Избранная лирика

Уильям ВордсвортLUCYISTRANGE fits of passion have I known:And I will dare to tell,But in the lover's ear alone,What once to me befell.When she I loved look'd every dayFresh as a rose in June,I to her cottage bent my way,Beneath an evening moon.Upon the moon I fix'd my eye,All over the wide lea;With quickening pace my horse drew nighThose paths so dear to me.And now we reach'd the orchard-plot;And, as we climb'd the hill,The sinking moon to Lucy's cotCame near and nearer still.In one of those sweet dreams I slept,Kind Nature's gentlest boon!And all the while my eyes I keptOn the descending moon.My horse moved on; hoof after hoofHe raised, and never stopp'd:When down behind the cottage roof,At once, the bright moon dropp'd.What fond and wayward thoughts will slideInto a lover's head!'O mercy!' to myself I cried,'If Lucy should be dead!'IISHE dwelt among the untrodden waysBeside the springs of Dove,A Maid whom there were none to praiseAnd very few to love:A violet by a mossy stoneHalf hidden from the eye!Fair as a star, when only oneIs shining in the sky.She lived unknown, and few could knowWhen Lucy ceased to be;But she is in her grave, and oh,The difference to me!IIII TRAVELL'D among unknown men,In lands beyond the sea;Nor, England! Did I know till thenWhat love I bore to thee.'This past, that melancholy dream!Nor will I quit thy shoreA second time; for still I seemTo love thee more and more.Among the mountains did I feelThe joy of my desire;And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheelBeside an English fire.Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd,The bowers where Lucy play'd;And thine too is the last green fieldThat Lucy's eyes survey'd.IVTHREE years she grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flowerOn earth was never sown;This child I to myself will take;She shall be mine, and I will makeA lady of my own.'Myself will to my darling beBoth law and impulse; and with meThe girl, in rock and plain,In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,Shall feel an overseeing powerTo kindle or restrain.'She shall be sportive as the fawnThat wild with glee across the lawnOr up the mountain springs;And hers shall be the breathing balm,And hers the silence and the calmOf mute insensate things.'The floating clouds their state shall lendTo her; for her the willow bend;Nor shall she fail to seeEven in the motions of the stormGrace that shall mould the maiden's formBy silent sympathy.'The stars of midnight shall be dearTo her; and she shall lean her earIn many a secret placeWhere rivulets dance their wayward round,And beauty born of murmuring soundShall pass into her face.'And vital feelings of delightShall rear her form to stately height,Her virgin bosom swell;Such thoughts to Lucy I will giveWhile she and I together liveHere in this happy dell.'Thus Nature spake – The work was done —How soon my Lucy's race was run!She died, and left to meThis heath, this calm and quiet scene;The memory of what has been,And never more will be.VA SLUMBER did my spirit seal;I had no human fears:She seem'd a thing that could not feelThe touch of earthly years.No motion has she now, no force;She neither hears nor sees;Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course,With rocks, and stones, and trees.ЛЮСИIКакие тайны знает страсть!Но только тем из вас,Кто сам любви изведал власть,Доверю свой рассказ.Когда, как роза вешних дней,Любовь моя цвела,Я на свиданье мчался к ней,Со мной луна плыла;Луну я взглядом провожалПо светлым небесам.А конь мой весело бежал —Он знал дорогу сам.Вот наконец фруктовый сад,Взбегающий на склон.Знакомый крыши гладкий скатЛуною озарен.Охвачен сладкой властью сна,Не слышал я копытИ только видел, что лунаНа хижине стоит,Копыто за копытом, коньПо склону вверх ступал.Но вдруг луны погас огонь,За крышею пропал.Тоска мне сердце облегла,Чуть только свет погас.«Что, если Люси умерла?» —Сказал я в первый раз.