The World's Greatest Books [Volumes 1-15, 17-20]

Автор: Gutenberg
Год: 1910
Язык: английский
Жанр: Культурология

Электронная книга - «The World's Greatest Books [Volumes 1-15, 17-20]». Краткое содержание книги:

Антология содержит:
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 01 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 02 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 03 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 04 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 05 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 06 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 07 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 08 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 09 — Lives and Letters от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 10 — Lives and Letters от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 11 — Ancient and Mediæval History от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 12 — Modern History от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 13 — Religion and Philosophy от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 14 — Philosophy and Economics от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 15 — Science от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 17 — Poetry and Drama от Неизвестный
The world's greatest books от Mee, Arthur, 1875-1943, joint editor & Hammerton, John Alexander, Sir, 1871-1949, joint editor & McClure, S. S. (Samuel Sidney), 1857-1949, joint editor
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 19 — Travel and Adventure от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 20 — Miscellaneous Literature and Index от Неизвестный

Перейти на страницу:

For she dealt in mountain simples

And she also sold stuffed birds.

Full of all these natural wonders

Was the hut. The smell was dreadful

Of the henbane, cuckoo-flowers,

Dandelion and deadmen's fingers.

Vultures, too, a large collection,

Carefully arranged on all sides,

With the wings at full extended

And the most enormous beaks.

Was't the odour of the foolish

Plants which stupefied my senses?

Strange sensations crept about me

At the sight of all these birds.

Argonauts without a ship,

Who on foot the mountain traverse,

And instead of golden fleeces

Only look to win a bear-skin

Ah, we are but sorry devils!

Heroes of a modern pattern,

And there's not a classic poet

Would in song immortalise us!

And for all that we have suffered

Mighty hardships! What a shower

Overtook us on the summit,

And no tree and no fiacre!

Tired to death, and out of humour,

Like two well-drenched poodles, once more,

Very late at night, we clambered

To the witch's hut above.

Shivering, and with teeth a-chatter,

Near the hearth I stood awhile;

Then, as though the warmth o'ercame me,

Sank at last upon the straw.

How the roaring of the chimney

Terrified me. Like the moaning

Of poor, wretched, dried-up souls—

Quite familiar seemed the voices.

Sleep completely overcame me

In the end, and then in place of

Waking phantasm, rose before me

Quite a wholesome, firm-set dream.

And I dreamed the little cottage

Suddenly became a ballroom.

Carried up aloft on pillars

And by chandeliers illumined.

Then invisible musicians

Struck up from "Robert le Diable"

That ungodly dance of nuns;

I was walking all alone there.

But at last the portals open

Of themselves, and then come marching,

Measured footsteps, slow and solemn,

Most extraordinary guests.

Nothing now but bears and spectres,

Walking upright, every he-bear

On the arm a ghost conducted,

Muffled in a long white shroud.

Sometimes in the dance's bustle,

Tore a bear the burial garment

Off the head of his companion;

Lo! a death's-head came to view.

But at last sounds forth a joyous

Crashing of the horns and cymbals;

And the kettle-drums they thunder,

And there came the galopade.

This I did not dream the end of—

For a most ill-mannered bruin

Trod upon my favourite corn,

So that, shrieking out, I woke.

In the cavern, with his offspring,

Atta Troll lies, and he slumbers

With the snoring of the righteous;

But at last he wakes up yawning.

"Children!"—sighs he, whilst are trickling

Tears from those large eyes unbidden—

"Children! Finished is my earthly

Pilgrimage, and we must part.

"Just at mid-day whilst I slumbered

Came a dream, which has its meaning.

Then my spirit sweetly tasted

Omens of my coming death.

"On the world and fate reflecting,

Yawning I had fallen asleep,

When I dreamed that I was lying

Underneath a lofty tree.

"From the tree's o'erspreading branches

Dribbled down transparent honey.

Joyous blinking, up above me

Seven little bears I noticed.

"Tender, graceful little creatures,

Rosy coloured were their fur coats,

As they clambered; from their shoulders

Just like silk two wings were sprouting.

"And with soft and supernatural

Flute-like voices they were singing!

While thus singing, icy coldness

Crept throughout my skin, and flame-like

"From my skin my soul departed;

Soared in brightness up to heaven."

Thus in tender words and falt'ring

Grunted Atta Troll. His ears then

Pricked themselves and strangely worked,

And from his repose he started,

Trembling, and with rapture bellowing,

"Children, do ye hear those sounds?

"Is it not the voice melodious

Of your mother? Oh, I know it,

'Tis the growling of my Mumma!

Mumma! Yes, my own black Mumma!"

Atta Troll, whilst these words utt'ring,

Like a madman headlong bounded

From the cavern to destruction!

Ah! he rushed upon his doom!

In the vale of Ronceval,

On the very spot where whilom

Charlemagne's peerless nephew

Gasped away his fleeting spirit,

There fell also Atta Troll,

Fell through treason, like the other,

Whom the traitor, knighthood's Judas,

Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed.

Four gigantic men in triumph

Brought along the slaughtered Bear.

Upright sat he in an armchair,

Like a patient at the hot-wells.

That same day soon after skinning

Atta Troll, they up to auction

Put the skin. For just a hundred

Francs a furrier purchased it.

Elegantly then he trimmed it,

And he edged it round with scarlet,

And again he sold it quickly

Just for double what it cost.

So, at last, third hand possessed it—

Julietta, and at Paris

It reposes in her chamber,

Serving as a bed-side carpet.

What of Mumma? Ah, the Mumma

Is a poor weak woman! Frailty

Is her name! Alas, the women

Are as so much porcelain frail.

When the hand of Fate had parted

Mumma from her noble husband,

Neither did she die of sorrow,

Nor succumb to melancholy.

And at last a fixed appointment,

And for life a safe provision,

Far away she found at Paris

In the famed Jardin des Plantes.

Sunday last as I was walking

In the gardens with Julietta,

By the railing round the bear-pit—

Перейти на страницу:

Сюжет

Атмосфера

Главный герой

Общее впечатление

Итоговая оценка: 0.0 из 10 (голосов: 0 / История оценок)

Не работает?