Эдгар По – Ворон (страница 10)

        Roaming the forest, and the wild; My breast her shield in wintry weather —         And, when the friendly sunshine smil’d, And she would mark the opening skies, I saw no Heaven – but in her eyes. Young Love’s first lesson is – the heart.         For ’mid that sunshine, and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart,         And laughing at her girlish wiles, I’d throw me on her throbbing breast,         And pour my spirit out in tears — There was no need to speak the rest —         No need to quiet any fears Of her – who ask’d no reason why, But turn’d on me her quiet eye! Yet more than worthy of the love My spirit struggled with, and strove, When, on the mountain peak, alone, Ambition lent it a new tone — I had no being – but in thee[20]:         The world, and all it did contain In the earth – the air – the sea —         Its joy – its little lot of pain That was new pleasure – the ideal,         Dim, vanities of dreams by night — And dimmer nothings which were real —         (Shadows – and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings,         And, so, confusedly, became         Thine image and – a name – a name! Two separate – yet most intimate things. I was ambitious – have you known         The passion, father? You have not: A cottager, I mark’d a throne Of half the world as all my own,         And murmur’d at such lowly lot — But, just like any other dream,         Upon the vapor of the dew My own had past, did not the beam         Of beauty which did while it thro’ The minute – the hour – the day – oppress My mind with double loveliness. We walk’d together on the crown Of a high mountain which look’d down Afar from its proud natural towers         Of rock and forest, on the hills — The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers         And shouting with a thousand rills. I spoke to her of power and pride,         But mystically – in such guise That she might deem it nought beside         The moment’s converse; in her eyes I read, perhaps too carelessly —         A mingled feeling with my own — The flush on her bright cheek, to me         Seem’d to become a queenly throne Too well that I should let it be         Light in the wilderness alone. I wrapp’d myself in grandeur then         And donn’d a visionary crown —         Ye t it was not that Fantasy         Had thrown her mantle over me — But that, among the rabble – men,         Lion ambition is chain’d down — And crouches to a keeper’s hand —