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第110节

the complete poetical works-第110节

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But in summary manner shipped away;

In a vessel that sailed from Salem bay;

This splendid and famous cavalier;

With his Rupert hat and his popery;

To Merry England over the sea;

As being unmeet to inhabit here。



Thus endeth the Rhyme of Sir Christopher;

Knight of the Holy Sepulchre;

The first who furnished this barren land

With apples of Sodom and ropes of sand。







FINALE



These are the tales those merry guests

Told to each other; well or ill;

Like summer birds that lift their crests

Above the borders of their nests

And twitter; and again are still。



These are the tales; or new or old;

In idle moments idly told;

Flowers of the field with petals thin;

Lilies that neither toil nor spin;

And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse

Hung in the parlor of the inn

Beneath the sign of the Red Horse。



And still; reluctant to retire;

The friends sat talking by the fire

And watched the smouldering embers burn

To ashes; and flash up again

Into a momentary glow;

Lingering like them when forced to go;

And going when they would remain;

For on the morrow they must turn

Their faces homeward; and the pain

Of parting touched with its unrest

A tender nerve in every breast。



But sleep at last the victory won;

They must be stirring with the sun;

And drowsily good night they said;

And went still gossiping to bed;

And left the parlor wrapped in gloom。

The only live thing in the room

Was the old clock; that in its pace

Kept time with the revolving spheres

And constellations in their flight;

And struck with its uplifted mace

The dark; unconscious hours of night;

To senseless and unlistening ears。



Uprose the sun; and every guest;

Uprisen; was soon equipped and dressed

For journeying home and city…ward;

The old stage…coach was at the door;

With horses harnessed; long before

The sunshine reached the withered sward

Beneath the oaks; whose branches hoar

Murmured: 〃Farewell forevermore。〃



〃Farewell!〃 the portly Landlord cried;

〃Farewell!〃 the parting guests replied;

But little thought that nevermore

Their feet would pass that threshold o'er;

That nevermore together there

Would they assemble; free from care;

To hear the oaks' mysterious roar;

And breathe the wholesome country air。



Where are they now?  What lands and skies

Paint pictures in their friendly eyes?

What hope deludes; what promise cheers;

What pleasant voices fill their ears?

Two are beyond the salt sea waves;

And three already in their graves。

Perchance the living still may look

Into the pages of this book;

And see the days of long ago

Floating and fleeting to and fro;

As in the well…remembered brook

They saw the inverted landscape gleam;

And their own faces like a dream

Look up upon them from below。







FLOWER…DE…LUCE



FLOWER…DE…LUCE



Beautiful lily; dwelling by still rivers;

    Or solitary mere;

Or where the sluggish meadow…brook delivers

    Its waters to the weir!



Thou laughest at the mill; the whir and worry

    Of spindle and of loom;

And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry

    And rushing of the flame。



Born in the purple; born to joy and pleasance;

    Thou dost not toil nor spin;

But makest glad and radiant with thy presence

    The meadow and the lin。



The wind blows; and uplifts thy drooping banner;

    And round thee throng and run

The rushes; the green yeomen of thy manor;

    The outlaws of the sun。



The burnished dragon…fly is thine attendant;

    And tilts against the field;

And down the listed sunbeam rides resplendent

    With steel…blue mail and shield。



Thou art the Iris; fair among the fairest;

    Who; armed with golden rod

And winged with the celestial azure; bearest

    The message of some God。



Thou art the Muse; who far from crowded cities

    Hauntest the sylvan streams;

Playing on pipes of reed the artless ditties

    That come to us as dreams。



O flower…de…luce; bloom on; and let the river

    Linger to kiss thy feet!

O flower of song; bloom on; and make forever

    The world more fair and sweet。







PALINGENESIS



I lay upon the headland…height; and listened

To the incessant sobbing of the sea 

    In caverns under me;

And watched the waves; that tossed and fled and glistened;

Until the rolling meadows of amethyst

    Melted away in mist。



Then suddenly; as one from sleep; I started;

For round about me all the sunny capes

    Seemed peopled with the shapes

Of those whom I had known in days departed;

Apparelled in the loveliness which gleams

    On faces seen in dreams。



A moment only; and the light and glory

Faded away; and the disconsolate shore

    Stood lonely as before;

And the wild…roses of the promontory

Around me shuddered in the wind; and shed

    Their petals of pale red。



There was an old belief that in the embers

Of all things their primordial form exists;

    And cunning alchemists

Could re…create the rose with all its members

From its own ashes; but without the bloom;

    Without the lost perfume。



Ah me! what wonder…working; occult science

Can from the ashes in our hearts once more

    The rose of youth restore?

What craft of alchemy can bid defiance

To time and change; and for a single hour

    Renew this phantom…flower?



〃O; give me back;〃 I cried; 〃the vanished splendors;

The breath of morn; and the exultant strife;

    When the swift stream of life

Bounds o'er its rocky channel; and surrenders

The pond; with all its lilies; for the leap

    Into the unknown deep!〃



And the sea answered; with a lamentation;

Like some old prophet wailing; and it said;

    〃Alas! thy youth is dead!

It breathes no more; its heart has no pulsation;

In the dark places with the dead of old

    It lies forever cold!〃



Then said I; 〃From its consecrated cerements

I will not drag this sacred dust again;

    Only to give me pain;

But; still remembering all the lost endearments;

Go on my way; like one who looks before;

    And turns to weep no more。〃



Into what land of harvests; what plantations

Bright with autumnal foliage and the glow

    Of sunsets burning low;

Beneath what midnight skies; whose constellations

Light up the spacious avenues between

    This world and the unseen!



Amid what friendly greetings and caresses;

What households; though not alien; yet not mine;

    What bowers of rest divine;

To what temptations in lone wildernesses;

What famine of the heart; what pain and loss;

    The bearing of what cross!



I do not know; nor will I vainly question

Those pages of the mystic book which hold

    The story still untold;

But without rash conjecture or suggestion

Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed;

    Until 〃The End〃 I read。







THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD



Burn; O evening hearth; and waken

  Pleasant visions; as of old!

Though the house by winds be shaken;

  Safe I keep this room of gold!



Ah; no longer wizard Fancy

  Builds her castles in the air;

Luring me by necromancy

  Up the never…ending stair!



But; instead; she builds me bridges

  Over many a dark ravine;

Where beneath the gusty ridges

  Cataracts dash and roar unseen。



And I cross them; little heeding

  Blast of wind or torrent's roar;

As I follow the receding

  Footsteps that have gone before。



Naught avails the imploring gesture;

  Naught avails the cry of pain!

When I touch the flying vesture;

  'T is the gray robe of the rain。



Baffled I return; and; leaning

  O'er the parapets of cloud;

Watch the mist that intervening

  Wraps the valley in its shroud。



And the sounds of life ascending

  Faintly; vaguely; meet the ear;

Murmur of bells and voices blending

  With the rush of waters near。



Well I know what there lies hidden;

  Every tower and town and farm;

And again the land forbidden

  Reassumes its vanished charm。



Well I know the secret places;

  And the nests in hedge and tree;

At what doors are friendly faces;

  In what hearts are thoughts of me。



Through the mist and darkness sinking;

  Blown by wind and beaten by shower;

Down I fling the thought I'm thinking;

  Down I toss this Alpine flower。







HAWTHORNE



MAY 23; 1864



How beautiful it was; that one bright day

  In the long week of rain!

Though all its splendor could not chase away

  The omnipresent pain。



The lovely town was white with apple…blooms;

  And the great elms o'erhead

Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms

  Shot through with golden thread。



Across the meadows; by the gray old manse;

  The historic river flowed:

I was as one who wanders in a trance;

  Unconscious of his road。



The faces of familiar friends seemed strange;

  Their voices I could hear;

And yet the words they uttered se

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