Текст оригинала на английском языке Rockall Rockall is a solid block of granite, growing as it were out of the sea, at a greater distance from the mainland, probably, than any other island or rock of the same diminutive size in the world. It is only seventy feet high, and not more than a hundred yards in circumference. It lies at a distance of no fewer than one hundred and eighty-four miles nearly due west of St. Kilda, the remotest part of the Hebrides, and is two hundred and sixty miles from the north of Ireland. PALE ocean rock! that, like a phantom shape, Or some mysterious spirit’s tenement, Risest amid this weltering waste of waves, Lonely and desolate, thy spreading base Is planted in the sea’s unmeasured depths, Where rolls the huge leviathan o’er sands Glistening with shipwrecked treasures. The strong wind Flings up thy sides a veil of feathery spray With sunbeams interwoven, and the hues Which mingle in the rainbow. From thy top The sea-birds rise, and sweep with sidelong flight Downward upon their prey; or, with poised wings, Skim to the horizon o’er the glittering deep. Our bark, careening to the welcome breeze, With white sails filled and streamers all afloat, Shakes from her dipping prow the foam, while we Gaze on thy outline mingling in the void, And draw our breath like men who see, amazed, Some mighty pageant passing. What had been Our fate last night, if, when the aspiring waves Were toppling o’er our mainmast, and the stars Were shrouded in black vapors, we had struck Full on thy sea-bound pinnacles, Rockall! But now another prospect greets our sight, And hope elate is rising with our hearts: Intensely blue, the sky’s resplendent arch Bends over all serenely; not a cloud Mars its pure radiance; not a shadow dims The flashing billows. The refreshing air It is a luxury to feel and breathe; The senses are made keener, and drink in The life, the joy, the beauty of the scene. Repeller of the wild and thundering surge! For ages has the baffled tempest howled By thee with all its fury, and piled up The massive waters like a falling tower To dash thee down; but there thou risest yet, As calm amid the roar of storms, the shock Of waves uptorn, and hurled against thy front, As when, on summer eves, the crimsoned main, In lingering undulations, girds thee round! |
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