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Избранная лирика

Вордсворт Уильям

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Фантастика и фэнтези

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Последние комментарии

оксана2018-11-27

Вообще, я больше люблю новинки литератур

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Professor2018-11-27

Очень понравилась книга. Рекомендую!

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Vera.Li2016-02-21

Миленько и простенько, без всяких интриг

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ст.ст.2018-05-15

И что это было?

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Наталья222018-11-27

Сюжет захватывающий. Все-таки читать кни

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Избранная лирика - Вордсворт Уильям - Страница 17

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THE LAST OF THE FLOCK

In distant countries have I been,

And yet I have not often seen

A healthy man, a man full grown,

Weep in the public roads, alone.

But such a one, on English ground,

And in the broad highway, I met;

Along the broad highway he came,

His cheeks with tears were wet:

Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;

And in his arms a Lamb he had.

He saw me, and he turned aside,

As if he wished himself to hide:

And with his coat did then essay

To wipe those briny tears away.

I followed him, and said, "My friend,

What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"

— "Shame on me, Sir! this lusty Lamb,

He makes my tears to flow.

To-day I fetched him from the rock;

He is the last of all my flock.

III

"When I was young, a single man,

And after youthful follies ran,

Though little given to care and thought,

Yet, so it was, an ewe I bought;

And other sheep from her I raised,

As healthy sheep as you might see;

And then I married, and was rich

As I could wish to be;

Of sheep I numbered a full score,

And every year increased my store.

"Year after year my stock it grew;

And from this one, this single ewe,

Full fifty comely sheep I raised,

As fine a flock as ever grazed!

Upon the Quantock hills they fed;

They throve, and we at home did thrive:

— This lusty Lamb of all my store

Is all that is alive;

And now I care not if we die,

And perish all of poverty.

"Six Children, Sir! had I to feed:

Hard labour in a time of need!

My pride was tamed, and in our grief

I of the Parish asked relief.

They said, I was a wealthy man;

My sheep upon the uplands fed,

And it was fit that thence I took

Whereof to buy us bread.

'Do this: how can we give to you,'

They cried, 'what to the poor is due?'

"I sold a sheep, as they had said,

And bought my little children bread,

And they were healthy with their food

For me-it never did me good.

A woeful time it was for me,

To see the end of all my gains,

The pretty flock which I had reared

With all my care and pains,

To see it melt like snow away —

For me it was a woeful day.

VII

"Another still! and still another!

A little lamb, and then its mother!

It was a vein that never stopped —

Like blood drops from my heart they dropped.

'Till thirty were not left alive

They dwindled, dwindled, one by one

And I may say, that many a time

I wished they all were gone —

Reckless of what might come at last

Were but the bitter struggle past.

VIII

"To wicked deeds I was inclined,

And wicked fancies crossed my mind;

And every man I chanced to see,

I thought he knew some ill of me:

No peace, no comfort could I find,

No ease, within doors or without;

And, crazily and wearily

I went my work about;

And oft was moved to flee from home,

And hide my head where wild beasts roam.

"Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me

As dear as my own children be;

For daily with my growing store

I loved my children more and more.

Alas! it was an evil time;

God cursed me in my sore distress;

I prayed, yet every day I thought

I loved my children less;

And every week, and every day,

My flock it seemed to melt away.

"They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see!

From ten to five, from five to three,

A lamb, a wether, and a ewe; —

And then at last from three to two;

And, of my fifty, yesterday

I had but only one:

And here it lies upon my arm,

Alas! and I have none; —

To-day I fetched it from the rock;

It is the last of all my flock."