The Complete Works: Poetry, Plays, Letters and Extensive Biographies. John Keats. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: John Keats
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goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold?

      And splendidly mark’d with the story divine

      Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold?

      Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing?

      Hast thou a sword that thine enemy’s smart is?

      Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing?

      And wear’st thou the shield of the fam’d Britomartis?

      What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave,

      Embroidered with many a spring peering flower?

      Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?

      And hastest thou now to that fair lady’s bower?

      Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown’d;

      Full many the glories that brighten thy youth!

      I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound

      In magical powers to bless, and to sooth.

      On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair

      A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain;

      And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare

      Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain.

      This canopy mark: ’tis the work of a fay;

      Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish,

      When lovely Titania was far, far away,

      And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish.

      There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute

      Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales listened;

      The wondering spirits of heaven were mute,

      And tears ‘mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened.

      In this little dome, all those melodies strange,

      Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh;

      Nor e’er will the notes from their tenderness change;

      Nor e’er will the music of Oberon die.

      So, when I am in a voluptuous vein,

      I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose,

      And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,

      Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.

      Adieu, valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown’d;

      Full many the glories that brighten thy youth,

      I too have my blisses, which richly abound

      In magical powers, to bless and to sooth.

      Plays:

      King Stephen

      Scene I

      Field of Battle. -

      Alarum. Enter King Stephen, Knights, and Soldiers. -

      Stephen.

      If shame can on a soldier’s vein-swoll’n front

      Spread deeper crimson than the battle’s toil,

      Blush in your casing helmets! for see, see!

      Yonder my chivalry, my pride of war,

      Wrench’d with an iron hand from firm array,

      Are routed loose about the plashy meads,

      Of honour forfeit. O that my known voice

      Could reach your dastard ears, and fright you more!

      Fly, cowards, fly! Glocester is at your backs!

      Throw your slack bridles o’er the flurried manes,

      Ply well the rowel with faint trembling heels,

      Scampering to death at last!

      First Knight.

      The enemy

      Bears his flaunt standard close upon their rear.

      Second Knight.

      Sure of a bloody prey, seeing the fens

      Will swamp them girth-deep.

      Stephen.

      Over head and ears,

      No matter! ’Tis a gallant enemy;

      How like a comet he goes streaming on.

      But we must plague him in the flank,– hey, friends.

      We are well breathed,– follow! -

      Enter Earl Baldwin and Soldiers, as defeated. -

      Stephen.

      De Redvers!

      What is the monstrous bugbear that can fright

      Baldwin?

      Baldwin.

      No scare-crow, but the fortunate star

      Of boisterous Chester, whose fell truncheon now

      Points level to the goal of victory.

      This way he comes, and if you would maintain

      Your person unaffronted by vile odds,

      Take horse, my Lord.

      Stephen.

      And which way spur for life?

      Now I thank Heaven I am in the toils,

      That soldiers may bear witness how my arm

      Can burst the meshes. Not the eagle more

      Loves to beat up against a tyrannous blast,

      Than I to meet the torrent of my foes.

      This is a brag,– be’t so,– but if I fall,

      Carve it upon my ‘scutcheon’d sepulchre.

      On, fellow soldiers! Earl of Redvers, back!

      Not twenty Earls of Chester shall brow-beat

      The diadem.

      [Exeunt. Alarum.

      Scene II

      Another part of the Field. -

      Trumpets sounding a Victory. Enter Glocester, Knights, and Forces. -

      Glocester.

      Now may we lift our bruised vizors up,

      And take the flattering freshness of the air,

      While the wide din of battle dies away

      Into times past, yet to be echoed sure

      In the silent pages of our chroniclers.

      First Knight.

      Will Stephen’s death be mark’d there, my good

      Lord,

      Or that we gave him lodging in yon towers?

      Glocester.

      Fain would I know the great usurper’s fate. -

      Enter two Captains severally. -

      First Captain.

      My Lord!

      Second Captain.

      Most noble Earl!

      First Captain.

      The