William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

To the River Derwent

AMONG the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream!
Thou near the eagle’s nest,—within brief sail,
I, of his bold wing floating on the gale,
Where thy deep voice could lull me! Faint the beam
Of human life when first allowed to gleam
On mortal notice. Glory of the vale,
Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail,
Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam
Of thy soft breath! Less vivid wreath entwined
Nemæan victor’s brow; less bright was worn
Meed of some Roman chief, in triumph borne
With captives chained, and shedding from his car
The sunset splendors of a finished war
Upon the proud enslavers of mankind!

1. Сыновьям Бернса после посещения могилы их отца • 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: 1449

Последние стихотворения

To English version