Miscellaneous Writings and Speeches — Volume 3
полная версия
Аннотация
Читать онлайн
- -
- 100%
- +
TRANSLATION FROM A.V. ARNAULT. (1826.)
"Fables": Livre v. "Fable" 16 Thou poor leaf, so sear and frail, Sport of every wanton gale, Whence, and whither, dost thou fly, Through this bleak autumnal sky? On a noble oak I grew, Green, and broad, and fair to view; But the Monarch of the shade By the tempest low was laid. From that time, I wander o'er Wood, and valley, hill, and moor, Wheresoe'er the wind is blowing, Nothing caring, nothing knowing: Thither go I, whither goes, Glory's laurel, Beauty's rose. —De ta tige detachee, Pauvre feuille dessechee Ou vas tu?—Je n'en sais rien. L'orage a frappe le chene Qui seul etait mon soutien. De son inconstante haleine, Le zephyr ou l'aquilon Depuis ce jour me promene De la foret a la plaine, De la montagne au vallon. Je vais ou le vent me mene, Sans me plaindre ou m'effrayer, Je vais ou va toute chose Ou va la feuille de rose Et la feuille de laurier.DIES IRAE. (1826.)
On that great, that awful day, This vain world shall pass away. Thus the sibyl sang of old, Thus hath holy David told. There shall be a deadly fear When the Avenger shall appear, And unveiled before his eye All the works of man shall lie. Hark! to the great trumpet's tones Pealing o'er the place of bones: Hark! it waketh from their bed All the nations of the dead,— In a countless throng to meet, At the eternal judgment seat. Nature sickens with dismay, Death may not retain its prey; And before the Maker stand All the creatures of his hand. The great book shall be unfurled, Whereby God shall judge the world; What was distant shall be near, What was hidden shall be clear. To what shelter shall I fly? To what guardian shall I cry? Oh, in that destroying hour, Source of goodness, Source of power, Show thou, of thine own free grace, Help unto a helpless race. Though I plead not at thy throne Aught that I for thee have done, Do not thou unmindful be, Of what thou hast borne for me: Of the wandering, of the scorn, Of the scourge, and of the thorn. JESUS, hast THOU borne the pain, And hath all been borne in vain? Shall thy vengeance smite the head For whose ransom thou hast bled? Thou, whose dying blessing gave Glory to a guilty slave: Thou, who from the crew unclean Didst release the Magdalene: Shall not mercy vast and free, Evermore be found in thee? Father, turn on me thine eyes, See my blushes, hear my cries; Faint though be the cries I make, Save me for thy mercy's sake, From the worm, and from the fire, From the torments of thine ire. Fold me with the sheep that stand Pure and safe at thy right hand. Hear thy guilty child implore thee, Rolling in the dust before thee. Oh the horrors of that day! When this frame of sinful clay, Starting from its burial place, Must behold thee face to face. Hear and pity, hear and aid, Spare the creatures thou hast made. Mercy, mercy, save, forgive, Oh, who shall look on thee and live?THE MARRIAGE OF TIRZAH AND AHIRAD. (1827.)
GENESIS VI. 3 It is the dead of night: Yet more than noonday light Beams far and wide from many a gorgeous hall. Unnumbered harps are tinkling, Unnumbered lamps are twinkling, In the great city of the fourfold wall. By the brazen castle's moat, The sentry hums a livelier note. The ship-boy chaunts a shriller lay From the galleys in the bay. Shout, and laugh, and hurrying feet Sound from mart and square and street, From the breezy laurel shades, From the granite colonnades, From the golden statue's base, From the stately market-place, Where, upreared by captive hands, The great Tower of Triumph stands, All its pillars in a blaze With the many-coloured rays, Which lanthorns of ten thousand dyes Shed on ten thousand panoplies. But closest is the throng, And loudest is the song, In that sweet garden by the river side, The abyss of myrtle bowers, The wilderness of flowers, Where Cain hath built the palace of his pride. Such palace ne'er shall be again Among the dwindling race of men. From all its threescore gates the light Of gold and steel afar was thrown; Two hundred cubits rose in height The outer wall of polished stone. On the top was ample space For a gallant chariot race, Near either parapet a bed Of the richest mould was spread, Where amidst flowers of every scent and hue Rich orange trees, and palms, and giant cedars grew. In the mansion's public court All is revel, song, and sport; For there, till morn shall tint the east, Menials and guards prolong the feast. The boards with painted vessels shine; The marble cisterns foam with wine. A hundred dancing girls are there With zoneless waists and streaming hair; And countless eyes with ardour gaze, And countless hands the measure beat, As mix and part in amorous maze Those floating arms and bounding feet. But none of all the race of Cain, Save those whom he hath deigned to grace With yellow robe and sapphire chain, May pass beyond that outer space. For now within the painted hall The Firstborn keeps high festival. Before the glittering valves all night Their post the chosen captains hold. Above the portal's stately height The legend flames in lamps of gold: "In life united and in death "May Tirzah and Ahirad be, "The bravest he of all the sons of Seth, "Of all the house of Cain the loveliest she." Through all the climates of the earth This night is given to festal mirth. The long continued war is ended. The long divided lines are blended. Ahirad's bow shall now no more Make fat the wolves with kindred gore. The vultures shall expect in vain Their banquet from the sword of Cain. Without a guard the herds and flocks Along the frontier moors and rocks From eve to morn may roam: Nor shriek, nor shout, nor reddened sky, Shall warn the startled hind to fly From his beloved home. Nor to the pier shall burghers crowd With straining necks and faces pale, And think that in each flitting cloud They see a hostile sail. The peasant without fear shall guide Down smooth canal or river wide His painted bark of cane, Fraught, for some proud bazaar's arcades, With chestnuts from his native shades, And wine, and milk, and grain. Search round the peopled globe to-night, Explore each continent and isle, There is no door without a light, No face without a smile. The noblest chiefs of either race, From north and south, from west and east, Crowd to the painted hall to grace The pomp of that atoning feast. With widening eyes and labouring breath Stand the fair-haired sons of Seth, As bursts upon their dazzled sight The endless avenue of light, The bowers of tulip, rose, and palm, The thousand cressets fed with balm, The silken vests, the boards piled high With amber, gold, and ivory, The crystal founts whence sparkling flow The richest wines o'er beds of snow, The walls where blaze in living dyes The king's three hundred victories. The heralds point the fitting seat To every guest in order meet, And place the highest in degree Nearest th' imperial canopy. Beneath its broad and gorgeous fold, With naked swords and shields of gold, Stood the seven princes of the tribes of Nod. Upon an ermine carpet lay Two tiger cubs in furious play, Beneath the emerald throne where sat the signed of God. Over that ample forehead white The thousandth year returneth. Still, on its commanding height, With a fierce and blood-red light, The fiery token burneth. Wheresoe'er that mystic star Blazeth in the van of war, Back recoil before its ray Shield and banner, bow and spear, Maddened horses break away From the trembling charioteer. The fear of that stern king doth lie On all that live beneath the sky: All shrink before the mark of his despair, The seal of that great curse which he alone can bear. Blazing in pearls and diamonds' sheen. Tirzah, the young Ahirad's bride, Of humankind the destined queen, Sits by her great forefather's side. The jetty curls, the forehead high, The swan like neck, the eagle face, The glowing cheek, the rich dark eye, Proclaim her of the elder race. With flowing locks of auburn hue, And features smooth, and eye of blue, Timid in love as brave in arms, The gentle heir of Seth askance Snatches a bashful, ardent glance At her majestic charms; Blest when across that brow high musing flashes A deeper tint of rose, Thrice blest when from beneath the silken lashes Of her proud eye she throws The smile of blended fondness and disdain Which marks the daughters of the house of Cain. All hearts are light around the hall Save his who is the lord of all. The painted roofs, the attendant train, The lights, the banquet, all are vain. He sees them not. His fancy strays To other scenes and other days. A cot by a lone forest's edge, A fountain murmuring through the trees, A garden with a wildflower hedge, Whence sounds the music of the bees, A little flock of sheep at rest Upon a mountain's swarthy breast. On his rude spade he seems to lean Beside the well remembered stone, Rejoicing o'er the promised green Of the first harvest man hath sown. He sees his mother's tears; His father's voice he hears, Kind as when first it praised his youthful skill. And soon a seraph-child, In boyish rapture wild, With a light crook comes bounding from the hill, Kisses his hands, and strokes his face, And nestles close in his embrace. In his adamantine eye None might discern his agony; But they who had grown hoary next his side, And read his stern dark face with deepest skill, Could trace strange meanings in that lip of pride, Which for one moment quivered and was still. No time for them to mark or him to feel Those inward stings; for clarion, flute, and lyre, And the rich voices of a countless quire, Burst on the ear in one triumphant peal. In breathless transport sits the admiring throng, As sink and swell the notes of Jubal's lofty song. "Sound the timbrel, strike the lyre, Wake the trumpet's blast of fire, Till the gilded arches ring. Empire, victory, and fame, Be ascribed unto the name Of our father and our king. Of the deeds which he hath done, Of the spoils which he hath won, Let his grateful children sing. When the deadly fight was fought, When the great revenge was wrought, When on the slaughtered victims lay The minion stiff and cold as they, Doomed to exile, sealed with flame, From the west the wanderer came. Six score years and six he strayed A hunter through the forest shade. The lion's shaggy jaws he tore, To earth he smote the foaming boar, He crushed the dragon's fiery crest, And scaled the condor's dizzy nest; Till hardy sons and daughters fair Increased around his woodland lair. Then his victorious bow unstrung On the great bison's horn he hung. Giraffe and elk he left to hold The wilderness of boughs in peace, And trained his youth to pen the fold, To press the cream, and weave the fleece. As shrunk the streamlet in its bed, As black and scant the herbage grew, O'er endless plains his flocks he led Still to new brooks and postures new. So strayed he till the white pavilions Of his camp were told by millions, Till his children's households seven Were numerous as the stars of heaven. Then he bade us rove no more; And in the place that pleased him best, On the great river's fertile shore, He fixed the city of his rest. He taught us then to bind the sheaves, To strain the palm's delicious milk, And from the dark green mulberry leaves To cull the filmy silk. Then first from straw-built mansions roamed O'er flower-beds trim the skilful bees; Then first the purple wine vats foamed Around the laughing peasant's knees; And olive-yards, and orchards green, O'er all the hills of Nod were seen. "Of our father and our king Let his grateful children sing. From him our race its being draws, His are our arts, and his our laws. Like himself he bade us be, Proud, and brave, and fierce, and free. True, through every turn of fate, In our friendship and our hate. Calm to watch, yet prompt to dare; Quick to feel, yet firm to bear; Only timid, only weak, Before sweet woman's eye and cheek. We will not serve, we will not know, The God who is our father's foe. In our proud cities to his name No temples rise, no altars flame. Our flocks of sheep, our groves of spice, To him afford no sacrifice. Enough that once the House of Cain Hath courted with oblation vain The sullen power above. Henceforth we bear the yoke no more; The only gods whom we adore Are glory, vengeance, love. "Of our father and our king Let his grateful children sing. What eye of living thing may brook On his blazing brow to look? What might of living thing may stand Against the strength of his right hand? First he led his armies forth Against the Mammoths of the north, What time they wasted in their pride Pasture and vineyard far and wide. Then the White River's icy flood Was thawed with fire and dyed with blood, And heard for many a league the sound Of the pine forests blazing round, And the death-howl and trampling din Of the gigantic herd within. From the surging sea of flame Forth the tortured monsters came; As of breakers on the shore Was their onset and their roar; As the cedar-trees of God Stood the stately ranks of Nod. One long night and one short day The sword was lifted up to slay. Then marched the firstborn and his sons O'er the white ashes of the wood, And counted of that savage brood Nine times nine thousand skeletons. "On the snow with carnage red The wood is piled, the skins are spread. A thousand fires illume the sky; Round each a hundred warriors lie. But, long ere half the night was spent, Forth thundered from the golden tent The rousing voice of Cain. A thousand trumps in answer rang And fast to arms the warriors sprang O'er all the frozen plain. A herald from the wealthy bay Hath come with tidings of dismay. From the western ocean's coast Seth hath led a countless host, And vows to slay with fire and sword All who call not on the Lord. His archers hold the mountain forts; His light armed ships blockade the ports; His horsemen tread the harvest down. On twelve proud bridges he hath passed The river dark with many a mast, And pitched his mighty camp at last Before the imperial town. "On the south and on the west, Closely was the city prest. Before us lay the hostile powers. The breach was wide between the towers. Pulse and meal within were sold For a double weight of gold. Our mighty father had gone forth Two hundred marches to the north. Yet in that extreme of ill We stoutly kept his city still; And swore beneath his royal wall, Like his true sons to fight and fall. "Hark, hark, to gong and horn, Clarion, and fife, and drum, The morn, the fortieth morn, Fixed for the great assault is come. Between the camp and city spreads A waving sea of helmed heads. From the royal car of Seth Was hung the blood-reg flag of death: At sight of that thrice-hallowed sign Wide flew at once each banner's fold; The captains clashed their arms of gold; The war cry of Elohim rolled Far down their endless line. On the northern hills afar Pealed an answering note of war. Soon the dust in whirlwinds driven, Rushed across the northern heaven. Beneath its shroud came thick and loud The tramp as of a countless crowd; And at intervals were seen Lance and hauberk glancing sheen; And at intervals were heard Charger's neigh and battle word. "Oh what a rapturous cry From all the city's thousand spires arose, With what a look the hollow eye Of the lean watchman glared upon the foes, With what a yell of joy the mother pressed The moaning baby to her withered breast; When through the swarthy cloud that veiled the plain Burst on his children's sight the flaming brow of Cain!" There paused perforce that noble song; For from all the joyous throng, Burst forth a rapturous shout which drowned Singer's voice and trumpet's sound. Thrice that stormy clamour fell, Thrice rose again with mightier swell. The last and loudest roar of all Had died along the painted wall. The crowd was hushed; the minstrel train Prepared to strike the chords again; When on each ear distinctly smote A low and wild and wailing note. It moans again. In mute amaze Menials, and guests, and harpers gaze. They look above, beneath, around, No shape doth own that mournful sound. It comes not from the tuneful quire; It comes not from the feasting peers. There is no tone of earthly lyre So soft, so sad, so full of tears. Then a strange horror came on all Who sate at that high festival. The far famed harp, the harp of gold, Dropped from Jubal's trembling hold. Frantic with dismay the bride Clung to her Ahirad's side. And the corpse-like hue of dread Ahirad's haughty face o'erspread. Yet not even in that agony of awe Did the young leader of the fair-haired race From Tirzah's shuddering grasp his hand withdraw, Or turn his eyes from Tirzah's livid face. The tigers to their lord retreat, And crouch and whine beneath his feet. Prone sink to earth the golden shielded seven. All hearts are cowed save his alone Who sits upon the emerald throne; For he hath heard Elohim speak from heaven. Still thunders in his ear the peal; Still blazes on his front the seal: And on the soul of the proud king No terror of created thing From sky, or earth, or hell, hath power Since that unutterable hour. He rose to speak, but paused, and listening stood, Not daunted, but in sad and curious mood, With knitted brow, and searching eye of fire. A deathlike silence sank on all around, And through the boundless space was heard no sound, Save the soft tones of that mysterious lyre. Broken, faint, and low, At first the numbers flow. Louder, deeper, quicker, still Into one fierce peal they swell, And the echoing palace fill With a strange funereal yell. A voice comes forth. But what, or where? On the earth, or in the air? Like the midnight winds that blow Round a lone cottage in the snow, With howling swell and sighing fall, It wails along the trophied hall. In such a wild and dreary moan The watches of the Seraphim Poured out all night their plaintive hymn Before the eternal throne. Then, when from many a heavenly eye Drops as of earthly pity fell For her who had aspire too high, For him who loved too well. When, stunned by grief, the gentle pair From the nuptial garden fair, Linked in a sorrowful caress, Strayed through the untrodden wilderness; And close behind their footsteps came The desolating sword of flame, And drooped the cedared alley's pride, And fountains shrank, and roses died. "Rejoice, O Son of God, rejoice," Sang that melancholy voice, "Rejoice, the maid is fair to see; The bower is decked for her and thee; The ivory lamps around it throw A soft and pure and mellow glow. Where'er the chastened lustre falls On roof or cornice, floor or walls, Woven of pink and rose appear Such words as love delights to hear. The breath of myrrh, the lute's soft sound, Float through the moonlight galleries round. O'er beds of violet and through groves of spice, Lead thy proud bride into the nuptial bower; For thou hast bought her with a fearful price, And she hath dowered thee with a fearful dower. The price is life. The dower is death. Accursed loss! Accursed gain! For her thou givest the blessedness of Seth, And to thine arms she brings the curse of Cain. Round the dark curtains of the fiery throne Pauses awhile the voice of sacred song: From all the angelic ranks goes forth a groan, 'How long, O Lord, how long?' The still small voice makes answer, 'Wait and see, Oh sons of glory, what the end shall be.' "But, in the outer darkness of the place Where God hath shown his power without his grace, Is laughter and the sound of glad acclaim, Loud as when, on wings of fire, Fulfilled of his malign desire, From Paradise the conquering serpent came. The giant ruler of the morning star From off his fiery bed Lifts high his stately head, Which Michael's sword hath marked with many a scar. At his voice the pit of hell Answers with a joyous yell, And flings her dusky portals wide For the bridegroom and the bride. "But louder still shall be the din In the halls of Death and Sin, When the full measure runneth o'er, When mercy can endure no more, When he who vainly proffers grace, Comes in his fury to deface The fair creation of his hand; When from the heaven streams down amain For forty days the sheeted rain; And from his ancient barriers free, With a deafening roar the sea Comes foaming up the land. Mother, cast thy babe aside: Bridegroom, quit thy virgin bride: Brother, pass thy brother by: 'Tis for life, for life, ye fly. Along the drear horizon raves The swift advancing line of waves. On: on: their frothy crests appear Each moment nearer, and more near. Urge the dromedary's speed; Spur to death the reeling steed; If perchance ye yet may gain The mountains that o'erhang the plain. "Oh thou haughty land of Nod, Hear the sentence of thy God. Thou hast said, 'Of all the hills Whence, after autumn rains, the rills In silver trickle down, The fairest is that mountain white Which intercepts the morning light From Cain's imperial town. On its first and gentlest swell Are pleasant halls where nobles dwell; And marble porticoes are seen Peeping through terraced gardens green. Above are olives, palms, and vines; And higher yet the dark-blue pines; And highest on the summit shines The crest of everlasting ice. Here let the God of Abel own That human art hath wonders shown Beyond his boasted paradise.' "Therefore on that proud mountain's crown Thy few surviving sons and daughters Shall see their latest sun go down Upon a boundless waste of waters. None salutes and none replies; None heaves a groan or breathes a prayer They crouch on earth with tearless eyes, And clenched hands, and bristling hair. The rain pours on: no star illumes The blackness of the roaring sky. And each successive billow booms Nigher still and still more nigh. And now upon the howling blast The wreaths of spray come thick and fast; And a great billow by the tempest curled Falls with a thundering crash; and all is o'er. In what is left of all this glorious world? A sky without a beam, a sea without a shore. "Oh thou fair land, where from their starry home Cherub and seraph oft delight to roam, Thou city of the thousand towers, Thou palace of the golden stairs, Ye gardens of perennial flowers, Ye moted gates, ye breezy squares; Ye parks amidst whose branches high Oft peers the squirrel's sparkling eye; Ye vineyards, in whose trellised shade Pipes many a youth to many a maid; Ye ports where rides the gallant ship, Ye marts where wealthy burghers meet; Ye dark green lanes which know the trip Of woman's conscious feet; Ye grassy meads where, when the day is done, The shepherd pens his fold; Ye purple moors on which the setting sun Leaves a rich fringe of gold; Ye wintry deserts where the larches grow; Ye mountains on whose everlasting snow No human foot hath trod; Many a fathom shall ye sleep Beneath the grey and endless deep, In the great day of the revenge of God."