Волшебница Шалотт и другие стихотворения - Теннисон Альфред (2007)

The boundless yearning of the Prophet’s heart —

Could that stand forth, and like a statue, rear’d

To some great citizen, win all praise from all

Who past it, saying, ‘That was he!’

In vain!

Virtue must shape itself in deed, and those

Whom weakness or necessity have cramp’d

Within themselves, immerging, each, his urn

In his own well, draw solace as he may.

Menoeceus, thou hast eyes, and I can hear

Too plainly what full tides of onset sap

Our seven high gates, and what a weight of war

Rides on those ringing axles! jingle of bits,

Shouts, arrows, tramp of the hornfooted horse

That grind the glebe to powder! Stony showers

Of that ear-stunning hail of Ares crash

Along the sounding walls. Above, below,

Shock after shock, the song-built towers and gates

Reel, bruised and butted with the shuddering

War-thunder of iron rams; and from within

The city comes a murmur void of joy,

Lest she be taken captive — maidens, wives,

And mothers with their babblers of the dawn,

And oldest age in shadow from the night,

Falling about their shrines before their Gods,

And wailing ‘Save us.’

And they wail to thee!

These eyeless eyes, that cannot see thine own,

See this, that only in thy virtue lies

The saving of our Thebes; for, yesternight,

To me, the great God Ares, whose one bliss

Is war, and human sacrifice — himself

Blood-red from battle, spear and helmet tipt

With stormy light as on a mast at sea,

Stood out before a darkness, crying ‘Thebes,

Thy Thebes shall fall and perish, for I loathe

The seed of Cadmus — yet if one of these

By his own hand - if one of these —’

My son,

No sound is breathed so potent to coerce,

And to conciliate, as their names who dare

For that sweet mother land which gave them birth

Nobly to do, nobly to die. Their names,

Graven on memorial columns, are a song

Heard in the future; few, but more than wall

And rampart, their examples reach a hand

Far thro’ all years, and everywhere they meet

And kindle generous purpose, and the strength

To mould it into action pure as theirs.

Fairer thy fate than mine, if life’s best end

Be to end well! and thou refusing this,

Unvenerable will thy memory be

While men shall move the lips: but if thou dare —

Thou, one of these, the race of Cadmus — then

No stone is fitted in yon marble girth

Whose echo shall not tongue thy glorious doom,

Nor in this pavement but shall ring thy name

To every hoof that clangs it, and the springs

Of Dirce laving yonder battle-plain,

Heard from the roofs by night, will murmur thee

To thine own Thebes, while Thebes thro’ thee shall stand

Firm-based with all her Gods.

The Dragon’s cave

Half hid, they tell me, now in flowing vines —

Where once he dwelt and whence he roll’d himself

At dead of night - thou knowest, and that smooth rock

Before it, altar-fashion’d, where of late

The woman-breasted Sphinx, with wings drawn back,

Folded her lion paws, and look’d to Thebes.

There blanch the bones of whom she slew, and these

Mixt with her own, because the fierce beast found

A wiser than herself, and dash’d herself

Dead in her rage: but thou art wise enough,

Tho’ young, to love thy wiser, blunt the curse

Of Pallas, hear, and tho’ I speak the truth

Believe I speak it, let thine own hand strike

Thy youthful pulses into rest and quench

The red God’s anger, fearing not to plunge

Thy torch of life in darkness, rather — thou