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Richard Monckton Milnes (Ричард Монктон Милнс) Marathon I could believe that under such a sky, Thus grave, thus streaked with thunderlight, of yore, The small Athenian troop rushed onward, more As Bacchanals, than men about to die. How weak that massive motley enemy Seemed to those hearts, full--fed on that high lore, Which, for their use, in his melodious store, Old Homer had laid up immortally! Thus Marathon was Troy,--thus here again, They were at issue with the barb'rous East, And favo'ring Gods spoke out, and walked the plain; And every man was an anointed priest Of Nemesis, empowerèd to chastise The rampant insolence that would not be made wise. Richard Monckton Milnes's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1203 |
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