Maria Jane Jewsbury (Мария Джейн Джюсбери)

The Glory of the Heights

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise,
To scorn delights and live laborious days.

                                          Milton.

I.

O MOCKERY to dream of genius wed
To quiet happiness! The vale may wear
The sunlight, like a garment, rich and fair;
But the bold mountains towering overhead,
Must robe in mist and cloud,
Be girt with stormy shroud,
And when awhile in partial verdure drest,
Must hide unmelted snows for ever in their breast.

The city now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning.
Wordsworth.

II.

Yet have they beauty gorgeous and divine,
And precious, even for its fitful stay;
Morn's blushing welcome, sunset's golden ray,
Can make their summits seem a glittering mine:
Where, as with jewels strewn,
Cavern and crag unhewn,
Glow with the varied and effulgent hues,
That sapphires, amethysts, and pearls suffuse.

III.

Yet have the mountains glory; not repose
The bright monotony of cloudless days,
Living and dying in a sunny haze,
Their glory is the storm; the storm that throws
Its kindling power around,
Till passive things rebound,
And weaker elements arise, and share
The lofty strife, that else they might not dare.

IV.

Yet have the mountains glory; they remain
The earth's eternal tenants; while the vale
Changing and changing like tradition's tale,
May scarcely one old lineament retain,
They from their solitude
Oft see the world renewed,
The history of each age power pomp decay
And then oblivion: not so their sway.

V.

O mockery to dream of genius wed
To quiet happiness! Promethean Power
Survey, and be content thy state and dower;
A name when kings are nameless; life, when dead
Are countless generations;
A record among nations
That never knew thy being or thy birth;
An immortality bestowed on earth!

VI.

Yet, art thou sad Magician? canst thou give
The thrilling joy thou hast no power to feel?
Yet, o'er thy spirit do the shadows steal,
Till the charmed life 'tis weariness to live?
Look from thy cloudy throne;
Heed not thy chilling zone;
To Heaven aspire; not there, thy soul shall fail
To blend with mountain-power the quiet of the vale!

1. Dreams of Heaven
2. There Is None Like unto Thee
3. Lines Written after Reading Sir Edward Seaward's Narrative
4. The Oceanides. No. 5. Address to the Deep
5. The Oceanides. No. 8. A New Year's Day Song

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1262

Последние стихотворения

To English version