قراءة كتاب Fables
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 5
‘To me,’ the lofty Stork aver’d,
‘This seems a most plebeian bird.
With nails so long and legs so short,
He cannot be of noble sort;
Tho’ in his nose, I must confess,
I see some sign of gentleness.
I cannot really stoop so far
(Whom all the Frogs and Mice in war
Already have confess’d their king)
As rival this uncrowned thing.
My subjects would at once repine
Nor let me eat ’em, I opine,
As all contented subjects should,
Did I disgrace my royal blood.’
Which heard, the fiery Eagle’s eyes
With noble anger and surprise
Flash’d out. ‘Still dear what is most cheap
Ye little woodland creatures keep,’
He cried; and flung aloft his head,
Gazed up to heaven, his pinions spread
(The wind of which made timorous stir
Among the things that round him were)
And leaping on the air begun
Ascent, and vanish’d in the sun.
With noble anger and surprise
Flash’d out. ‘Still dear what is most cheap
Ye little woodland creatures keep,’
He cried; and flung aloft his head,
Gazed up to heaven, his pinions spread
(The wind of which made timorous stir
Among the things that round him were)
And leaping on the air begun
Ascent, and vanish’d in the sun.
Alastor
’Tis said that a noble Youth of old
Was to his native village lost
And to his home and aged sire;
For he had wander’d (it is told)
Where, pinnacled in eternal Frost,
Apollo leads his awful Choir.
Was to his native village lost
And to his home and aged sire;
For he had wander’d (it is told)
Where, pinnacled in eternal Frost,
Apollo leads his awful Choir.
Awful, for nought of human warms
The agony of Their Song sublime,
Which like the breath of Ice is given,
Ascending in vapour from all forms,
Where Gods in clear alternate chime
Reveal Their mystery-thoughts to Heaven.
The agony of Their Song sublime,
Which like the breath of Ice is given,
Ascending in vapour from all forms,
Where Gods in clear alternate chime
Reveal Their mystery-thoughts to Heaven.
Nor in those regions of windless Cold
Is fiery the Sun tho’ fierce in light;
But frozen-pale the numbed Moon
Wanders along the ridges that fold
Enormous Peaks, what time the Night
Rivals with all her stars the Noon.
Is fiery the Sun tho’ fierce in light;
But frozen-pale the numbed Moon
Wanders along the ridges that fold
Enormous Peaks, what time the Night
Rivals with all her stars the Noon.
For there, not dimly as here, the Stars,
But globed and azure and crimson tinct,
Climb up the windless wastes of Snow,
Gold-footed, or thro’ the long-drawn bars
Of mountain Mist with eyes unblink’d
And scorn, gaze down on the world below;
But globed and azure and crimson tinct,
Climb up the windless wastes of Snow,
Gold-footed, or thro’ the long-drawn bars
Of mountain Mist with eyes unblink’d
And scorn, gaze down on the world below;
Or high on the topmost Peak and end
Of ranges stand with sudden blaze,
Like Angels born in spontaneous birth;
Or wrap themselves in flame and descend
Between black foreheads of Rock in haze,
Slowly like grieved gods to earth.
Of ranges stand with sudden blaze,
Like Angels born in spontaneous birth;
Or wrap themselves in flame and descend
Between black foreheads of Rock in haze,
Slowly like grieved gods to earth.
And there for ever the patient Wind
Rakes up the crystals of dry Snow,
And mourns for ever her work undone;
And there for ever, like Titans blind
Their countenance lifting to Heaven’s glow,
The sightless Mountains yearn for the Sun.
Rakes up the crystals of dry Snow,
And mourns for ever her work undone;
And there for ever, like Titans blind
Their countenance lifting to Heaven’s glow,
The sightless Mountains yearn for the Sun.
There nightly the numbed Eagle quells
(Full-feathered to his feet of horn)
His swooning eye, his eyrie won,
And slumbers, frozen by frosty spells
Fast to the pinnacle; but at Morn
Unfettered, leaps toward the Sun.
(Full-feathered to his feet of horn)
His swooning eye, his eyrie won,
And slumbers, frozen by frosty spells
Fast to the pinnacle; but at Morn
Unfettered, leaps toward the Sun.
He heard, he saw. Not to the air
Dared breathe a breath; but with his sight
Wreak’d on Immortals mortal wrong,
And dared to see them as they were—
The black Peaks blacken’d in Their light,
The white Stars flashing with Their song.
Dared breathe a breath; but with his sight
Wreak’d on Immortals mortal wrong,
And dared to see them as they were—
The black Peaks blacken’d in Their light,
The white Stars flashing with Their song.
So fled. But when revealing Morn
Show’d him descended, Giant grown,
Men ant-like, petty, mean and weak,
He rush’d returning. Then in scorn
Th’ Immortals smote him to a Stone
That aches for ever on the Peak.
Show’d him descended, Giant grown,
Men ant-like, petty, mean and weak,
He rush’d returning. Then in scorn
Th’ Immortals smote him to a Stone
That aches for ever on the Peak.
Ocean and the Rock
The Rock. Cease, O rude and raging Sea,
Thus to waste thy war on me.
Hast thou not enough assail’d
All these ages, Fool, and fail’d?
Thus to waste thy war on me.
Hast thou not enough assail’d
All these ages, Fool, and fail’d?
The Ocean. Gaunt and ghastly Skeleton,
Remnant of a time that’s gone,
Tott’ring in thy last decay
Durst thou still to darken day?
Remnant of a time that’s gone,
Tott’ring in thy last decay
Durst thou still to darken day?
The Rock. Empty Brawler brawl no more;
Cease to waste thy watery war
On my bastion’d Bases broad,
Sanctified by Time and God.
Cease to waste thy watery war
On my bastion’d Bases broad,
Sanctified by Time and God.
The Ocean. Thou that beëst but to be,
Scornest thou my Energy?
Not much longer lasts the strife.
I am Labour, I am Life.
Scornest thou my Energy?
Not much longer lasts the strife.
I am Labour, I am Life.
The Rock. Roar then, roar, and vent thy Surge;
Thou not now shalt drone my dirge.
Dost imagine to dismay
This my iron breast with Spray?
Thou not now shalt drone my dirge.
Dost imagine to dismay
This my iron breast with Spray?
The Ocean. Relic of primaeval slime,
I shall whelm thee in my time.
Changeless thou dost ever die;
Changing but immortal, I.
I shall whelm thee in my time.
Changeless thou dost ever die;
Changing but immortal, I.
Death and Love
Death, pacing between a ghastly Moon
Dying low down on the western Hills
And the Star, bright usher of the Morn,
The clear Dawn cryophor,
Dying low down on the western Hills
And the Star, bright usher of the Morn,
The clear Dawn cryophor,
Trod frosty footprints in the dew
Upon a ridge; and beholding there
A lovely Lady lain below
His tingling Arrow sped—
Upon a ridge; and beholding there
A lovely Lady lain below
His tingling Arrow sped—
A Barb with a burning icicle tip’d,
Torn from the frore beard of the Northern Star
That stares on the shuddering pyramids
Of crumbling Arctic ice.
Torn from the frore beard of the Northern Star
That stares on the shuddering pyramids
Of crumbling Arctic ice.
With his Arrow he smote her and cried,
‘Come not here!
Not here will I bear thee. This is My world—
The world of Death where Beauty dies,
And I, I Death am god.’
‘Come not here!
Not here will I bear thee. This is My world—
The world of Death where Beauty dies,
And I, I Death am god.’
She sobbing arose, and sobbing sank;
And would have perish’d, but Love that way
Fell like a flame, and supported her
And warm’d her dying hands;
And would have perish’d, but Love that way
Fell like a flame, and supported her
And warm’d her dying hands;
And said to him, ‘Fool, the touch of thy barb
Is poison that I can poison with Love;
For as thou art Death unto all the world,
Even so am I Death to thee.’
Is poison that I can poison with Love;
For as thou art Death unto all the world,
Even so am I Death to thee.’
Calypso to Ulysses
’ ’’’ ’’’ ’’’
’ ’’’ ’’’ ’’
’ ’’’ ’’’ ’’
Go, go from me sorrowful Wanderer—
Go, go from me, tho’ no Man dearer
Than thou art. The Stars will revisit me,
And Thou not forget me O Ocean.
Go, go from me, tho’ no Man dearer
Than thou art. The Stars will revisit me,
And Thou not forget me O Ocean.
Alone here, alone in my Solitude
I’ll sit by the Ocean for ever,
And mourn for the Hero so lost to me—
So loved by me, Lost, and no omen.
I’ll sit by the Ocean for ever,
And mourn for the Hero so lost to me—
So loved by me, Lost, and no omen.
Monotonous Waters shall sing to me;
Shall sigh to me, sing of my Hero.
Immortal like me is my Misery,
And when will my Sorrow grow older.
Shall sigh to me, sing of my Hero.
Immortal like me is my Misery,
And when will my Sorrow grow older.
Immortal like me is my Love for thee;
But mortal like thee, alas, thine is.
I have no enchantment to quicken thee,
Nor thou to console me with Death.
But mortal like thee, alas, thine is.
I have no enchantment to quicken thee,
Nor thou to console me with Death.
The Star and the Sun
In Darkness and pacing the thunder-beat Shore
By many Waves,
No sound being near to me there but the hoarse
Cicala’s cry,
While that unseen Sword, the Zodiacal Light,
Falchion of Dawn,
Made clear all the Orient and wanner the Silvery Stars,
By many Waves,
No sound being near to me there but the hoarse
Cicala’s cry,
While that unseen Sword, the Zodiacal Light,
Falchion of Dawn,
Made clear all the Orient and wanner the Silvery Stars,
I heard the fine flute of the Fast Fading Fire,
The Morning Star,
Pipe thus to the Glimmering Glories of Night,
And sing, ‘O World,
If I even leave thee then Who can remain?’
But from the Deep
The Thundering Sun upsprang, and replied, ‘Even I.’
The Morning Star,
Pipe thus to the Glimmering Glories of Night,
And sing, ‘O World,
If I even leave thee then Who can remain?’
But from the Deep
The Thundering Sun upsprang, and replied, ‘Even I.’
The Poet’s Retirement
Down from that blithe Idalian Hill
Where Violets drink of dew their fill,
And wading thro’ wet eastern Flowers
With wash’d feet Eos and the Hours
Come laughing down, I laughing came.
Where Violets drink of dew their fill,
And wading thro’ wet eastern Flowers
With wash’d feet Eos and the Hours
Come laughing down, I laughing came.
The Morn had now her threads of flame
Inlaid to Earth’s green tapestries,
Gold-inwoven; and to their knees
In chilly baths of thridding rills
At tremble stood luce Daffodils;
When lo I mark’d toward me move
Those Maidens Three whom poets love.
‘O whither away, rash Youth,’ they cried,
‘Singing thro’ daffodils dost thou stride?’
‘Ladies, I wander for a while’—
And here I duck’d and doff’d in style—
‘I wander by Bourn, I wander by Byre,
By Cape and Cote and Castle Spire,
And sometime stick in puddled Mire;
Or where the shrieking moon-drawn Tides
Drench dripping jags on Mountain sides;
Or twanging strings sound gay reprieve
To smoky Villages at eve,
The while toward their wattled home
The baaing Sheep do go, I roam,
And when the paddock’d Ass careers
Mirthful, with high prick’d tail and ears.
And I have left behind me there
My Hippocrate teaching the air;
And Learning prim; and Venus too
Now whipping Cupid with her shoe.’
Then, of those slipper’d Maidens, She
Robed in flush rose red answer’d me,
Who brightly gazing with mild look
Held still a finger-parted book.
‘Come then,’ she cried, ‘with me and dwell
In my Valley of Asphodel,
Which is a land of laughing rills
And hung about with dazzling hills,
Where oft the Swain with garter’d legs
Piping for love in music begs
Nor Thisbe turns her petulant ear.
There large-eyed Plato thou may’st here
Persuade, or, if not idly awed,
Masters a Master’s theme applaud.
Or if the Thunder more invite
Than silver-threaded rain’s delight
And sloping seats of knolled moss,
Come where some thwarted Torrent toss
Thro’ his black gorges, mad to break
The shining levels of the Lake.
Or, if engross’d with human Fate,
On ranged boards mark Love and Hate
Egg on to midnight-living crime,
And glaring Horrors of dead time
Creep in behind. Or, restive still,
Unlock’d from Hell soar Heaven’s
Inlaid to Earth’s green tapestries,
Gold-inwoven; and to their knees
In chilly baths of thridding rills
At tremble stood luce Daffodils;
When lo I mark’d toward me move
Those Maidens Three whom poets love.
‘O whither away, rash Youth,’ they cried,
‘Singing thro’ daffodils dost thou stride?’
‘Ladies, I wander for a while’—
And here I duck’d and doff’d in style—
‘I wander by Bourn, I wander by Byre,
By Cape and Cote and Castle Spire,
And sometime stick in puddled Mire;
Or where the shrieking moon-drawn Tides
Drench dripping jags on Mountain sides;
Or twanging strings sound gay reprieve
To smoky Villages at eve,
The while toward their wattled home
The baaing Sheep do go, I roam,
And when the paddock’d Ass careers
Mirthful, with high prick’d tail and ears.
And I have left behind me there
My Hippocrate teaching the air;
And Learning prim; and Venus too
Now whipping Cupid with her shoe.’
Then, of those slipper’d Maidens, She
Robed in flush rose red answer’d me,
Who brightly gazing with mild look
Held still a finger-parted book.
‘Come then,’ she cried, ‘with me and dwell
In my Valley of Asphodel,
Which is a land of laughing rills
And hung about with dazzling hills,
Where oft the Swain with garter’d legs
Piping for love in music begs
Nor Thisbe turns her petulant ear.
There large-eyed Plato thou may’st here
Persuade, or, if not idly awed,
Masters a Master’s theme applaud.
Or if the Thunder more invite
Than silver-threaded rain’s delight
And sloping seats of knolled moss,
Come where some thwarted Torrent toss
Thro’ his black gorges, mad to break
The shining levels of the Lake.
Or, if engross’d with human Fate,
On ranged boards mark Love and Hate
Egg on to midnight-living crime,
And glaring Horrors of dead time
Creep in behind. Or, restive still,
Unlock’d from Hell soar Heaven’s