LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool

      As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,

      And reared him at the then Lord Velez' cost.

      And so the babe grew up a pretty boy,

      A pretty boy, but most unteachable —

      And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead,

      But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes,

      And whistled, as he were a bird himself:

      And all the autumn 'twas his only play

      To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them

      With earth and water, on the stumps of trees.

      A Friar, who gathered simples in the wood,

      A grey-haired man – he loved this little boy,

      The boy loved him – and, when the Friar taught him,

      He soon could write with the pen: and from that time,

      Lived chiefly at the Convent or the Castle.

      So he became a very learned youth.

      But Oh! poor wretch! – he read, and read, and read,

      'Till his brain turned – and ere his twentieth year,

      He had unlawful thoughts of many things:

      And though he prayed, he never loved to pray

      With holy men, nor in a holy place —

      But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,

      The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him.

      And once, as by the north side of the Chapel

      They stood together, chained in deep discourse,

      The earth heaved under them with such a groan,

      That the wall tottered, and had well-nigh fallen

      Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened;

      A fever seized him, and he made confession

      Of all the heretical and lawless talk

      Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized

      And cast into that hole. My husband's father

      Sobbed like a child – it almost broke his heart:

      And once as he was working in the cellar,

      He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's,

      Who sung a doleful song about green fields,

      How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah,

      To hunt for food, and be a naked man,

      And wander up and down at liberty.

      He always doted on the youth, and now

      His love grew desperate; and defying death,

      He made that cunning entrance I described:

      And the young man escaped.

      LINES LEFT UPON A SEAT IN A YEW-TREE WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF ESTHWAITE, ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE, YET COMMANDING A BEAUTIFUL PROSPECT