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the complete poetical works-第53章

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  Was standing by the door;

He looked for his little playmates;

  Who would return no more。



They walked not under the lindens;

  They played not in the hall;

But shadow; and silence; and sadness

  Were hanging over all。



The birds sang in the branches;

  With sweet; familiar tone;

But the voices of the children

  Will be heard in dreams alone!



And the boy that walked beside me;

  He could not understand

Why closer in mine; ah! closer;

  I pressed his warm; soft hand!







KING WITLAF'S DRINKING…HORN



Witlaf; a king of the Saxons;

  Ere yet his last he breathed;

To the merry monks of Croyland

  His drinking…horn bequeathed;



That; whenever they sat at their revels;

  And drank from the golden bowl;

They might remember the donor;

  And breathe a prayer for his soul。



So sat they once at Christmas;

  And bade the goblet pass;

In their beards the red wine glistened

  Like dew…drops in the grass。



They drank to the soul of Witlaf;

  They drank to Christ the Lord;

And to each of the Twelve Apostles;

  Who had preached his holy word。



They drank to the Saints and Martyrs

  Of the dismal days of yore;

And as soon as the horn was empty

  They remembered one Saint more。



And the reader droned from the pulpit

  Like the murmur of many bees;

The legend of good Saint Guthlac;

  And Saint Basil's homilies;



Till the great bells of the convent;

  From their prison in the tower;

Guthlac and Bartholomaeus;

  Proclaimed the midnight hour。



And the Yule…log cracked in the chimney;

  And the Abbot bowed his head;

And the flamelets flapped and flickered;

  But the Abbot was stark and dead。



Yet still in his pallid fingers

  He clutched the golden bowl;

In which; like a pearl dissolving;

  Had sunk and dissolved his soul。



But not for this their revels

  The jovial monks forbore;

For they cried; 〃Fill high the goblet!

  We must drink to one Saint more!〃







GASPAR BECERRA



By his evening fire the artist

  Pondered o'er his secret shame;

Baffled; weary; and disheartened;

  Still he mused; and dreamed of fame。



'T was an image of the Virgin

  That had tasked his utmost skill;

But; alas! his fair ideal

  Vanished and escaped him still。



From a distant Eastern island

  Had the precious wood been brought

Day and night the anxious master

  At his toil untiring wrought;



Till; discouraged and desponding;

  Sat he now in shadows deep;

And the day's humiliation

  Found oblivion in sleep。



Then a voice cried; 〃Rise; O master!

  From the burning brand of oak

Shape the thought that stirs within thee!〃

  And the startled artist woke;



Woke; and from the smoking embers

  Seized and quenched the glowing wood;

And therefrom he carved an image;

  And he saw that it was good。



O thou sculptor; painter; poet!

  Take this lesson to thy heart:

That is best which lieth nearest;

  Shape from that thy work of art。





PEGASUS IN POUND



Once into a quiet village;

  Without haste and without heed;

In the golden prime of morning;

  Strayed the poet's winged steed。



It was Autumn; and incessant

  Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves;

And; like living coals; the apples

  Burned among the withering leaves。



Loud the clamorous bell was ringing

  From its belfry gaunt and grim;

'T was the daily call to labor;

  Not a triumph meant for him。



Not the less he saw the landscape;

  In its gleaming vapor veiled;

Not the less he breathed the odors

  That the dying leaves exhaled。



Thus; upon the village common;

  By the school…boys he was found;

And the wise men; in their wisdom;

  Put him straightway into pound。



Then the sombre village crier;

  Ringing loud his brazen bell;

Wandered down the street proclaiming

  There was an estray to sell。



And the curious country people;

  Rich and poor; and young and old;

Came in haste to see this wondrous

  Winged steed; with mane of gold。



Thus the day passed; and the evening

  Fell; with vapors cold and dim;

But it brought no food nor shelter;

  Brought no straw nor stall; for him。



Patiently; and still expectant;

  Looked he through the wooden bars;

Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape;

  Saw the tranquil; patient stars;



Till at length the bell at midnight

  Sounded from its dark abode;

And; from out a neighboring farm…yard

  Loud the cock Alectryon crowed。



Then; with nostrils wide distended;

  Breaking from his iron chain;

And unfolding far his pinions;

  To those stars he soared again。



On the morrow; when the village

  Woke to all its toil and care;

Lo! the strange steed had departed;

  And they knew not when nor where。



But they found; upon the greensward

  Where his straggling hoofs had trod;

Pure and bright; a fountain flowing

  From the hoof…marks in the sod。



From that hour; the fount unfailing

  Gladdens the whole region round;

Strengthening all who drink its waters;

  While it soothes them with its sound。







TEGNER'S DRAPA



I heard a voice; that cried;

〃Balder the Beautiful

Is dead; is dead!〃

And through the misty air

Passed like the mournful cry

Of sunward sailing cranes。



I saw the pallid corpse

Of the dead sun

Borne through the Northern sky。

Blasts from Niffelheim

Lifted the sheeted mists

Around him as he passed。



And the voice forever cried;

〃Balder the Beautiful

Is dead; is dead!〃

And died away

Through the dreary night;

In accents of despair。



Balder the Beautiful;

God of the summer sun;

Fairest of all the Gods!

Light from his forehead beamed;

Runes were upon his tongue;

As on the warrior's sword。



All things in earth and air

Bound were by magic spell

Never to do him harm;

Even the plants and stones;

All save the mistletoe;

The sacred mistletoe!



Hoeder; the blind old God;

Whose feet are shod with silence;

Pierced through that gentle breast

With his sharp spear; by fraud

Made of the mistletoe;

The accursed mistletoe!



They laid him in his ship;

With horse and harness;

As on a funeral pyre。

Odin placed

A ring upon his finger;

And whispered in his ear。



They launched the burning ship!

It floated far away

Over the misty sea;

Till like the sun it seemed;

Sinking beneath the waves。

Balder returned no more!



So perish the old Gods!

But out of the sea of Time

Rises a new land of song;

Fairer than the old。

Over its meadows green

Walk the young bards and sing。



Build it again;

O ye bards;

Fairer than before!

Ye fathers of the new race;

Feed upon morning dew;

Sing the new Song of Love!



The law of force is dead!

The law of love prevails!

Thor; the thunderer;

Shall rule the earth no more;

No more; with threats;

Challenge the meek Christ。



Sing no more;

O
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