The Complete Works of John Keats: Poems, Plays & Personal Letters. John Keats. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: John Keats
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Vile strictures on the conduct of a prince

       Who should indulge his genius, if he has any,

       Not, like a subject, foolish matters mince.

       Now I think on’t, perhaps I could convince

       Your Majesty there is no crime at all

       In loving pretty little Bertha, since

       She’s very delicate, not over tall,

       A fairy’s hand, and in the waist why very small.”

      LIV.

      “Ring the repeater, gentle Hum!” “’Tis five,”

       Said the gentle Hum; “the nights draw in apace;

       The little birds I hear are all alive;

       I see the dawning touch’d upon your face;

       Shall I put out the candles, please your Grace?”

       “Do put them out, and, without more ado,

       Tell me how I may that sweet girl embrace,

       How you can bring her to me.” “That’s for you,

       Great Emperor! to adventure, like a lover true.”

      LV.

      “I fetch her!” “Yes, an’t like your Majesty;

       And as she would be frighten’d wide awake

       To travel such a distance through the sky,

       Use of some soft manoeuvre you must make,

       For your convenience, and her dear nerves’ sake;

       Nice way would be to bring her in a swoon,

       Anon, I’ll tell what course were best to take;

       You must away this morning.” “Hum! so soon?”

       “Sire, you must be in Kent by twelve o’clock at noon.”

      LVI.

      At this great Caesar started on his feet,

       Lifted his wings, and stood attentive-wise.

       “Those wings to Canterbury you must beat,

       If you hold Bertha as a worthy prize.

       Look in the Almanack Moore never lies

       April the twenty-fourth, this coming day,

       Now breathing its new bloom upon the skies,

       Will end in St. Mark’s Eve; you must away,

       For on that eve alone can you the maid convey.”

      LVII.

      Then the magician solemnly ‘gan to frown,

       So that his frost-white eyebrows, beetling low,

       Shaded his deep green eyes, and wrinkles brown

       Plaited upon his furnace-scorched brow:

       Forth from his hood that hung his neck below,

       He lifted a bright casket of pure gold,

       Touch’d a spring-lock, and there in wool or snow,

       Charm’d into ever freezing, lay an old

       And legend-leaved book, mysterious to behold.

      LVIII.

      “Take this same book, it will not bite you, Sire;

       There, put it underneath your royal arm;

       Though it’s a pretty weight it will not tire,

       But rather on your journey keep you warm:

       This is the magic, this the potent charm,

       That shall drive Bertha to a fainting fit!

       When the time comes, don’t feel the least alarm,

       But lift her from the ground, and swiftly flit

       Back to your palace.

      LIX.

      “What shall I do with that same book?” “Why merely

       Lay it on Bertha’s table, close beside

       Her work-box, and ‘twill help your purpose dearly;

       I say no more.” “Or good or ill betide,

       Through the wide air to Kent this morn I glide!”

       Exclaim’d the Emperor. “When I return,

       Ask what you will, I’ll give you my new bride!

       And take some more wine, Hum; O Heavens! I burn

       To be upon the wing! Now, now, that minx I spurn!”

      LX.

      “Leave her to me,” rejoin’d the magian:

       “But how shall I account, illustrious fay!

       For thine imperial absence? Pho! I can

       Say you are very sick, and bar the way

       To your so loving courtiers for one day;

       If either of their two archbishops’ graces

       Should talk of extreme unction, I shall say

       You do not like cold pig with Latin phrases,

       Which never should be used but in alarming cases.”

      LXI.

      “Open the window, Hum; I’m ready now!”

       Zooks!” exclaim’d Hum, as up the sash he drew.

       “Behold, your Majesty, upon the brow

       Of yonder hill, what crowds of people!” “Whew!

       The monster’s always after something new,”

       Return’d his Highness, “they are piping hot

       To see my pigsney Bellanaine. Hum! do

       Tighten my belt a little, so, so, not

       Too tight, the book! my wand! so, nothing is forgot.”

      LXII.

      “Wounds! how they shout!” said Hum, “and there, see, see!

       Th’ ambassador’s return’d from Pigmio!

       The morning’s very fine, uncommonly!

       See, past the skirts of yon white cloud they go,

       Tinging it with soft crimsons! Now below

       The sable-pointed heads of firs and pines

       They dip, move on, and with them moves a glow

       Along the forest side! Now amber lines

       Reach the hill top, and now throughout the valley shines.”

      LXIII.

      “Why, Hum, you’re getting quite poetical!

       Those ‘nows’ you managed in a special style.”

       “If ever you have leisure, Sire, you shall

       See scraps of mine will make it worth your while,

       Tid-bits for Phoebus! yes, you well may smile.

       Hark! hark! the bells!” “A little further yet,

       Good Hum, and let me view this mighty coil.”

       Then the great Emperor full graceful set

       His elbow for a prop, and snuff’d his mignonnette.

      LXIV.

      The morn is full of holiday; loud bells

       With rival clamours ring from every spire;

       Cunningly-station’d music dies and swells

       In echoing places; when the winds respire,

       Light flags stream out like gauzy tongues of fire;