按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
Leaving my people to proceed alone；
While I soliloquize beyond expression；
But these are my addresses from the throne；
Which put off business to the ensuing session：
Forgetting each omission is a loss to
The world； not quite so great as Ariosto。
I know that what our neighbours call 'longueurs'
（We 've not so good a word； but have the thing
In that plete perfection which ensures
An epic from Bob Southey every spring）；
Form not the true temptation which allures
The reader； but 't would not be hard to bring
Some fine examples of the epopee；
To prove its grand ingredient is ennui。
We learn from Horace； 'Homer sometimes sleeps；'
We feel without him； Wordsworth sometimes wakes；…
To show with what placency he creeps；
With his dear 'Waggoners；' around his lakes。
He wishes for 'a boat' to sail the deeps…
Of ocean？… No； of air； and then he makes
Another outcry for 'a little boat；'
And drivels seas to set it well afloat。
If he must fain sweep o'er the ethereal plain；
And Pegasus runs restive in his 'Waggon；'
Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain？
Or pray Medea for a single dragon？
Or if； too classic for his vulgar brain；
He fear'd his neck to venture such a nag on；
And he must needs mount nearer to the moon；
Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon？
'Pedlars；' and 'Boats；' and 'Waggons！' Oh！ ye shades
Of Pope and Dryden； are we e to this？
That trash of such sort not alone evades
Contempt； but from the bathos' vast abyss
Floats scumlike uppermost； and these Jack Cades
Of sense and song above your graves may hiss…
The 'little boatman' and his 'Peter Bell'
Can sneer at him who drew 'Achitophel'！
T' our tale。… The feast was over； the slaves gone；
The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired；
The Arab lore and poet's song were done；
And every sound of revelry expired；
The lady and her lover； left alone；
The rosy flood of twilight's sky admired；…
Ave Maria！ o'er the earth and sea；
That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee！
Ave Maria！ blessed be the hour！
The time； the clime； the spot； where I so oft
Have felt that moment in its fullest power
Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft；
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower；
Or the faint dying day…hymn stole aloft；
And not a breath crept through the rosy air；
And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer。
Ave Maria！ 't is the hour of prayer！
Ave Maria！ 't is the hour of love！
Ave Maria！ may our spirits dare
Look up to thine and to thy Son's above！
Ave Maria！ oh that face so fair！
Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove…
What though 't is but a pictured image？… strike…
That painting is no idol；… 't is too like。
Some kinder casuists are pleased to say；
In nameless print… that I have no devotion；
But set those persons down with me to pray；
And you shall see who has the properest notion
Of getting into heaven the shortest way；
My altars are the mountains and the ocean；
Earth； air； stars；… all that springs from the great Whole；
Who hath produced； and will receive the soul。
Sweet hour of twilight！… in the solitude
Of the pine forest； and the silent shore
Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood；
Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er；
To where the last Caesarean fortress stood；
Evergreen forest！ which Boccaccio's lore
And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me；
How have I loved the twilight hour and thee！
The shrill cicadas； people of the pine；
Making their summer lives one ceaseless song；
Were the sole echoes； save my steed's and mine；
And vesper bell's that rose the boughs along；
The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line；
His hell…dogs； and their chase； and the fair throng
Which learn'd from this example not to fly
From a true lover；… shadow'd my mind's eye。
Oh； Hesperus！ thou bringest all good things…
Home to the weary； to the hungry cheer；
To the young bird the parent's brooding wings；
The wele stall to the o'erlabour'd steer；
Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings；
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear；
Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest；
Thou bring'st the child； too； to the mother's breast。
Soft hour！ which wakes the wish and melts the heart
Of those who sail the seas； on the first day
When they from their sweet friends are torn apart；
Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way
As the far bell of vesper makes him start；
Seeming to weep the dying day's decay；
Is this a fancy which our reason scorns？
Ah！ surely nothing dies but something mourns！
When Nero perish'd by the justest doom
Which ever the destroyer yet destroy'd；
Amidst the roar of liberated Rome；
Of nations freed； and the world overjoy'd；
Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb：
Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void
Of feeling for some kindness done； when power
Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour。
But I 'm digressing； what on earth has Nero；
Or any such like sovereign buffoons；
To do with the transactions of my hero；
More than such madmen's fellow man… the moon's？
Sure my invention must be down at zero；
And I grown one of many 'wooden spoons'
Of verse （the name with which we Cantabs please
To dub the last of honours in degrees）。
I feel this tediousness will never do…
'T is being too epic； and I must cut down
（In copying） this long canto into two；
They 'll never find it out； unless I own
The fact； excepting some experienced few；
And then as an improvement 't will be shown：
I 'll prove that such the opinion of the critic is
From Aristotle passim。… See poietikes。
CANTO THE FOURTH
。
NOTHING so difficult as a beginning
In poesy； unless perhaps the end；
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
The race； he sprains a wing； and down we tend；
Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sinning；
Our sin the same； and hard as his to mend；
Being pride； which leads the mind to soar too far；
Till our own weakness shows us what we are。
But Time； which brings all beings to their level；
And sharp Adversity； will teach at last
Man；… and； as we would hope；… perhaps the devil；
That neither of their intellects are vast：
While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel；
We know not this… the blood flows on too fast；
But as the torrent widens towards the ocean；
We ponder deeply on each past emotion。
As boy； I thought myself a clever fellow；
And wish'd that others held the same opinion；
They took it up when my days grew more mellow；
And other minds acknowledged my dominion：
Now my sere fancy 'falls into the yellow
Leaf；' and Imagination droops her pinion；
And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk
Turns what was once romantic to burlesque。
And if I laugh at any mortal thing；
'T is that I may not weep； and if I weep；
'T is that our nature cannot always bring
Itself to apathy； for we must steep
Our hearts first in the depths of Lethe's spring；
Ere what we least wish to behold will sleep：
Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx；
A mortal mother would on Lethe fix。
Some have accused me of a strange design
Against the creed and morals of the land；
And trace it in this poem every line：
I don't pretend that I quite understand
My own meaning when I would be very fine；
But the fac