Стихи и поэмы

He pass'd unquestion'd through the camp,Their heads the soldiers bentIn silent reverence, or begg'dA blessing as he went;And so the Hermit pass'd alongAnd reached the royal tent.King Henry sate in his tent alone,The map before him lay,Fresh conquests he was planning thereTo grace the future day.King Henry lifted up his eyesThe intruder to behold;With reverence he the hermit saw,For the holy man was old,His look was gentle as a Saint's,And yet his eye was bold.

"Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongsWhich thou hast done this land!O King, repent in time, for knowThe judgement is at hand."I have pass'd forty years of peaceBeside the river Blaise,But what a weight of woe hast thouLaid on my latter days!"I used to see along the streamThe white sail gliding down,That wafted food in better timesTo yonder peaceful town."Henry! I never now beholdThe white sail gliding down;Famine, Disease, and Death, and ThouDestroy that wretched town."I used to hear the traveller's voice

As here he pass'd along,Or maiden as she loiter'd homeSinging her even-song."No traveller's voice may now be heard,In fear he hastens by;But I have heard the village maidIn vain for succour cry."I used to see the youths row downAnd watch the dripping oar,As pleasantly their viol's tonesCame soften'd to the shore."King Henry, many a blacken'd corpseI now see floating down!Thou man of blood! repent in time,And leave this leaguer'd town.""I shall go on," King Henry cried,

"And conquer this good land;Seest thou not, Hermit, that the LordHath given it to my hand?"The Hermit heard King Henry speak,And angrily look'd down;.His face was gentle, and for thatMore solemn was his frown."What if no miracle from HeavenThe murderer's arm controul,Think you for that the weight of bloodLies lighter on his soul?"Thou conqueror King, repent in timeOr dread the coming woe!For, Henry, thou hast heard the threat,And soon shalt feel the blow!"King Henry forced a careless smile,As the hermit went his way;

But Henry soon remember'd himUpon his dying day.

О, Валентин[20]

О, Валентин, скажи той деве милой,Чей образ до сих пор в моих мечтах,Что вновь я здесь, в тени густой, унылой,И ночи мрак печален как монах.Что в жизни я своей уединённойСтрадаю каждый вечер в тишине,И слушаю тоскливо перезвоны,Поющие ей так же как и мне.Скажи, что я вздыхаю от мученья,Чарующий представив силуэт,Глаз волшебство в своём воображенье,И на щеках улыбки дивный свет;В тот час, когда стихает в роще звук,Любви своей я чувствую недуг.

Go, Valentine