Избранная лирика - Вордсворт Уильям - Страница 51

51

ВЛИЯНИЕ ПРИРОДЫ НА РАЗВИТИЕ ВООБРАЖЕНИЯ В ДЕТСТВЕ И РАННЕЙ ЮНОСТИ[78]

                    О ты, великий Дух предвечной мысли,                     Единая душа и мудрость мира,                     Ты образам даешь дыханье жизни                     И вечное движенье. Нет, недаром,                     Когда встречал еще я утро жизни,                     И днем и в свете звезд в душе моей                     Все чувства, в ней живущие, сплетались                     Не с суетным стремлением к тому,                     Что создано рукою человека,                     А с вечными порывами к Природе                     И к жизни. Очищалась мысль моя                     Священной скорбью и священным страхом,                     И я учился постигать величье                     Биенья человеческого сердца.                     Мне этих откровений благодать                     Уделена была рукою щедрой,                     Я ощущал присутствие ее                     И в ноябре, когда туман тяжелый                     Окутывал унылую долину                     Покровом мрачным; и в полдневный час                     В глуши лесов, и тихой летней ночью,                     Когда один домой я возвращался                     Вдоль озера среди холмов угрюмых;                     Я чувствовал ее и днем в полях,                     И в час ночной у озера, и летом,                     И в зимний день, когда садилось солнце                     И далеко блестели окна хижин                     Сквозь сумерки морозные, когда                     Меня домой и не дозваться было.                     Счастливая для всех для нас пора!                     Как наслаждался я тогда! Бывало,                     На колокольне сельской ясно, звонко                     Бьет шесть часов, — а мне и дела нет,                     И я, как дикий конь, гордясь свободой,                     Бегу от дому прочь. Одев коньки,                     Мы шумною толпой несемся по льду,                     Изображая целую охоту,                     И звук рогов, и лай собачьей своры,                     И загнанного зайца. Дружным хором                     Звучат в морозном мраке голоса,                     Вдоль по обрывам отдаются гулко,                     Звенящие им вторят отголоски                     Оледеневших скал, деревьев голых,                     И лишь с холмов далеких чуждым звуком                     Врывается в наш общий гам и шум                     Печальный отклик эха. Мы не слышим                     Его до той поры, пока над нами                     Не вспыхнут звезды и закат багряный                     Не скроется на западе совсем.                     Но часто я из этой суматохи                     Вдруг ускользал в залив уединенный                     И, оглядевшись, долго с любопытством                     Следил, как вдаль по ледяной равнине                     Мелькает яркий отблеск звезд далеких                     Среди ватаги, мчащейся к нему.                     Или когда наперегонки с ветром                     Летели мы, и нам неслись навстречу                     Окутанные мраком берега, —                     Откинувшись на каблуки, внезапно                     Я круто останавливал свой бег                     И озирался; скалы продолжали                     Бежать навстречу, будто для меня                     Вдруг видимым земли вращенье стало,                     И я глядел им вслед, как постепенно                     Они свое движенье замедляли                     И снова все недвижным становилось,                     Как в летний день безветренное море.

LAODAMIA

                "With sacrifice before the rising mom                 Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;                 And from the infernal Gods, 'mid shades forlorn                 Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required:                 Celestial pity I again implore; —                 Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!"                 So speaking, and by fervent love endowed                 With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands;                 While, like the sun emerging from a cloud,                 Her countenance brightens-and her eye expands;                 Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows;                 And she expects the issue in repose.                 О terror! what hath she perceived? — О joy!                 What doth she look on? — whom doth she behold?                 Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?                 His vital presence? his corporeal mould?                 It is — if sense deceive her not — 'tis He!                 And a God leads him, winged Mercury!                 Mild Hermes spake — and touched her with his wand                 That calms all fear; "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,                 Laodamia! that at Jove's command                 Thy Husband walks the paths of upper air:                 He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space;                 Accept the gift, behold him face to face!"                 Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord to clasp;                 Again that consummation she essayed;                 But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp                 As often as that eager grasp was made.                 The Phantom parts — but parts to re-unite,                 And re-assume his place before her sight.                 "Protesilaus, lo! thy guide is gone!                 Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:                 This is our palace, — yonder is thy throne;                 Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.                 Not to appal me have the gods bestowed                 This precious boon; and blest a sad abode."                 "Great Jove, Laodamia! doth not leave                 His gifts imperfect: — Spectre though I be,                 I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;                 But in reward of thy fidelity.                 And something also did my worth obtain;                 For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.                 "Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold                 That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand                 Should die; but me the threat could not withhold:                 A generous cause a victim did demand;                 And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;                 A self-devoted chief-by Hector slain."                 "Supreme of Heroes-bravest, noblest, best!                 Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,                 Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest                 By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore;                 Thou found'st — and I forgive thee — here thou art —                 A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.                 "But thou, though capable of sternest deed,                 Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;                 And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed                 Thou should'st elude the malice of the grave:                 Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair                 As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.                 "No Spectre greets me, — no vain Shadow this;                 Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!                 Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss                 To me, this day, a second time thy bride!"                 Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcae threw                 Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.                 "This visage tells thee that my doom is past:                 Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys                 Of sense were able to return as fast                 And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys                 Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains:                 Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains.                 "Be taught, О faithful Consort, to control                 Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve                 The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;                 A fervent, not ungovernable, love.                 Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn                 When I depart, for brief is my sojourn — "                 "Ah, wherefore? — Did not Hercules by force                 Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb                 Alcestis, a reanimated corse,                 Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?                 Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,                 And Aeson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.                 "The Gods to us are merciful — and they                 Yet further may relent: for mightier far                 Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway                 Of magic potent over sun and star,                 Is love, though oft to agony distrest,                 And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast.                 "But if thou goest, I follow — " "Peace!" he said, —                 She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;                 The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;                 In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared                 Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,                 Brought from a pensive though a happy place.                 He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel                 In worlds whose course is equable and pure;                 No fears to beat away — no strife to heal —                 The past unsighed for, and the future sure;                 Spake of heroic arts in graver mood                 Revived, with finer harmony pursued;                 Of all that is most beauteous — imaged there                 In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,                 An ampler ether, a diviner air,                 And fields invested with purpureal gleams;                 Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day                 Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.                 Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earned                 That privilege by virtue. — "Ill," said he,                 "The end of man's existence I discerned,                 Who from ignoble games and revelry                 Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight,                 While tears were thy best pastime, day and night;                 "And while my youthful peers before my eyes                 (Each hero following his peculiar bent)                 Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise                 By martial sports, — or, seated in the tent,                 Chieftains andjcings in council were detained;                 What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.                 "The wished-for wind was given: — I then revolved                 The oracle, upon the silent sea;                 And, if no worthier led the way, resolved                 That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be                 The foremost prow in pressing to the strand, —                 Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.                 "Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang                 When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife!                 On thee too fondly did my memory hang,                 And on the joys we shared in mortal life, —                 The paths which we had trod — these fountains, flowers                 My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers.                 "But should suspense permit the Foe to cry,                 'Behold they tremble! — haughty their array,                 Yet of their number no one dares to die?'                 In soul I swept the indignity away:                 Old frailties then recurred: — but lofty thought,                 In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.                 "And Thou, though strong in love, art all too weak                 In reason, in self-government too slow;                 I counsel thee by fortitude to seek                 Our blest re-union in the shades below.                 The invisible world with thee hath sympathised;                 Be thy affections raised and solemnised.                 "Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend —                 Seeking a higher object. Love was given,                 Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end;                 For this the passion to excess was driven —                 That self might be annulled: her bondage prove                 The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." —                 Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears!                 Round the dear Shade she would have clung — 'tis vain:                 The hours are past — too brief had they been years;                 And him no mortal effort can detain:                 Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,                 He through the portal takes his silent way,                 And oh the palace-floor a lifeless corse She lay.                 Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved,                 She perished; and, as for a wilful crime,                 By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,                 Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,                 Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers                 Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.                 — Yet tears to human suffering are due;                 And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown                 Are mourned by man, and not by man alone,                 As fondly he believes. - Upon the side                 Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)                 A knot of spiry trees for ages grew                 From out the tomb of him for whom she died;                 And ever, when such stature they had gained                 That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,                 The trees' tall summits withered at the sight;                 A constant interchange of growth and blight!