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William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт) Cave of Staffa I. WE saw, but surely, in the motley crowd, Not one of us has felt the far-famed sight; How could we feel it? each the other’s blight, Hurried and hurrying, volatile and loud. O, for those motions only that invite The ghost of Fingal to his tuneful cave By the breeze entered, and wave after wave Softly embosoming the timid light! And by one votary, who at will might stand Gazing, and take into his mind and heart, With undistracted reverence, the effect Of those proportions where the Almighty hand That made the worlds, the sovereign Architect, Has deigned to work as if with human art! II. THANKS for the lessons of this spot,—fit school For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign Mechanic laws to agency divine; And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule Infinite Power. The pillared vestibule, Expanding yet precise, the roof embowed, Might seem designed to humble man, when proud Of his best workmanship by plan and tool. Down-bearing with his whole Atlantic weight Of tide and tempest on that structure’s base, And flashing to that structure’s topmost height, Ocean has proved its strength, and of its grace In calms is conscious, finding for his freight Of softest music some responsive place. III. YE shadowy Beings, that have rights and claims In every cell of Fingal’s mystic grot, Where are ye? Driven or venturing to the spot, Our fathers glimpses caught of your thin frames, And, by your mien and bearing, knew your names; And they could hear his ghostly song who trod Earth, till the flesh lay on him like a load, While he struck his desolate harp without hopes or aims. Vanished ye are, but subject to recall; Why keep we else the instincts whose dread law Ruled here of yore, till what men felt they saw, Not by black arts but magic natural! If eyes be still sworn vassals of belief, Yon light shapes forth a bard, that shade a chief. William Wordsworth's other poems:
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