William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

Roman Antiquities Discovered at Bishopstone, Herefordshire

WHILE poring antiquarians search the ground
Upturned with curious pains, the bard, a seer,
Takes fire,—the men that have been reappear;
Romans for travel girt, for business gowned;
And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned,
In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear,
As if its hues were of the passing year,
Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that mound
Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins,
Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil;
Or a fierce impress issues with its foil
Of tenderness,—the wolf, whose suckling twins
The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins
The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.

1. To the Sons of Burns
2. Monument of Mrs. Howard
3. The Glen of Loch Etive
4. In the Sound of Mull
5. Suggested at Tyndrum in a Storm

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1414

Последние стихотворения

To English version