nock. I lay, where with his drowsy mates, the cock From the cross timber of an out-house hung; How dismal tolled, that night, the city clock! At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung, Nor to the beggar's language could I frame my tongue. So passed another day, and so the third: Then did I try, in vain, the crowd's resort, In deep despair by frightful wishes stirr'd, Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort: There, pains which nature could no more support, With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall; Dizzy my brain, with interruption short Of hideous sense; I sunk, nor step could crawl, And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital. Recovery came with food: but still, my brain Was weak, nor of the past had memory. I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain Of many things which never troubled me; Of feet still bustling round with busy glee, Of looks where common kindness had no part, Of service done with careless cruelty, Fretting the fever round the languid heart, And groans, which, as they said, would make a dead man start. These things just served to stir the torpid sense, Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised. Memory, though slow, returned with strength; and thence Dismissed, again on open day I gazed, At houses, men, and common light, amazed. The lanes I sought, and as the sun retired, Came, where beneath the trees a faggot blazed; The wild brood saw me weep, my fate enquired, And gave me food, and rest, more welcome, more desired. My heart is touched to think that men like these, The rude earth's tenants, were my first relief: How kindly did they paint their vagrant ease! And their long holiday that feared not grief, For all belonged to all, and each was chief. No plough their sinews strained; on grating road No wain they drove, and yet, the yellow sheaf In every vale for their delight was stowed: For them, in nature's meads, the milky udder flowed. Semblance, with straw and panniered ass, they made Of potters wandering on from door to door: But life of happier sort to me pourtrayed, And other joys my fancy to allure; The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor In barn uplighted, and companions boon Well met from far with revelry secure, In depth of forest glade, when jocund June Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon. But ill it suited me, in journey dark O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch; To charm the surly house-dog's faithful bark, Or hang on tiptoe at the lifted latch; The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match, The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill, And ear still busy on its nightly watch, Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill; Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still. What could I do, unaided and unblest? Poor Father! gone was every friend of thine: And kindred of dead husband are at best Small help, and, after marriage such as mine, With little kindness would to me incline. Ill was I then for toil or service fit: With tears whose course no effort could confine, By high-way side forgetful would I sit Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit. I lived upon the mercy of the fields, And oft of cruelty the sky accused; On hazard, or what general bounty yields, Now coldly given, now utterly refused. The fields I for my bed have often used: But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth Is, that I have my inner self abused, Foregone the home delight of constant truth, And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth. Three years a wanderer, often have I view'd, In tears, the sun towards that country tend Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude: And now across this moor my steps I bend - On! tell me whither-for no earthly friend Have I. - She ceased, and weeping turned away, As if because her tale was at an end She wept; - because she had no more to say Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay. STRANNICA ZHil bliz Derventa bednyj moj otec (Tak nachala rasskaz ona prostoj), Cvetushchim polem, gorstkoyu ovec On dorozhil, kak zhiloj zolotoj. Byl legok son i den' bespechen moj: Vdol' berega ya seti volokla Il' nablyudala v bezdne goluboj S krutoj skaly, gde stado ya pasla, CHelnok otca i vlazhnyj blesk vesla. Byl dobr otec moj i blagochestiv - Ego vzrastila strogaya sem'ya. Koleni pred krovatkoyu skloniv, Edva lish' rech' prorezalas' moya, Za nim molitvy povtoryala ya. Potom on nauchil menya chitat', I zhili, kak lyubimye druz'ya, So mnoyu knigi, - slovno blagodat', YA v kazhdom dome stala ih iskat'. Zabudu l' ya, kak liliya cvela V moem sadu, tim'yan dushistyj ros, Kak pod voskresnye kolokola V nem razlilos' blagouhan'e roz? I kak teper' mne vspomnyatsya bez slez Pushistye cyplyata po vesne, I pervocvet v siyan'e rannih ros, I lebedi, po medlennoj volne Izdaleka plyvushchie ko mne? Eshche ya pomnyu posoh staryj - v nem Otec oporu v nemoshchi nashel; Skam'yu ego pod klenom letnim dnem I v znojnom vozduhe zhuzhzhan'e pchel; Prostoj naryad, kotoryj tak mne shel, Psa moego, umershego davno, CHto chasto byl na neznakomcev zol; Sadivshuyusya na moe okno Malinovku, klevavshuyu zerno. Tak dvadcat' let moih sred' etih mest Mel'knuli i rastayali, kak dym. Bogatyj zamok hizhiny okrest Stal pribirat' k vladeniyam svoim. Polya, luga - vse stalo zdes' chuzhim. A gospodin byl zhaden i zhestok. Otec moj ne sklonilsya pered nim: Nasledstvennyj lyubil on ugolok I ni za chto rasstat'sya s nim ne mog. Otec otverg predlozhennuyu mzdu. I stal on zhertvoj zloby. A kogda On zagnan byl v surovuyu nuzhdu, Prishla vosled i hudshaya beda - Lishilsya on rodimogo gnezda. Vse otnyali! I lish' ego krovat' Ne vzyali: on lezhal na nej togda. I nam ostalos' slezy prolivat' I novoe pristanishche iskat'. Zabudu l' chas, kogda otec, molyas', Glyadel s holma na shpil' poverh vetvej, Gde s kolokol'ni muzyka lilas' V den' ih venchan'ya s mater'yu moej? Kak veril on, chto budet ryadom s nej Pokoit'sya v zemle svoej rodnoj! YA zh ne mogla molit'sya: sred' polej, Skvoz' slezy, chto iz glaz tekli rekoj, YA videla nash dom - uzhe chuzhoj. YA tam druzhila s yunoshej odnim, Kotorogo, kak brata, s davnih por YA polyubila: my igrali s nim I pesni peli sred' zelenyh gor. A povzroslev, drug drugu nezhnyj vzor Darili my v zalog inyh nagrad. My zaveli o svad'be razgovor. Mne grezilsya venchal'nyj nash obryad I belyj podvenechnyj moj naryad. No drug uehal v dal'nij kraj ot nas U gorodskih uchit'sya masterov. O, skol'ko bylo slez v proshchal'nyj chas, I pylkih klyatv, i nezabvennyh slov! - S otcom my pod ego yavilis' krov. YA plakala, upav k nemu na grud'. On klyalsya, chto v bede menya gotov Lyubit', kak v schast'e. Dolgim byl nash put'. Otec moj vnov' spokojno mog usnut'. CHetyre goda - Gospodu hvala! - My dobyvali hleb nelegkij svoj. YA treh prelestnyh kroshek rodila. Uteshennyj, otec skonchalsya moj. Schastlivyj! Nas, izmuchennyh nuzhdoj, I nashih ishudavshih malyshej Ne videl on! Skryl kamen' grobovoj Pustuyu pryalku ot ego ochej, Ochag ostyvshij, skorb' moih nochej. Kogda zh borot'sya ne hvatilo sil I byli my nadezhdy lisheny, Nadmennyj baraban provozglasil Izgnan'e vsem, kto slaby i bedny. Menya, detej, chto byli golodny, Moj muzh v ob®yat'ya zaklyuchil s toskoj - Na to i stali ruki lish' godny. Mol'by naprasny! Na bereg morskoj My povleklis' s neschastnoyu tolpoj. My proveli nemalo tyazhkih dnej Na korable, poka ne otplyl on. I byl uzhasen vid rodnyh polej: Nash kraj chumoj byl tak opustoshen, CHto tam umolk i pohoronnyj zvon. Skoree proch'! No gorek byl nash beg: Ne znali my, chto t'ma so vseh storon I luchshih dnej ne videt' nam vovek, Kogda vdali rastayal milyj breg. Uzh minovala letnyaya pora, I okean vse yarostnee gnal Volnu, chto vozdymalas', kak gora; I s uzhasom glyadeli my, kak shkval, Krutyas' i voya, volny razbival. O, znat' by nam, kakie tam, vdali, Nas ozhidayut muki, - v etot val My brosit'sya by, verno, predpochli! Tak my dostigli zapadnoj zemli. O, kak poroyu strashno platish' ty Za rasstavan'e s samym dorogim! Uzh luchshe zhit' v peshchere Nishchety, Gde ty ni dlya odnoj zvezdy ne zrim, Il' na glumlen'e frantam gorodskim Plot' gibnushchuyu vystavlyat' svoyu, CHem begat' v stae, gde vragom tvoim Stat' dolzhen kazhdyj, v yarostnom boyu, V stremlen'e vyzhit' p'yushchij krov' tvoyu! Nas muchili bolezni, golod, strah, Stradanij zatyanul vodovorot. V lesah, v polyah, v pustynyah, v gorodah Nam ne bylo spasen'ya ot nevzgod. Vojnoj i morom byli v etot god Ubity muzh i deti! Vsya sem'ya! No slezy moi vysohli, - i vot, V otchayan'e, kak posle zabyt'ya, Ochnulas' na britanskom sudne ya. Byl rannij chas, i sin' vody morskoj Rassvetnym otbleskom ozarena. I na more caril takoj pokoj, Takaya nezemnaya tishina, Kakoj dusha v stradan'e lishena. V prostor, chto byl tak chudno molchaliv, Privychnoj beznadezhnosti polna, YA vglyadyvalas' dolgo, oshchutiv Skvoz' bol' kak budto radosti priliv. Ah, kak neshozhe eto vse s bylym, Gde sluh terzal mne golodavshih voj, Gde gromozdilis' trupy i, kak dym, Struilsya vozduh chernyj i chumnoj; Gde oglashalsya voplem dal'nij boj I vzryvy podnimali k nebu prah, I lyudi blednoj mertvennoj tolpoj V podvalah mrachnyh pryatalis', i strah Otchayan'em ubit byl v ih serdcah! Kak ya ot gorya ne soshla s uma, Kogda vryvalas', serdce ledenya, Vojna, kak burya, v ulicy, v doma, I yazykami adskogo ognya Nas dostavala gibel', i reznya Tam ne shchadila ni ditya, ni mat'! No otstupi, bezum'e, ot menya! O, kak legko, glyadyas' v morskuyu glad', Celebnyj vozduh ya mogla vdyhat'! Vse prezhnee ostalos' vdaleke, Kak budto v mire ya zhila drugom. Sledila ya za parusom v toske, CHto podnyat byl v bezvetrii morskom Terpen'e poteryavshim moryakom, I dumala: ne luchshe l' etot beg Bescel'nyj dlit', ne znaya, gde moj dom? O, esli b ya mogla uplyt' navek Ot mest, gde obitaet chelovek! Vot zdes', vot zdes', - mechta sheptala mne, - Priyut poslednij telo obretet. YA budu mirno plakat' v tishine, Skitayas' dni i nochi naprolet V prostranstve bespredel'nyh etih vod - Mne v nih mogila chudilas' moya. No sudno v port dostavil morehod, Razbiv mechty. Bez pishchi, bez zhil'ya Sred' tysyachi domov brodila ya. Kazalos', ya bespomoshchnej teper' Matrosa, chto volnoyu broshen byl Na skaly, - ni v odnu stuchat'sya dver' Ne smela ya, kak golod ni tomil. V chuzhom sarae ya legla bez sil Sred' spyashchih kur, kogda nastala noch'. Byl boj chasov na bashne tak unyl! Nazavtra povtorilos' vse toch'-v-toch': Mne bylo poproshajnichat' nevmoch'. Tak den' vtoroj proshel, i tretij vsled; YA, ne najdya ni hleba, ni ugla, V otchayan'e, smeshavshem yav' i bred, V razrushennuyu krepost' zabrela. Tam bol' menya pronzila, kak igla, Moj mozg byl polon, kak v koshmarnom sne, Videnij dikih, vzor zastlala mgla, - YA chuvstv lishilas', i ochnut'sya mne Sluchilos' na bol'nichnoj prostyne. Moj duh byl slab, i mnozhestvo bylyh Sobytij sterlos' v pamyati moej. YA vslushivalas' v zhaloby bol'nyh Na tysyachu mne chuzhdyh melochej: Na shum shagov, na ston v tishi nochej, Na zloe vyrazhenie lica Sidelki, na bezdushie vrachej, - Vse eto razdrazhalo bez konca Ih vyalye, ustalye serdca. YA im byla ne v silah sostradat': Menya ne bespokoil etot vzdor. Ko mne vernulas' pamyat', i opyat' YA vyshla na siyayushchij prostor. I obratila izumlennyj vzor Na vse vokrug! A pozdneyu poroj Menya privlek pylayushchij koster. - Brodyag potryas rasskaz pechal'nyj moj, U nih nashla ya pishchu i pokoj. I otklik na neschastie moe Tak dorog byl mne v grubyh ih serdcah! Po ih slovam, ih vol'noe zhit'e Ne omrachali ni pechal', ni strah. S poklazhej ne tryaslis' oni v vozah I nikogda ne brali v ruki plug. No snop dlya nih byl sobran na polyah, Dlya nih aleli yagody vokrug, I teplym stogom sogreval ih lug. Oni brodili, tochno gonchary, S nav'yuchennym korzinami oslom. I sladkoj predstavlyalas' do pory Ih zhizn' v voobrazhenii moem: Volynki zvuk v bezmolvii nochnom, Veselyj pir kompanii chestnoj V konyushne, ozarennoj fonarem, Il' na polyane sred' glushi lesnoj Pod polnoyu i yasnoyu lunoj. No v chas, kogda nabrasyvala mgla Na les i gory plotnyj svoj pokrov, - K chuzhim dvoram ya krast'sya ne mogla I priruchat' cepnyh ugryumyh psov Ili tajkom otodvigat' zasov. Uslovnyj svist v polunochnoj tishi I drozh' pri zvuke sobstvennyh shagov Kazalis' novoj pytkoj dlya dushi, CH'i rany byli vse eshche svezhi. CHto bylo delat'? CHem unyat' pechal'? Otec moj bednyj! Vse tvoi druz'ya Ushli iz zhizni, i pomoch' edva l' Mogla mne muzha mertvogo sem'ya. Na nih i ne rasschityvala ya. K trudu byla ya tozhe ne godna. CHasami, slezy gor'kie liya, Sidela u dorogi ya, odna, Bezvyhodnoj toskoj ugnetena. I, nebesa v zhestokosti vinya, Kormilas' ya lish' milost'yu polej Da tem, chto ostavlyalo dlya menya Nebrezhnoe sochuvstvie lyudej. Polya postel'yu sdelalis' moej. No gordaya dusha sred' etih bed Oskorblena byla vsego bol'nej. I chistoj very yasnyh yunyh let V dobro i pravdu v nej davno uzh net. Uzhe tri goda tak skitayus' ya, Skvoz' slezy nablyudaya vsyakij raz, Kak uplyvaet solnce v te kraya, Gde pervaya beda so mnoj stryaslas'. Skazhi, kuda mne put' derzhat' sejchas? Net u menya ni blizkih, ni druzej! ...Zaplakav, prervala ona rasskaz. I nechego skazat' uzh bylo ej O neizbyvnoj goresti svoej. GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL A True Story Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter? What is't that ails young Harry Gill? That evermore his teeth they chatter, Chatter, chatter, chatter still! Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, Good duffle grey, and flannel fine; He has a blanket on his back, And coats enough to smother nine. In March, December, and in July, Tis all the same with Harry Gill; The neighbours tell, and tell you truly, His teeth they chatter, chatter still. At night, at morning, and at noon, Tis all the same with Harry Gill; Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, His teeth they chatter, chatter still! Young Harry was a lusty drover, And who so stout of limb as he? His cheeks were red as ruddy clover; His voice was like the voice of three. Old Goody Blake was old and poor; Ill fed she was, and thinly clad; And any man who passed her door Might see how poor a hut she had. All day she spun in her poor dwelling: And then her three hours' work at night, Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling, It would not pay for candle-light. Remote from sheltered village-green, On a hill's northern side she dwelt, Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean, And hoary dews are slow to melt. By the same fire to boil their pottage, Two poor old Dames, as I have known, Will often live in one small cottage; But she, poor Woman! housed alone. Twas well enough when summer came, The long, warm, lightsome summer-day, Then at her door the canty Dame Would sit, as any linnet, gay. But when the ice our streams did fetter, Oh then how her old bones would shake! You would have said, if you had met her, 'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. Her evenings then were dull and dead: Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed; And then for cold not sleep a wink. O joy for her! whene'er in winter The winds at night had made a rout; And scattered many a lusty splinter And many a rotten bough about. Yet never had she, well or sick, As every man who knew her says, A pile beforehand, turf or stick, Enough to warm her for three days. Now, when the frost was past enduring, And made her poor old bones to ache, Could any thing be more alluring Than an old hedge to Goody Blake? And, now and then, it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed, To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. Now Harry he had long suspected This trespass of old Goody Blake; And vowed that she should be detected - That he on her would vengeance take. And oft from his warm fire he'd go, And to the fields his road would take; And there, at night, in frost and snow, He watched to seize old Goody Blake. And once, behind a rick of barley, Thus looking out did Harry stand: The moon was full and shining clearly, And crisp with frost the stubble land. - He hears a noise-he's all awake - Again? - on tip-toe down the hill He softly creeps - 'tis Goody Blake; She's at the hedge of Harry Gill! Right glad was he when he beheld her: Stick after stick did Goody pull: He stood behind a bush of elder, Till she had filled her apron full. When with her load she turned about, The by-way back again to take; He started forward, with a shout, And sprang upon poor Goody Blake. And fiercely by the arm he took her, And by the arm he held her fast, And fiercely by the arm he shook her, And cried, "I've caught you then at last!" - Then Goody, who had nothing said, Her bundle from her lap let fall; And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed To God that is the judge of all. She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, While Harry held her by the arm- "God! who art never out of hearing, O may he never more be warm!" The cold, cold moon above her head, Thus on her knees did Goody pray; Young Harry heard what she had said: And icy cold he turned away. He went complaining all the morrow That he was cold and very chill: His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow, Alas! that day for Harry Gill! That day he wore a riding-coat, But not a whit the warmer he: Another was on Thursday brought, And ere the Sabbath he had three. 'Twas all in vain, a useless matter, And blankets were about him pinned; Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter; Like a loose casement in the wind. And Harry's flesh it fell away; And all who see him say, 'tis plain, That, live as long as live he may, He never will be warm again. No word to any man he utters, A-bed or up, to young or old; But ever to himself he mutters, "Poor Harry Gill is very cold." A-bed or up, by night or day; His teeth they chatter, chatter still. Now think, ye farmers all, I pray, Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill! GUDI BLEJK I GARRI DZHILL pravdivaya istoriya Kakaya hvor', kakaya sila I dni, i mesyacy podryad Tak sotryasaet Garri Dzhilla, CHto zuby u nego stuchat? U Garri nedostatka net V zhiletah, shubah mehovyh. I vse, vo chto bol'noj odet, Sogrelo b i devyateryh. V aprele, v dekabre, v iyune, V zharu li, v dozhd' li, v snegopad, Pod solncem ili v polnolun'e U Garri zuby vse stuchat! Vse to zhe s Garri kruglyj god - Tverdit o nem i star i mlad: Dnem, utrom, nochi naprolet U Garri zuby vse stuchat! On molod byl i krepko slazhen Dlya remesla gurtovshchika: V ego plechah kosaya sazhen', Krov' s molokom - ego shcheka. A Gudi Blejk stara byla, I kazhdyj vam povedat' mog, V kakoj nuzhde ona zhila, Kak temnyj dom ee ubog. Za pryazheyu hudye plechi Ne raspryamlyala den' i noch'. Uvy, sluchalos', i na svechi Ej bylo nakopit' nevmoch'. Stoyal na hladnoj storone Holma ee promerzshij dom. I ugol' byl v bol'shoj cene V selen'e otdalennom tom. Net blizkoj u nee podrugi, Delit' ej ne s kem krov i sned'. Ej, vidno, v nishchenskoj lachuge Odnoj pridetsya umeret'. Lish' yasnoj solnechnoj poroj, S prihodom letnego tepla, Podobno ptichke polevoj, Ona byvaet vesela. Kogda zh zatyanet l'dom potoki - Ej zhizn' i vovse nevterpezh. Kak zhzhet ee moroz zhestokij I kosti probiraet drozh'! Kogda tak pusto i mertvo Ee zhilishche v pozdnij chas, - O, dogadajtes', kakovo Ot stuzhi ne smykat' ej glaz! Ej schast'e vypadalo redko, Kogda, vokrug chinya razboj, K ee izbe suhie vetki I shchepki veter gnal nochnoj. Ne pominala i molva, CHtob Gudi zapasalas' vprok. I drov hvatalo ej edva Lish' na odin-drugoj denek. Kogda moroz pronzaet zhily I kosti starye bolyat - Pleten' sadovyj Garri Dzhilla Ee prityagivaet vzglyad. I vot, ochag pokinuv svoj, Edva ugasnet zimnij den', Ona ozyabsheyu rukoj Nashchupyvaet tot pleten'. No o progulkah Gudi staroj Dogadyvalsya Garri Dzhill. On myslenno grozil ej karoj, On Gudi podsterech' reshil. On shel vyslezhivat' ee V polya nochnye, v sneg, v metel', Ostaviv teploe zhil'e, Pokinuv zharkuyu postel'. I vot odnazhdy za skirdoyu Tailsya on, moroz klyanya. Pod yarkoj polnoyu lunoyu Hrustela merzlaya sternya. Vdrug shum on slyshit i totchas S holma spuskaetsya, kak ten': Da eto Gudi Blejk kak raz YAvilas' razoryat' pleten'! Byl Garri rad ee userd'yu, Ulybkoj zlobnoyu rascvel, I zhdal, pokuda - zherd' za zherd'yu - Ona napolnit svoj podol. Kogda zh poshla ona bez sil Obratno s nosheyu svoej - Svirepo kriknul Garri Dzhill I pregradil dorogu ej. I on shvatil ee rukoyu, Rukoj tyazheloj, kak svinec, Rukoyu krepkoyu i zloyu, Vskrichav: "Popalas', nakonec!" Siyala polnaya luna. Poklazhu nazem' uroniv, Vzmolilas' Gospodu ona, V snegu koleni prekloniv. Upav na sneg, vzmolilas' Gudi I ruki k nebu podnyala: "Puskaj on vechno merznut' budet! Gospod', lishi ego tepla!" Takoj byla ee mol'ba. Ee uslyshal Garri Dzhill - I v tot zhe mig ot pyat do lba Oznob vsego ego pronzil. Vsyu noch' tryaslo ego, i utrom Ego pronizyvala drozh'. Licom unylym, vzorom mutnym Stal na sebya on ne pohozh. Spastis' ot stuzhi ne pomog Emu izvozchichij tulup. I v dvuh sogret'sya on ne mog, I v treh byl holoden, kak trup. Kaftany, odeyala, shuby - Vse bespolezno s etih por. Stuchat, stuchat u Garri zuby, Kak na vetru okonnyj stvor. Zimoj i letom, v znoj i v sneg Oni stuchat, stuchat, stuchat! On ne sogreetsya vovek! - Tverdit o nem i star i mlad. On govorit' ni s kem ne hochet. V siyan'e dnya, v nochnuyu t'mu On tol'ko zhalobno bormochet, CHto ochen' holodno emu. Neobychajnyj sej rasskaz YA vam pravdivo izlozhil. Da budut v pamyati u vas I Gudi Blejk, i Garri Dzhill! LINES WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY HOUSE AND SENT BY MY LITTLE BOY TO THE PERSON TO WHOM THEY WERE ADDRESSED It is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before The redbreast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field. My sister! ('tis a wish of mine) Now that our morning meal is done, Make haste, your morning task resign; Come forth and feel the sun. Edward will come with you; - and, pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress; And bring no book: for this one day We'll give to idleness. No joyless forms shall regulate Our living calendar: We from to-day, my Friend, will date The opening of the year. Love, now a universal birth, From heart to heart is stealing, From earth to man, from man to earth: - It is the hour of feeling. One moment now may give us more Than years of toiling reason: Our minds shall drink at every pore The spirit of the season. Some silent laws our hearts will make, Which they shall long obey: We for the year to come may take Our temper from to-day. And from the blessed power that rolls About, below, above, We'll frame the measure of our souls: They shall be tuned to love. Then come, my Sister! come, I pray, With speed put on your woodland dress; And bring no book: for this one day We'll give to idleness. STIHI, NAPISANNYE NEPODALEKU OT DOMA I PEREDANNYE MOIM MALXCHIKOM TOJ, K KOMU OBRASHCHENY Vesennim pervym teplym dnem Mig novyj prezhnego prelestnej. Na dereve u vhoda v dom Malinovka zavodit pesnyu. Blazhenstvom vozduh napoen I vsya ozhivshaya okruga: Ot golyh gor i golyh kron Do zeleneyushchego luga. Pokonchiv s zavtrakom, sestra, Moe zhelanie ispolni: Na solnce vybegi s utra I o delah svoih ne pomni. Prostoe plat'ice naden' I ne beri s soboyu chten'e. YA tak hochu, chtob v etot den' My vdovol' nasladilis' len'yu. Uslovnostej privychnyj gnet S sebya my sbrosim, i segodnya My novyh dnej nachnem otschet, Kak posle daty novogodnej. Vsemu cvetenie sulya, Ot serdca k serdcu l'net ukradkoj Lyubov', - i vlazhnaya zemlya Pronizana istomoj sladkoj. Mgnoven'e mozhet bol'she dat', CHem polstolet'ya rassuzhdenij. My kazhdoj kletkoj blagodat' Vpitaem v etot den' vesennij. Ukladu novomu hranya V serdcah svoih povinoven'e, Ves' god iz nyneshnego dnya My budem cherpat' vdohnoven'e. I sila etogo vokrug Rasprostranennogo blazhenstva Pomozhet nam s toboj, moj drug, Dostich' lyubvi i sovershenstva. Tak poskoree zhe naden' Prostoe plat'ice i chten'ya V put' ne beri - ved' v etot den' My budem naslazhdat'sya len'yu. SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN, WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED In the sweet shire of Cardigan, Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall, An old man dwells, a little man, I've heard he once was tall. Of years he has upon his back, No doubt, a burthen weighty; He says he is three score and ten, But others say he's eighty. A long blue liver-coat has he, That's fair behind, and fair before; Yet, meet him where you will, you see At once that he is poor. Full five and twenty years he lived A running huntsman merry; And, though he has but one eye left, His cheek is like a cherry. No man like him the horn could sound, And no man was so full of glee; To say the least, four counties round Had heard of Simon Lee; His master's dead, and no one now Dwells in the hall of Ivor; Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; He is the sole survivor. His hunting feats have him bereft Of his right eye, as you may see: And then, what limbs those feats have left To poor old Simon Lee! He has no son, he has no child, His wife, an aged woman, Lives with him, near the waterfall, Upon the village common. And he is lean and he is sick, His little body's half awry His ancles they are swoln and thick His legs are thin and dry. When he was young he little knew Of husbandry or tillage; And now he's forced to work, though weak, - The weakest in the village. He all the country could outrun, Could leave both man and horse behind; And often, ere the race was done, He reeled and was stone-blind. And still there's something in the world At which his heart rejoices; For when the chiming hounds are out, He dearly loves their voices! Old Ruth works out of doors with him, And does what Simon cannot do; For she, not over stout of limb, Is stouter of the two. And though you with your utmost skill From labour could not wean them, Alas! 'tis very little, all Which they can do between them. Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, Not twenty paces from the door, A scrap of land they have, but they Are poorest of the poor. This scrap of land he from the h