощно, ревностно исполнять. Внезапно встряхнувшись из груди неба, Тысяча образов или скользят сквозь сумрак, Или шествуют величественно. Глубоко растревоженный, я чувствую, Как священный ужас, сумеречный [строгое] наслаждение Прокрадываются в мое смертное тело; и вот, мне мнится, Голос, более чем человеческий, ударяет по отрешенному слуху Фантазии: «Не бойтесь нас, Бедный сородич-человек! Мы, твои собратья-творения, Из той же Родительской Силы извлекли наше бытие — Тот же наш Господь, и законы, и великое стремление. Когда-то некоторые из нас, как и ты, сквозь бурную жизнь Трудились, потрепанные бурей, прежде чем смогли достичь Этого святого спокойствия, этой гармонии разума, Где чистота и мир переплетают чары: Тогда не бойтесь нас; но с отзывчивой песней Среди тех тусклых убежищ, не потревоженных Шумной глупостью и нестройным пороком, Воспойте природу вместе с нами и Бога природы. Здесь часто, в час видений, Когда царит задумчивая полночь или безмолвный полдень,

Angelic harps are in full concert heard,

And voices chanting from the wood-crown'd hill,

The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade;

A privilege bestow'd by us, alone,

On contemplation, or the hallow'd ear

Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain."

And art thou, Stanley, of that sacred band?

Alas, for us too soon! Though rais'd above

The reach of human pain, above the flight

Of human joy, yet, with a mingled ray

Of sadly pleas'd remembrance, must thou feel

A mother's love, a mother's tender woe;

Who seeks thee still in many a former scene,

Seeks thy fair form, thy lovely beaming eyes,

Thy pleasing converse, by gay lively sense

Inspir'd—where moral wisdom mildly shone

Without the toil of art, and virtue glow'd.

In all her smiles, without forbidding pride.

But, O thou best of parents! wipe thy tears;

Or rather to parental Nature pay

The tears of grateful joy—who for a while

Lent thee this younger self, this opening bloom

Of thy enlighten'd mind and gentle worth.

Believe the muse: the wintry blast of death

Kills not the buds of virtue; no, they spread.

Beneath the heavenly beam of brighter suns,

Through endless ages, into higher powers.

Thus up the mount, in airy vision rapt,

I stray, regardless whither; till the sound

Of a near fall of water every sense

Wakes from the charm of thought: swift-shrinking back,

I check my steps, and view the broken scene.

Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood

Rolls fair and placid; where collected all,

In one impetuous torrent, down the steep

It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round.

At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad;

Then whitening by degrees as prone it falls,

And from the loud-resounding rocks below

Dash'd in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft

A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower

Nor can the tortur'd wave here find repose:

But, raging still amid the shaggy rocks,

Now flashes o'er the scattered fragments, now

Aslant the hollow'd channel rapid darts;

And falling fast from gradual slope to slope,

With wild infracted course, and lessen'd roar,

It gains a safer bed, and steals at last,

Along the mazes of the quiet vale.

Invited from the cliff, to whose dark brow

He clings, the steep-ascending eagle soars,

With upward pinions, through the flood of day,

And, giving full his bosom to the blaze,

Gains on the sun; while all the tuneful race,

Smit by afflictive noon, disorder'd droop,

Deep in the thicket; or, from bower to bower

Responsive, force an interrupted strain.

The stockdove only through the forest coos,

Mournfully hoarse; oft ceasing from his plaint,

Short interval of weary woe! again

The sad idea of his murder'd mate,

Struck from his side by savage fowler's guile

Across his fancy comes; and then resounds

A louder song of sorrow through the grove.

Beside the dewy border let me sit,

All in the freshness of the humid air:

There on that hollow'd rock, grotesque and wild,

An ample chair moss-lin'd, and overhead

By flowing umbrage shaded; where the bee

Strays diligent, and with the extracted balm

Of fragrant woodbine loads his little thigh.

Now, while I taste the sweetness of the shade,

While nature lies around deep-lull'd in noon,

Now come, bold fancy, spread a daring flight,

And view the wonders of the torrid zone

Climes unrelenting! with whose rage compar'd,

Yon blaze is feeble, and yon skies are cool.

See, how at once the bright-effulgent sun,

Rising direct, swift chases from the sky

The short-liv'd twilight; and with ardent blaze

Looks gayly fierce o'er all the dazzling air:

He mounts his throne; but kind before him sends,

Issuing from out the portals of the morn,

The general breeze to mitigate his fire,

And breathe refreshment on a fainting world.

Great are the scenes, with dreadful beauty crown'd

And barbarous wealth, that see, each circling year,

Returning suns and double seasons pass:

Rocks rich in gems, and mountains big with mines,

That on the high equator ridgy rise,

Whence many a bursting stream auriferous plays;

Majestic woods, of every vigorous green,

Stage above stage, high waving o'er the hills,

Or to the far horizon wide-diffus'd,

A boundless deep immensity of shade.

Here lofty trees, to ancient song unknown,

The noble sons of potent heat and floods

Prone-rushing from the clouds, rear high to heaven

Their thorny stems, and broad around them throw

Meridian gloom. Here, in eternal prime,

Unnumber'd fruits, of keen, delicious taste

And vital spirit, drink amid the cliffs,

And burning sands that bank the shrubby vales,

Redoubled day; yet in their rugged coats

A friendly juice to cool its rage contain.

Bear me, Pomona! to thy citron groves;

To where the lemon and the piercing lime,

With the deep orange, glowing through the green,

Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclin'd

Beneath the spreading tamarind, that shakes,

Fann'd by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit.

Deep in the night the massy locust sheds,

Quench my hot limbs; or lead me through the maze,

Embowering, endless, of the Indian fig;

Or thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow,

Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cool'd,

Broad o'er my head the verdant cedar wave,

And high palmettos lift their graceful shade.

Oh! stretch'd amid these orchards of the sun,

Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl,

And from the palm to draw its freshening wine;

More bounteous far than all the frantic juice

Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs

Low-bending, be the full pomegranate scorn'd;

Nor, creeping through the woods, the gelid race

Of berries. Oft in humble station dwells

Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp.

Witness, thou best ananas, thou the pride

Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er

The poets imag'd in the golden age:

Quick let me strip thee of thy tufty coat,

Spread thy ambrosial stores, and feast with Jove!

From these the prospect varies. Plains immense

Lie stretch'd below, interminable meads,

And vast savannas, where the wandering eye,

Unfix'd, is in a verdant ocean lost.

Another Flora there, of bolder hues

And richer sweets, beyond our garden's pride,

Plays o'er the fields, and showers with sudden hand

Exuberant Spring; for oft these valleys shift

Their green-embroidered robe to fiery brown,

And swift to green again, as scorching suns,

Or streaming dews and torrent rains, prevail.

Along these lonely regions, where, retir'd

From little scenes of art, great Nature dwells

In awful solitude, and naught is seen

But the wild herds that own no master's stall,

Prodigious rivers roll their fattening seas;

On whose luxuriant herbage, half-conceal'd,

Like a fall'n cedar, far diffus'd his train,

Cas'd in green scales, the crocodile extends.

The flood disparts: behold! in plaited mail,

Behemoth rears his head. Glanc'd from his side,

The darted steel in idle shivers flies:

He fearless walks the plain, or seeks the hills;

Where, as he crops his varied fare, the herds,

In widening circle round, forget their food,

And at the harmless stranger wondering gaze.

Peaceful, beneath primeval trees that cast

Their ample shade o'er Niger's yellow stream.

And where the Ganges rolls his sacred wave,

Or 'mid the central depth of blackening woods

High-rais'd in solemn theater around,

Leans the huge elephant; wisest of brutes!

Oh, truly wise! with gentle might endow'd,

Though powerful, not destructive. Here he sees

Revolving ages sweep the changeful earth,

And empires rise and fall; regardless he

Of what the never-resting race of men

Project: thrice happy! could he 'scape their guile,

Who mine, from cruel avarice, his steps,

Or with his towery grandeur swell their state,

The pride of kings! or else his strength pervert,

And bid him rage amid the mortal fray,

Astonish'd at the madness of mankind.

Wide o'er the winding umbrage of the floods,

Like vivid blossoms glowing from afar,

Thick-swarm the brighter birds. For Nature's hand.

That with a sportive vanity has deck'd

The plumy nations, there her gayest hues

Profusely pours. But, if she bids them shine,

Array'd in all the beauteous beams of day,

Yet frugal still, she humbles them in song.

Nor envy we the gaudy robes they lent

Proud Montezuma's realm, whose legions cast

A boundless radiance waving on the sun,

While philomel is ours; while in our shades,

Through the soft silence of the listening night,

The sober-suited songstress trills her lay.

But come, my muse, the desert-barrier burst,

A wild expanse of lifeless sand and sky,

And, swifter than the toiling caravan,

Shoot o'er the vale of Sennaar, ardent climb

The Nubian mountains, and the secret bounds

Of jealous Abyssinia boldly pierce.

Thou art no ruffian, who beneath the mask

Of social commerce com'st to rob their wealth,

No holy fury thou, blaspheming Heaven.

With consecrated steel to stab their peace,

And through the land, yet red from civil wounds,

To spread the purple tyranny of Rome.

Thou, like the harmless bee, may'st freely range,

From mead to mead bright with exalted flowers,

From jasmine grove to grove; may'st wander gay,

Through palmy shades and aromatic woods,

That grace the plains, invest the peopled hills,

And up the more than Alpine mountains wave.

There on the breezy summit, spreading fair

For many a league; or on stupendous rocks.

That from the sun-redoubling valley lift,

Cool to the middle air their lawny tops;

Where palaces, and fanes, and villas rise,

And gardens smile around, and cultur'd fields;

And fountains gush; and careless herds and flocks

Securely stray; a world within itself,

Disdaining all assault: there let me draw

Ethereal soul, there drink reviving gales.

Profusely breathing from the spicy groves,

And vales of fragrance; there at distance hear

The roaring floods, and cataracts, that sweep

From disembowel'd earth the virgin gold;

And o'er the varied landscape, restless, rove,

Fervent with life of every fairer kind.

A land of wonders! which the sun still eyes

With ray direct, as of the lovely realm

Enamor'd, and delighting there to dwell.

How chang'd the scene! In blazing height of noon.

The sun, oppress'd, is plung'd in thickest gloom.

Still horror reigns, a dreary twilight round,

Борющейся ночи и дня, злобно смешанных. Ибо, стремясь к горячему экватору, Где сильно разреженный податливый воздух Допускает их поток, непрерывно катятся пары, Изумительные облака, непрерывногромоздящиеся друг на друга; Или бурно кружимые порывистым ветром, Или несомые молча, тяжелые и медленные, Нагруженные большими запасами парящих океанов. Между тем среди этих верхних морей, сгущенных Вокруг брови холодного воздушного горного пика И сталкиваемых вместе конфликтующими ветрами, Гром держит свой черный грозный трон; От облака к облаку бушуют раскалывающие молнии; Пока в яростной стихийной войне Растворенная, вся осажденная [выпавшая] масса Не изливает цельные потоки и сплошные потопы. Вот сокровища, скрытые от ограниченного поиска Древнего знания; откуда с ежегодной помпой, Богатый царь потоков! разливается набухающий Нил. Из двух своих родников, в солнечном царстве Годжам, Чисто бьющий ключом, он через прозрачное озеро Прекрасной Дембии катит свой младенческий поток. Там, лелеемый наядами, он резвится, Проводя свою игривую юность среди благоухающих островов, Которые улыбаются вокруг с неувядающей зеленью.

Ambitious, thence the manly river breaks;

And gathering many a flood, and copious fed

With all the mellow'd treasures of the sky,

Winds in progressive majesty along:

Through splendid kingdoms now devolves his maze;

Now wanders wild o'er solitary tracts

Of life-deserted sand: till glad to quit

The joyless desert, down the Nubian rocks,

From thundering steep to steep, he pours his urn.

And Egypt joys beneath the spreading wave.

His brother Niger too, and all the floods

In which the full-form'd maids of Afric lave

Their jetty limbs; and all that from the tract

Of woody mountains stretch'd through gorgeous Ind

Fall on Cormandel's coast, or Malabar;

From Menam's orient stream, that nightly shines

With insect lamps, to where aurora sheds

On Indus' smiling banks the rosy shower;

All, at this bounteous season, ope their urns,

And pour untoiling harvest o'er the land.

Nor less thy world, Columbus, drinks, refresh'd

The lavish moisture of the melting year.

Wide e'er his isles, the branching Orinoque

Rolls a brown deluge; and the native drives

To dwell aloft on life-sufficing trees—

At once his dome, his robe, his food, and arms.

Swell'd by a thousand streams, impetuous hurl'd

From all the roaring Andes, huge descends

The mighty Orellana. Scarce the muse

Dares stretch her wing o'er this enormous mass

Of rushing water; scarces she dares attempt

The sea-like Plata; to whose dread expanse,

Continuous depth, and wondrous length of course,

Our floods are rills. With unabated force,

In silent dignity they sweep along;

And traverse realms unknown, and blooming wilds,

And fruitful deserts—worlds of solitude,

Where the sun smiles and Seasons teem in vain,

Unseen and unenjoyed. Forsaking these,

O'er peopled plains they fair-diffusive flow,

And many a nation feed, and circle safe,

In their soft bosom, many a happy isle;

The seat of blameless Pan, yet undisturbed

By Christian crimes and Europe's cruel sons.

Thus pouring on they proudly seek the deep,

Whose vanquish'd tide, recoiling from the shock,

Yields to this liquid weight of half the globe;

And ocean trembles for his green domain.

But what avails this wondrous waste of wealth,

This gay profusion of luxurious bliss,

This pomp of Nature? what their balmy meads.

Their powerful herbs, and Ceres void of pain?

By vagrant birds dispers'd, and wafting winds.

What their unplanted fruits? what the cool draughts,

The ambrosial food, rich gums, and spicy health,

Their forests yield? their toiling insects what,

Their silky pride, and vegetable robes?

Ah! what avail their fatal treasures, hid

Deep in the bowels of the pitying earth,

Сокровища Голконды и печальные рудники Потоси? Где обитали кротчайшие дети солнца! Что всё то, что катят золотые реки Африки, Ее благоухающие леса и сияющие запасы слоновой кости? Несчастная раса! Смягчающие искусства мира, Всему, чему учат гуманизирующие музы; Богоподобная мудрость укрощенного сердца; Прогрессивная истина, терпеливая сила мысли; Спокойное исследование, чьи безмолвные силы Повелевают миром; свет, ведущий к Небесам; Доброе равное правление, правление законов И всезащищающая свобода, которая одна Поддерживает имя и достоинство человека: Всего этого у них нет. Сам родитель-солнце,\nКажется, тиранствует над этим миром рабов; И гнетущим лучом иссушая розовое цветение Красоты, придает мрачный оттенок И грубую черту; или, что еще хуже, к безжалостным делам, Безумной ревности, слепой ярости и свирепой мести Воспламеняет их страстный дух. Любовь не обитает там, Мягкие взгляды, нежность жизни, Слеза, проливаемая сердцем, невыразимое наслаждение Сладкой человечности: они ищут луча Более мягких климатов; в эгоистичном свирепом желании,

And the wild fury of voluptuous sense,

There lost. The very brute creation there

This rage partakes, and burns with horrid fire.

Lo! the green serpent, from his dark abode,

Which even imagination fears to tread,

At noon forth-issuing, gathers up his train

In orbs immense, then, darting out anew,

Seeks the refreshing fount, by which diffus'd

He throws his folds; and while, with threatening tongue

And dreadful jaws erect, the monster curls

His flaming crest, all other thirst appall'd,

Or shivering flies, or check'd at distance stands,

Nor dares approach. But still more direful he,

The small close-lurking minister of fate,

Whose high concocted venom through the veins

A rapid lightning darts, arresting swift

The vital current. Form'd to humble man,

This child of vengeful Nature! There, sublim'd

To fearless lust of blood, the savage race

Roam, licens'd by the shading hour of guilt,

And foul misdeed, when the pure day has shut

His sacred eye. The tiger, darting fierce,

Impetuous on the prey his glance has doom'd;

The lively-shining leopard, speckled o'er

With many a spot, the beauty of the waste;

And, scorning all the taming arts of man,

The keen hyena, fellest of the fell:

These, rushing from the inhospitable woods

Of Mauritania, or the tufted isles

That verdant rise amid the Libyan wild,

Innumerous glare around their shaggy king,

Majestic, stalking o'er the printed sand;

And, with imperious and repeated roars,

Demand their fated food. The fearful flocks

Crowd near the guardian swain; the nobler herds,

Where round their lordly bull, in rural ease,

They ruminating lie, with horror hear

The coming rage. The awaken'd village starts;

And to her fluttering breast the mother strains

Her thoughtless infant. From the pirate's den,

Or stern Morocco's tyrant fang, escap'd,

The wretch half-wishes for his bonds again;

While, uproar all, the wilderness resounds,

From Atlas eastward to the frighted Nile.

Unhappy he! who from the first of joys,

Society, cut off, is left alone

Amid this world of death. Day after day,

Sad on the jutting eminence he sits,

And views the main that ever toils below;

Still fondly forming in the farthest verge,

Where the round ether mixes with the wave,

Ships, dim-discovered, dropping from the clouds.

At evening, to the setting sun he turns

A mournful eye, and down his dying heart

Sinks helpless; while the wonted roar is up,

And hiss continual through the tedious night.

Yet here, even here, into these black abodes

Of monsters, unappall'd, from stooping Rome,

And guilty Cæsar, Liberty retired,

Her Cato following through Numidian wilds;

Disdainful of Campania's gentle plains

And all the green delights Ausonia pours—

When for them she must bend the servile knee,

And fawning take the splendid robber's boon.

Nor stop the terrors of these regions here.

Commission'd demons oft, angels of wrath,

Let loose the raging elements. Breath'd hot

From all the boundless furnace of the sky,

And the wide glittering waste of burning sand,

A suffocating wind the pilgrim smites

With instant death. Patient of thirst and toil,

Son of the desert! even the camel feels,

Shot through his wither'd heart, the fiery blast.

Or from the black-red ether, bursting broad,

Sallies the sudden whirlwind. Straight the sands,

Commov'd around, in gathering eddies play;

Nearer and nearer still they darkening come,

Till, with the general all-involving storm

Swept up, the whole continuous wilds arise;

And by their noonday fount dejected thrown,

Or sunk at night in sad disastrous sleep,

Beneath descending hills, the caravan

Is buried deep. In Cairo's crowded streets

The impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain,

And Mecca saddens at the long delay.

But chief at sea, whose every flexile wave

Obeys the blast, the aerial tumult swells.

In the dread ocean, undulating wide,

Beneath the radiant line that girts the globe,

The circling Typhon, whirl'd from point to point,

Exhausting all the rage of all the sky,

And dire Ecnephia reign. Amid the heavens,

Falsely serene, deep in a cloudy speck

Compress'd, the mighty tempest brooding dwells

Of no regard save to the skillful eye,

Fiery and foul, the small prognostic hangs

Aloft, or on the promontory's brow

Musters its force. A faint deceitful calm,

A fluttering gale, the demon sends before,

To tempt the spreading sail. Then down at once,

Precipitant, descends a mingled mass

Of roaring winds, and flame, and rushing floods.

In wild amazement fix'd the sailor stands.

Art is too slow. By rapid fate oppress'd,

His broad-wing'd vessel drinks the whelming tide,

Hid in the bosom of the black abyss.

With such mad seas the daring Gama fought,

For many a day, and many a dreadful night,

Incessant, laboring round the stormy cape;

By bold ambition led, and bolder thirst

Of gold. For then, from ancient gloom, emerg'd

The rising world of trade: the genius, then,

Of navigation, that in hopeless sloth

Had slumber'd on the vast Atlantic deep

For idle ages, starting, heard at last

The Lusitanian prince; who, heaven-inspired,

To love of useful glory rous'd mankind,

And in unbounded commerce mixed the world.

Increasing still the terrors of these storms,

His jaws horrific arm'd with threefold fate,

Here dwells the direful shark. Lur'd by the scent

Of steaming crowds, of rank disease, and death,

Behold! he rushing cuts the briny flood,

Swift as the gale can bear the ship along;

And from the partners of that cruel trade

Which spoils unhappy Guinea of her sons,

Demands his share of prey—demands themselves.

The stormy fates descend: one death involves

Tyrants and slaves; when straight their mangled limbs

Crashing at once, he dyes the purple seas

With gore, and riots in the vengeful meal.

When o'er this world, by equinoctial rains

Flooded immense, looks out the joyless sun,

And draws the copious steam; from swampy fens,

Where putrefaction into life ferments,

And breathes destructive myriads; or from woods,

Impenetrable shades, recesses foul,

In vapors rank and blue corruption wrapp'd,

Whose gloomy horrors yet no desperate foot

Has ever dar'd to pierce—then, wasteful, forth

Walks the dire power of pestilent disease.

A thousand hideous fiends her course attend,

Sick nature blasting, and a heartless woe,

And feeble desolation, casting down

The towering hopes and all the pride of man.

Such as, of late, at Carthagena quench'd

The British fire. You, gallant Vernon, saw

The miserable scene; you, pitying, saw

To infant weakness sunk the warrior's arm;

Saw the deep-racking pang, the ghastly form,

The lip pale-quivering, and the beamless eye

No more with ardor bright; you heard the groans

Of agonizing ships, from shore to shore;

Heard, nightly plung'd amid the sullen waves,

The frequent corse—while on each other fix'd,

In sad presage, the blank assistants seemed,

Silent, to ask, whom fate would next demand.

What need I mention those inclement skies

Where, frequent o'er the sickening city, plague,

The fiercest child of Nemesis divine,

Descends? From Ethiopia's poison'd woods,

From stifled Cairo's filth, and fetid fields

With locust-armies putrefying heap'd,

This great destroyer sprung. Her awful rage

The brutes escape. Man is her destin'd prey,

Intemperate man! and o'er his guilty domes

She draws a close incumbent cloud of death;

Uninterrupted by the living winds,

Forbid to blow a wholesome breeze; and stain'd

With many a mixture by the sun, suffus'd,

Of angry aspect. Princely wisdom, then,

Dejects his watchful eye; and from the hand

Слабой справедливости, безрезультатно, роняют Меч и весы: безмолвен голос радости И приглушен галдеж суетного мира. Пусты улицы, покрытые диковинной зеленью. В худшую из пустынь внезапно превращено Веселое пристанище людей — если только, спасшись Из обреченного дома, где царит несравненный ужас, Запертый варварским страхом, пораженный несчастный С диким безумием не вырывается на свободу и громко Небесам, Вопя, не предает суду страшную политику, Бесчеловечную и неразумную. Угрюмая дверь, Еще не зараженная, на своей осторожной петле Опасаясь повернуться, чуждается общества. Иждивенцы, друзья, родственники, сама Любовь, Одичавшие от горя, забывают нежную связь, Сладкое обязательство чувствующего сердца. Но напрасна их эгоистичная забота: кружащееся небо, Широкий оживляющий воздух полон рока; И, пораженные по очереди, в уединенных муках Они падают, несчастливые, оставленные без ухода и неоплаканные. Так над поверженным городом черное отчаяние Простирает свое вороново крыло; в то время как в завершение

Сцены опустошения, раскинувшиеся вокруг, Стоят суровые стражники, отрицая всякое отступление И даруя беглому несчастному лучшую смерть. Многое еще остается невоспетом: ярость сильная Медно-сводчатых небес, железных полей, Где засуха и голод морят голодом опустошенный год; Воспламененная факелом полдня до десятикратной ярости, Яростный холм, извергающий столбообразное пламя; И, пробужденное в подземном мире, Расширяющееся землетрясение, что неотразимо сотрясает Возвышающиеся города с их прочного основания И хоронит горы в пылающей бездне. Но этого достаточно; возвратись, моя бродячая муза: Более близкая сцена ужаса зовет тебя домой. Смотри, медленно оседая над зловещей рощей, Необычная темнота клубится; и, нарастая, обретает Полное владение небом, перегруженным Грозным паром, извлеченным из тайных лож, Где спят поколения минералов. Оттуда селитра, сера и огненная пена Жирного битума, дымясь на дневном свету, С разноцветными шлейфами скрытого пламени, Загрязняют небо, и в том зловещем облаке,

A reddening gloom, a magazine of fate,

Ferment; till, by the touch ethereal rous'd,

The dash of clouds, or irritating war

Of fighting winds, while all is calm below,

They furious spring. A boding silence reigns,

Dread through the dun expanse; save the dull sound

That from the mountain, previous to the storm,

Rolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood,

And shakes the forest leaf without a breath.

Prone, to the lowest vale, the aerial tribes

Descend: the tempest-loving raven scarce

Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze

The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens

Cast a deploring eye; by man forsook,

Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast,

Or seeks the shelter of the downward cave.

'Tis listening fear, and dumb amazement all:

When to the startled eye the sudden glance

Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud;

And following slower, in explosion vast,

The thunder raises his tremendous voice.

At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven,

The tempest growls; but as it nearer comes,

And rolls its awful burden on the wind,

The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more

The noise astounds—till overhead a sheet

Of livid flame discloses wide, then shuts

And opens wider, shuts and opens still

Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze.

Follows the loosen'd aggravated roar,

Enlarging, deepening, mingling, peal on peal

Crush'd horrible, convulsing heaven and earth.

Down comes a deluge of sonorous hail,

Or prone-descending rain. Wide-rent, the clouds

Pour a whole flood; and yet, its flame unquench'd

The unconquerable lightning struggles through,

Ragged and fierce, or in red whirling balls,

And fires the mountains with redoubled rage.

Black from the stroke, above, the smouldering pine

Stands a sad shatter'd trunk; and, stretch'd below,

A lifeless group the blasted cattle lie:

Here the soft flocks, with that same harmless look

They wore alive, and ruminating still

In fancy's eye; and there the frowning bull,

And ox half-rais'd. Struck on the castled cliff,

The venerable tower and spiry fane

Resign their aged pride. The gloomy woods

Start at the flash, and from their deep recess,

Wide-flaming out, their trembling inmates shade

Amid Caernarvon's mountains rages loud

The repercussive roar; with mighty crush,

Into the flashing deep, from the rude rocks

Of Penmaenmawr heap'd hideous to the sky,

Tumble the smitten cliffs; and Snowdon's peak,

Dissolving, instant yields his wintry load.

Far-seen, the heights of heathy Cheviot blaze,

И Фула гудит во всех своих крайних островах. Вина слышит содрогнувшись, с глубоко встревоженной мыслью, И все же не всегда на виновную голову Снисходит роковая вспышка. Юный Целадон И его Амелия были несравненной парой; Сформированные с равной добродетелью и равной грацией, Одинаковые, различающиеся лишь полом: Ей принадлежал мягкий блеск цветущего утра, А ему — сияние взошедшего дня. Они любили: но такою была их невинная страсть, Какая на заре времен оплодотворяла сердце Невинности и нелживой правды. Это была дружба, усиленная взаимным желанием, Чарующей надеждой и сочувственным сиянием, Излучаемым из взаимных глаз. Посвящая все Любви, каждый был для каждого более дорогим «я»; Высшим образом счастливые в пробужденной силе Дарить радость. Одни, среди теней, Все еще в гармоничном общении они проживали Сельский день и изливали струящееся сердце, Или вздыхали и выглядывали невыразимые вещи.

So pass'd their life, a clear united stream,

By care unruffled; till, in evil hour,

The tempest caught them on the tender walk,

Heedless how far, and where its mazes stray'd,

While, with each other bless'd, creative love

Still bade eternal Eden smile around.

Heavy with instant fate, her bosom heav'd

Unwonted sighs, and stealing oft a look

Of the big gloom, on Celadon her eye

Fell tearful, wetting her disorder'd cheek.

In vain assuring love, and confidence

In Heaven, repress'd her fear; it grew, and shook

Her frame near dissolution. He perceiv'd

The unequal conflict; and, as angels look

On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed,

With love illumin'd high. "Fear not," he said,

"Sweet innocence! thou stranger to offense,

And inward storm! He who yon skies involves

In frowns and darkness, ever smiles on thee

With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft

That wastes at midnight, or the undreaded hour

Of noon, flies harmless; and that very voice

Which thunders terror through the guilty heart,

With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine.

'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus

To clasp perfection!" From his void embrace,

Mysterious Heaven! that moment, to the ground,

A blacken'd corse, was struck the beauteous maid,

But who can paint the lover, as he stood,

Pierc'd by severe amazement, hating life,

Speechless, and fix'd in all the death of woe!

So, faint resemblance, on the marble tomb

The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands,

Forever silent, and forever sad.

As from the face of heaven the shatter'd clouds

Tumultuous rove, the interminable sky

Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands

A purer azure. Nature, from the storm,

Shines out afresh; and through the lighten'd air

A higher lustre and a clearer calm,

Diffusive, tremble; while, as if in sign

Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy,

Set off abundant by the yellow ray,

Invests the fields, yet dropping from distress.

'Tis beauty all, and grateful song around,

Join'd to the low of kine, and numerous bleat

Of flocks thick-nibbling through the clover'd vale.

And shall the hymn be marr'd by thankless man,

Most-favor'd; who with voice articulate

Should lead the chorus of this lower world?

Shall he, so soon forgetful of the hand

That hush'd the thunder, and serenes the sky,

Extinguish'd feel that spark the tempest wak'd,

That sense of powers exceeding far his own,

Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears?

Cheer'd by the milder beam, the sprightly youth

Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth

A sandy bottom shows. Awhile he stands

Gazing the inverted landscape, half-afraid

To meditate the blue profound below;

Then plunges headlong down the circling flood.

His ebon tresses and his rosy cheek

Instant emerge; and through the obedient wave,

At each short breathing by his lip repell'd,

With arms and legs according well, he makes,

As humor leads, an easy-winding path;

While, from his polish'd sides, a dewy light

Effuses on the pleas'd spectators round.

This is the purest exercise of health,

The kind refresher of the summer heats,

Nor, when cold Winter keens the brightening flood,

Would I weak-shivering linger on the brink.

Thus life redoubles; and is oft preserved,

By the bold swimmer, in the swift illapse

Of accident disastrous. Hence the limbs

Knit into force; and the same Roman arm

That rose victorious o'er the conquer'd earth,

First learned, while tender, to subdue the wave.

Even, from the body's purity, the mind

Receives a secret sympathetic aid.

Close in the covert of an hazel copse,

Where winded into pleasing solitudes

Runs out the rambling dale, young Damon sat;

Pensive, and pierc'd with love's delightful pangs.

There to the stream that down the distant rocks

Hoarse-murmuring fell, and plaintive breeze that play'd

Among the bending willows, falsely he

Of Musidora's cruelty complain'd.

She felt his flame; but deep within her breast,

In bashful coyness, or in maiden pride,

The soft return conceal'd—save when it stole

In sidelong glances from her downcast eye,

Or from her swelling soul in stifled sighs.

Touched by the scene, no stranger to his vows,

He fram'd a melting lay, to try her heart;

And, if an infant passion struggled there,

To call that passion forth. Thrice-happy swain!

A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate

Of mighty monarchs, then decided thine.

For, lo! conducted by the laughing Loves,

This cool retreat his Musidora sought:

Warm in her cheek the sultry season glow'd;

And, rob'd in loose array, she came to bathe

Her fervent limbs in the refreshing stream.

What shall he do? In sweet confusion lost,

And dubious flutterings, he awhile remain'd.

A pure ingenuous elegance of soul,

A delicate refinement known to few,

Perplex'd his breast, and urg'd him to retire;

But love forbade. Ye prudes in virtue, say,

Say, ye severest, what would you have done?

Meantime, this fairer nymph than ever bless'd

Arcadian stream, with timid eye around

The banks surveying, stripp'd her beauteous limbs

To taste the lucid coolness of the flood.

Ah! then, not Paris on the piny top

Of Ida panted stronger, when aside

The rival goddesses the vail divine

Cast unconfin'd, and gave him all their charms,

Than, Damon, thou; as from the snowy leg,

And slender foot, the inverted silk she drew;

As the soft touch dissolv'd the virgin zone;

And, through the parting robe, the alternate breast,

With youth wild-throbbing, on thy lawless gaze

In full luxuriance rose. But, desperate youth,

How durst thou risk the soul-distracting view,

As from her naked limbs, of glowing white,

Harmonious swell'd by Nature's finest hand,

In folds loose-floating fell the fainter lawn,

And fair expos'd she stood—shrunk from herself,

With fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze

Alarm'd, and starting like the fearful fawn?

Then to the flood she rush'd: the parted flood

Its lovely guest with closing waves received,

And every beauty softening, every grace

Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed—

As shines the lily through the crystal mild,

Or as the rose amid the morning dew,

Fresh from Aurora's hand, more sweetly glows.

While thus she wanton'd now beneath the wave

But ill-concealed, and now with streaming locks,

That half-embrac'd her in a humid vail,

Rising again, the latent Damon drew

Such maddening draughts of beauty to the soul,

As for a while o'erwhelm'd his raptur'd thought

With luxury too daring. Check'd, at last.

By love's respectful modesty, he deem'd

The theft profane, if aught profane to love

Can e'er be deem'd, and, struggling from the shade,

With headlong hurry fled; but first these lines,

Trac'd by his ready pencil, on the bank

With trembling hand he threw: "Bathe on, my fair,

Yet unbeheld save by the sacred eye

Of faithful love: I go to guard thy haunt;

To keep from thy recess each vagrant foot,

And each licentious eye." With wild surprise,

As if to marble struck, devoid of sense,

A stupid moment motionless she stood:

So stands the statue that enchants the world:

So bending tries to vail the matchless boast,

The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.

Recovering, swift she flew to find those robes

Which blissful Eden knew not; and, array'd

In careless haste, the alarming paper snatch'd.

But when her Damon's well known hand she saw

Her terrors vanish'd, and a softer train

Of mix'd emotions, hard to be describ'd,

Her sudden bosom seiz'd: shame void of guilt,

The charming blush of innocence, esteem

And admiration of her lover's flame,

By modesty exalted. Even a sense

Of self-approving beauty stole across

Her busy thought. At length, a tender calm

Hushed by degrees the tumult of her soul,

And on the spreading beech, that o'er the stream

Incumbent hung, she with the sylvan pen

Of rural lovers this confession carv'd,

Which soon her Damon kiss'd with weeping joy:

"Dear youth! sole judge of what these verses mean,

Слишком балуемые фортуной, но любовью, Увы, не менее балуемые, оставайтесь по-прежнему Благоразумными, может настать время, когда вам не нужно будет бежать». Солнце утратило свою ярость; его нисходящий диск Излучает теперь лишь оживляющее тепло И жизненный блеск; который разноцветным лучом Подсвечивает облака, те прекрасные одежды небес, Непрерывно скручивающиеся в романтические формы, Мечту бодрствующей фантазии! Широко внизу, Покрытая созревающими плодами и быстро набухающая В совершенный год, беременная земля И все ее племена радуются. Вот мягкий час Прогулок наступает: для того, кто в одиночестве любит Искать отдаленные холмы и там беседовать С Природой; там приводить в гармонию свое сердце И в патетической песне расточать Гармонию для других. Общественные друзья [Друзья по общению], Настроенные на счастливое унисон душ — К чьему возвышающему глазу более прекрасный мир,

Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse,

Displays its charms—whose minds are richly fraught

With philosophic stores, superior light—

And in whose breast, enthusiastic, burns

Virtue the sons of interest deem romance,

Now call'd abroad enjoy the falling day:

Now to the verdant portico of woods,

To Nature's vast lyceum, forth they walk;

By that kind school where no proud master reigns,

The full free converse of the friendly heart,

Improving and improv'd. Now from the world,

Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal,

And pour their souls in transport, which the Sire

Of love approving hears, and calls it good.

Which way, Amanda, shall we bend our course?

The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we choose?

All is the same with thee. Say shall we wind

Along the streams? or walk the smiling mead;

Or court the forest glades? or wander wild

Among the waving harvests? or ascend,

While radiant Summer opens all its pride,

Thy hill, delightful Sheen? Here let us sweep

The boundless landscape; now the raptur'd eye

Exulting swift, to huge Augusta send,

Now to the sister-hills that skirt her plain

To lofty Harrow now, and now to where

Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow.

In lovely contrast to this glorious view,

Calmly magnificent, then will we turn

To where the silver Thames first rural grows.

There let the feasted eye unwearied stray;

Luxurious, there, rove through the pendent woods

That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat,

And stooping thence to Ham's embowering walks,

Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retir'd,

With her the pleasing partner of his heart,

The worthy Queensbury yet laments his Gay,

And polish'd Cornbury woos the willing muse,

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames—

Fair-winding up to where the muses haunt

In Twit'nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore

The healing god, to royal Hampton's pile,

To Clermont's terrac'd height, and Esher's groves,

Where in the sweetest solitude, embrac'd

By the soft windings of the silent Mole,

From courts and senates Pelham finds repose.

Enchanting vale! beyond whate'er the muse

Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung!

O vale of bliss! O softly swelling hills!

On which the power of cultivation lies,

And joys to see the wonders of his toil.

Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around,

Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires,

And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all

The stretching landscape into smoke decays!

Happy Britannia! where the queen of arts,

Inspiring vigor, liberty abroad

Walks, unconfin'd, even to thy farthest cots,

And scatters plenty, with unsparing hand.

Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime:

Thy streams unfailing in the Summer's drought

Unmatch'd thy guardian oaks; thy valleys float

With golden waves; and on thy mountains flocks

Bleat numberless—while, roving round their sides,

Bellow the blackening herds in lusty droves.

Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquell'd

Against the mower's scythe. On every hand

Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth

And property assures it to the swain,

Pleas'd and unwearied in his guarded toil.

Full are thy cities with the sons of art;

And trade and joy, in every busy street,

Mingling are heard: even drudgery himself.

Поскольку он потеет у повозки или в пыли тешет Дворецкий камень [камень для дворца], выглядит веселым. Твои переполненные порты, Где поднимающиеся мачты открывают бесконечную перспективу, Горят трудом и отзываются эхом на крики Торопливого матроса, когда он сердечно машет Своим последним прощанием и, отдавая каждый шкот, Вверяет распустившееся судно ветру. Смелые, твердые и изящные — твои великодушные юноши, Закаленные лишениями и воодушевленные опасностью, Сеющие страх среди народов, куда бы они ни направлялись; и первые Или на арене ристалища, или в бурных морях. Мягки и твои славы, когда над планами Процветающего мира председательствуют твои задумчивые отцы; Высокие гением и основательным учением; Славные каждой добродетелью, каждым достоинством; Искренние, простодушные, гостеприимные, добрые; И все же, подобно собирающемуся грому при провокации, Угроза тиранов и единственный оплот Тех, кто стонет под мрачным угнетением. Твоих сынов славы не счесть! Твой — Альфред, В котором великолепие героической войны И более героического мира, когда им хорошо правят,

Combine; whose hallow'd name the virtues saint,

And his own muses love—the best of kings.

With him thy Edwards and thy Henrys shine,

Names dear to fame, the first who deep impress'd

On haughty Gaul the terror of thy arms,

That awes her genius still. In statesmen thou,

And patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More,

Who, with a generous though mistaken zeal,

Withstood a brutal tyrant's useful rage,

Like Cato firm, like Aristides just,

Like rigid Cincinnatus nobly poor—

A dauntless soul erect, who smil'd on death.

Frugal and wise, a Walsingham is thine;

A Drake, who made thee mistress of the deep,

And bore thy name in thunder round the world.

Then flam'd thy spirit high; but who can speak

The numerous worthies of the maiden-reign?

In Raleigh mark their every glory mix'd;

Raleigh, the scourge of Spain; whose breast with all

The sage, the patriot, and the hero burn'd.

Nor sunk his vigor when a coward reign

The warrior fetter'd, and at last resign'd,

To glut the vengeance of a vanquish'd foe.

Then, active still and unrestrain'd, his mind

Explor'd the vast extent of ages past,

And with his prison-hours enrich'd the world;

Yet found no times, in all the long research,

So glorious, or so base, as those he prov'd,

In which he conquer'd, and in which he bled.

Nor can the muse the gallant Sidney pass,

The plume of war! with early laurels crown'd,

The lover's myrtle, and the poet's bay.

A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land,

Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul,

Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age

To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again,

In all thy native pomp of freedom bold.

Bright, at his call, thy age of men effulg'd;

Of men on whom late time a kindling eye

Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read.

Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew

The grave where Russell lies; whose temper'd blood,

With calmest cheerfulness for thee resign'd,

Stain'd the sad annals of a giddy reign—

Aiming at lawless power, though meanly sunk

In loose inglorious luxury. With him

His friend, the British Cassius, fearless bled;

Of high determin'd spirit, roughly brave,

By ancient learning to the enlighten'd love

Of ancient freedom warm'd. Fair thy renown

In awful sages and in noble bards

Soon as the light of dawning science spread

Her orient ray, and wak'd the muses' song.

Thine is a Bacon, hapless in his choice;

Unfit to stand the civil storm of state,

And through the smooth barbarity of courts,

With firm but pliant virtue, forward still

To urge his course. Him for the studious shade

Kind Nature form'd, deep, comprehensive, clear,

Exact, and elegant; in one rich soul,

Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully join'd.

The great deliverer he! who from the gloom

Of cloister'd monks, and jargon-teaching schools,

Led forth the true philosophy, there long

Held in the magic chain of words and forms,

And definitions void: he led her forth,

Daughter of heaven! that slow-ascending still,

Investigating sure the chain of things,

With radiant finger points to heaven again.

The generous Ashley thine, the friend of man;

Who scann'd his nature with a brother's eye,

His weakness prompt to shade, to raise his aim,

To touch the finer movements of the mind,

And with the moral beauty charm the heart

Why need I name thy Boyle, whose pious search,

Amid the dark recesses of his works,

The great Creator sought? And why thy Locke,

Who made the whole internal world his own?

Let Newton, pure intelligence, whom God

To mortals lent, to trace his boundless works

From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame

In all philosophy. For lofty sense,

Creative fancy, and inspection keen

Through the deep windings of the human heart,

Is not wild Shakspeare thine and Nature's boast?

Is not each great, each amiable muse

Of classic ages, in thy Milton met?

A genius universal as his theme,

Astonishing as chaos, as the bloom

Of blowing Eden fair, as heaven sublime.

Nor shall my verse that elder bard forget,

The gentle Spenser, fancy's pleasing son,

Who, like a copious river, pour'd his song

O'er all the mazes of enchanted ground;

Nor thee, his ancient master, laughing sage,

Chaucer, whose native manners painting verse,

Well moraliz'd, shines through the Gothic cloud

Of time and language o'er thy genius thrown.

May my song soften, as thy daughters I,

Britannia, hail! for beauty is their own,

The feeling heart, simplicity of life,

And elegance, and taste; the faultless form,

Shap'd by the hand of harmony; the cheek,

Where the live crimson, through the native white

Soft-shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom,

And every nameless grace; the parted lip,

Like the red rose-bud moist with morning dew,

Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet,

Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown,

The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast,

The look resistless, piercing to the soul,

And by the soul informed, when dress'd in love

She sits high-smiling in the conscious eye.

Island of bliss! amid the subject seas

That thunder round thy rocky coasts, set up,

At once the wonder, terror, and delight

Of distant nations; whose remotest shore

Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm;

Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults

Baffling, like thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave.

O Thou by whose almighty nod the scale

Of empire rises, or alternate falls,

Send forth the saving virtues round the land,

In bright patrol: white peace, and social love;

The tender-looking charity, intent

On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles

Undaunted truth, and dignity of mind;

Courage compos'd, and keen; sound temperance,

Healthful in heart and look; clear chastity,

With blushes reddening as she moves along,

Disorder'd at the deep regard she draws;

Rough industry; activity untir'd,

With copious life inform'd, and all awake;

While in the radiant front, superior shines

That first paternal virtue, public zeal—

Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey,

And, ever musing on the common weal,

Still labors glorious with some great design.

Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees,

Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds

Assembled gay, a richly gorgeous train,

In all their pomp attend his setting throne.

Air, earth, and ocean smile immense. And now

As if his weary chariot sought the bowers

Of Amphitritè and her tending nymphs,

(So Grecian fable sung) he dips his orb;

Now half immers'd; and now a golden curve;

Gives one bright glance, then total disappears

Forever running an enchanted round,

Passes the day, deceitful, vain, and void;

As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain,

This moment hurrying wild the impassion'd soul,

The next in nothing lost. 'Tis so to him,

The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank:

A sight of horror to the cruel wretch

Who, all day long in sordid pleasure roll'd,

Himself an useless load, has squander'd vile,

Upon his scoundrel train, what might have cheer'd

A drooping family of modest worth.

But to the generous still-improving mind,

That gives the hopeless heart to sing for joy,

Diffusing kind beneficence around,

Boastless, as now descends the silent dew—

To him the long review of order'd life

Is inward rapture, only to be felt.

Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds,

All ether softening, sober evening takes

Her wonted station in the middle air;

A thousand shadows at her beck. First this

She sends on earth; then that of deeper dye

Steals soft behind, and then a deeper still,

In circle following circle, gathers round,

To close the face of things. A fresher gale

Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream,

Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn;

While the quail clamors for his running mate,

Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze,

A whitening shower of vegetable down

Amusive floats. The kind impartial care

Of Nature naught disdains: thoughtful to feed

Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year,

From field to field the feather'd seeds she wings.

Свой сбереженный скот домой пастух Бредет веселый; и порой спешит Румяной доярке ведро наполнить; Ту девушку, что, может быть, слепец- Его сердечко, смысла не постигря Тех смешанных с тобою мук и радостей, Любит искренне — язык являет лучший, В сердечных взглядах и любезных жестах. Вперед они идут, крутой подъем Преодолев, и скрытую долину, Где вечерком толпится шумный эльф,

В забавах разных летнюю ночную Пору провесть, как сказки говорят. - Но далеко обходят те могилы Того, кого жестокая судьба Заставила на грудь свою больную Руку поднять нечестиво-злую. Оставлена и башня, где, в ночном Преданьи грезят, вопли призраков Слышны средь мрачных стен. По изгородям Там светлячок сияет самоцветом; И сквозь туман мерцает огонек Блуждающий. Всю землю вечер дарит Ночи; не в плаще зимнем, громоздком, Из ткани мрачной, но в одежде легкой, В плаще тусклом. И луч неверный, бледный, Что отражен от вещей неуклюжих, Бросает тень на напряженный взор; Меж тем леса, деревни и потоки, И скалы, и вершины тех высот, Что блеск ушедший долго сохраняли, Слились все в массу зыбкую, едва Различимую. К небесам усталым Тогда взор устремляется; где мягко Часы любви ведет, сияя чисто, Красавица Венера; и едва День увядает, вплоть до новой зорьки, Царит безраздельно, светоч ночи лучший. И жадно пью я этот трепетный Блеск озаренья, молнии сверкают По небесам; иль чертят горизонтально Фигуры чудо-дивные — толпой Испуганной, гудящей...

Portentous deem'd. Amid the radiant orbs

That more than deck, that animate the sky,

The life-infusing suns of other worlds,

Lo! from the dread immensity of space

Returning, with accelerated course,

The rushing cornet to the sun descends;

And as he sinks below the shading earth,

With awful train projected o'er the heavens,

The guilty nations tremble. But, above

Those superstitious horrors that enslave

The fond sequacious herd, to mystic faith

And blind amazement prone, the enliven'd few,

Whose god-like minds philosophy exalts,

The glorious stranger hail. They feel a joy

Divinely great: they in their powers exult,

That wondrous force of thought which mounting spurns

This dusky spot and measures all the sky,

While from his far excursion through the wilds

Of barren ether, faithful to his time,

They see the blazing wonder rise anew,

In seeming terror clad, but kindly bent

To work the will of all sustaining Love;

From his huge vapory train perhaps to shake

Reviving moisture on the numerous orbs

Through which his long ellipsis winds—perhaps

To lend new fuel to declining suns,

To light up worlds, and feed eternal fire.

With thee, serene philosophy, with thee,

And thy bright garland, let me crown my song!

Effusive source of evidence, and truth!

A lustre shedding o'er the ennobled mind,

Stronger than summer noon; and pure as that

Whose mild vibrations soothe the parted soul,

New to the dawning of celestial day.

Hence through her nourish'd powers, enlarg'd by thee,

She springs aloft, with elevated pride,

Above the tangling mass of low desires

That bind the fluttering crowd; and, angel-wing'd.

The heights of science and of virtue gains,

Where all is calm and clear; with nature round,

Or in the starry regions, or the abyss,