Избранная лирика - Вордсворт Уильям (лучшие книги читать онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗
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Second Part (2)
It would have grieved
Your very soul to see her. Sir, I reel
The story linger in my heart. I fear
Tis long and tedious, but my spirit clings
To that poor woman. So familiarly 365
Do I perceive her manner and her look
And presence, and so deeply do I feel
Her goodness, that not seldom in my walks
A momentary trance comes over me
And to myself 1 seem to muse on one 370
By sorrow laid asleep or borne away,
A human being destined to awake
To human life, or something very near
To human life, when he shall come again
For whom she suffered. Sir, it would have grieved 375
Your very soul to see her: evermore
Her eyelids drooped, her eyes were downward cast.
And when she at her table gave me food
She did not look at me. Her voice was low,
Her body was subdued. In every act 380
Pertaining to her house-aftairs appeared
The careless stillness which a thinking mind
Gives to an idle matter. Still she sighed,
But yet no motion of the breast was seen,
No heaving of the heart. While by the fire 385
We sat together, sighs came on my ear —
I knew not how, and hardly whence, they came.
I took my staff, and when I kissed her babe
The tears stood in her eyes. I left her then
With the best hope and comfort 1 could give: 390
She thanked me for my will, but for my hope
It seemed she did not thank me.
I returned
And took my rounds along this road again
Ere on its sunny bank the primrose flower
Had chronicled the earliest day of spring. 395
I found her sad and drooping. She had learned.
No tidings of her husband. If he lived,
She knew not that he lived: if he were dead,
She knew not he was dead. She seemed the same
In person or appearance, but her house 400
Bespoke a sleepy hand of negligence,
The floor was neither dry nor neat, the hearth
Was comfortless,
The windows too were dim, and her few books
Which one upon the other heretofore 405
Had been piled up against the corner-panes
In seemly order, now with straggling leaves
Lay scattered here and there, open or shut,
As they had chanced со fall. Her infant babe
Had from its mother caught the trick36 of grief, 410
And sighed among its playthings. Once again
I turned towards the garden-gate, and saw
More plainly still that poverty and grief
Were now come nearer to her. The earth was hard,
With weeds defaced and knots of withered grass; 415
No ridges there appeared of clear black mould37
No winter greenness. Of her herbs and flowers
It seemed the better pare were gnawed away
Or trampled on the earth. A chain of straw,
Which had been twisted round the tender stem 420
Of a young apple-tree, lay at its root;
The bark was nibbled round by truant sheep.
Margaret stood near, her infant in her arms,
And, seeing that my eye was on the tree,
Ere Robert come again."
Towards the house
Together we returned, and she enquired
If I had any hope. But for her babe,
And for her little friendless boy, she said,
She had no wish to live — that she must die 430
Of sorrow. Yet I saw the idle loom
Still in its place. His Sunday garments hung
Upon the self-same nail, his very staff
Stood undisturbed behind the door. And when
I passed this way beaten by autumn winds, 435
She told me that her little babe was dead
And she was left alone. That very time,
I yet remember, through the miry lane
She walked with me a mile, when the bare trees
Trickled with foggy damps, and in such sort 440
That any heart had ached to hear her, begged
That wheresoe'er I went I still would ask
For him whom she had lost. We parted then,
Our final parting; for from that time forth
Did many seasons pass ere I returned 445
Into this tract again.
Five tedious year
She lingered in unquiet widowhood,
A wife and widow. Needs must it have been
A sore heart-wasting. I have heard, my friend,
That in that broken arbour she would sit 450
The idle length of half a sabbath day —
There, where you see the toadstool's lazy head —
And when a dog passed by she still would quit
The shade and look abroad. On this old bench
For hours she sat, and evermore her eye 455
Was busy in the distance, shaping things
Which made her heart beat quick, Seest thou that path? —
The greensward now has broken its grey line —
There to and fro she paced through many a day
Of the warm summer, from a belt of flax 460
That girt her waist, spinning the long-drawn thread
With backward steps. Yet ever as there passed
A man whose garments showed the soldier's red
Or crippled mendicant in sailor's garb,
The little child who sat to turn the wheel 465
Ceased from his toil, and she, with faltering voice,
Expecting still to learn her husband's fate
Made many a fond enquiry; and when they
Whose presence gave no comfort were gone by,
Her heart was still more sad. And by yon gate 470
Which bars the traveller's road, she often stood,
And when a stranger horseman came, the latch
Would lift, and in his face look wistfully,
Most happy if from aught discovered there
Of tender feeling she might dare repeat 475
The same sad question.
Meanwhile her poor hut
Sunk to decay; for he was gone, whose hand
At the first nippings of October frost
Closed up each chink, and with fresh bands of straw
Chequered the green-grown thatch. And so she lived 480
Through the long winter, reckless and atone,
Till this reft house, by frost, and thaw, and rain,
Was sapped; and when she slept, the nightly damps
Did chill her breast, and in the stormy day
Her tattered clothes were ruffled by the wind 485
Even at the side of her own fire. Yet still
She loved this wretched spot, nor would for worlds
Have parted hence; and still that length of road,
And this rude bench, one torturing hope endeared,
Fast rooted at her heart. And here, my friend, 490
In sickness she remained; and here she died,
Last human tenant of these ruined walls
The old man ceased; he saw that I was moved.
From that low bench, rising instinctively
I turned aside in weakness, nor had power 495
To thank him for the tale which he had told.
I stood, and leaning o'er the garden gate
Reviewed that woman's sufferings: and it seemed
To comfort me while with a brother's love
I blessed her in the impotence of grief 500
At length towards the cottage I returned
Fondly, and traced with milder interest
That secret spirit of humanity
Which, mid the calm oblivious tendencies
Of Nature, mid her plants, her weeds and flowers, 505
And silent overgrowing, still survived.
The old man, seeing this, resumed, and said,
'My friend, enough to sorrow have you given,
The purposes of wisdom ask no more:
Be wise and cheerful, and no longer read 510
The forms of things with an unworthy eye:
She sleeps in the calm earth, and peace is here.
I well remember that those very plumes,
Those weeds, and the high speargrass on that wall,
By mist and silent raindrops silvered o'er, 515
As once I passed did to my mind convey
So still an image of tranquillity,
So calm and still, and looked so beautiful
Amid the uneasy thoughts which filled my mind,
That what we feel of sorrow and despair 520
From ruin and from change, and all the grief
The passing shows of being leave behind
Appeared an idle dream chat could not live
Where meditation was. I turned away,
And walked along my road in happiness. 525
He ceased. By this the sun declining shot
A slant and mellow radiance, which began
To fall upon us where beneath the trees
We sat on that low bench. And now we felt,
Admonished thus, the sweet hour coming on: 530
A linnet warbled from those lofty elms,
A thrash sang loud, and other melodies
At distance heard peopled the milder air.
The old man rose and hoisted up his load;
Together casting then a farewell look 535
Upon those silent walls, we left the shade,
And ere the stars were visible attained
A rustic inn, our evening resting-place.
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