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第18章

songs from the mountains-第18章

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     To Zeus; the mighty Father; she; with plaint and prayer; departed:
     Then from fierce 苩na to the sea a fountained water started …


Page: 199 


     A lucent stream of lutes and lights … cool haunt of flower and feather;
     Whose silver days and yellow nights made years of hallowed weather。


     Here Galatea used to come; and rest beside the river;
     Because; in faint; soft; blowing foam; her shepherd lived for ever。


Page: 200 

BLACK KATE


     Kate; they say; is seventeen …
         Do not count her sweet; you know。
     Arms of her are rather lean …
         Ditto; calves and feet; you know。
     Features of Hellenic type
         Are not patent here; you see。
     Katie loves a black clay pipe …
         Doesn't hate her beer; you see。


     Spartan Helen used to wear
         Tresses in a plait; perhaps:
     Kate has ochre in her hair …
         Nose is rather flat; perhaps。

     Page: 201 
     Rose Lorraine's surpassing dress
         Glitters at the ball; you see:
     Daughter of the wilderness
         Has no dress at all; you see。


     Laura's lovers every day
         In sweet verse embody her:
     Katie's have a different way;
         Being frank; they ‘‘waddy'' her。
     Amy by her suitor kissed;
         Every nightfall looks for him:
     Kitty's sweetheart isn't missed …
         Kitty ‘‘humps'' and cooks for him。


     Smith; and Brown; and Jenkins; bring
         Roses to the fair; you know。
     Darkies at their Katie fling
         Hunks of native bear; you know。

     Page: 202 
     English girls examine well
         All the food they take; you twig:
     Kate is hardly keen of smell …
         Kate will eat a snake; you twig。


     Yonder lady's sitting room …
         Clean and cool and dark it is:
     Kitty's chamber needs no broom …
         Just a sheet of bark it is。
     You may find a pipe or two
         If you poke and grope about:
     Not a bit of starch or blue …
         Not a sign of soap about。


     Girl I know reads Lalla Rookh …
         Poem of the ‘‘heady'' sort:
     Kate is better as a cook
         Of the rough and ready sort。

     Page: 203 
     Byron's verse on Waterloo;
         Makes my darling glad; you see:
     Kate prefers a kangaroo …
         Which is very sad; you see。


     Other ladies wear a hat
         Fit to write a sonnet on:
     Kitty has … the naughty cat …
         Neither hat nor bonnet on!
     Fifty silks has Madame Tate …
         She who loves to spank it on:
     All her clothes are worn by Kate
         When she has her blanket on。


     Let her rip! the Phrygian boy
         Bolted with a brighter one;
     And the girl who ruined Troy
         Was a rather whiter one。

     Page: 204 
     Katie's mouth is hardly Greek …
         Hardly like a rose it is:
     Katie's nose is not antique …
         Not the classic nose it is。


     Dryad in the grand old day;
         Though she walked the woods about;
     Didn't smoke a penny clay …
         Didn't ‘‘hump'' her goods about。
     Daphne by the fairy lake;
         Far away from din and all;
     Never ate a yard of snake;
         Head and tail and skin and all。


Page: 205 

A HYDE PARK LARRIKIN


     Note:To the servants of God that are to be found in every denomination;
 these verses; of course; do not apply



     You may have heard of Proclus; sir;
         If you have been a reader;
     And you may know a bit of her
         Who helped the Lycian leader。


     I have my doubts … the head you ‘‘sport''
         (Now mark me; don't get crusty)
     Is hardly of the classic sort …
         Your lore; I think; is fusty。


Page: 206 


     Most likely you have stuck to tracts
         Flushed through with flaming curses …
     I judge you; neighbour; by your acts …
         So don't you dn my verses。


     But to my theme。 The Asian sage;
         Whose name above I mention;
     Lived in the pitchy Pagan age;
         A life without pretension。


     He may have worshipped gods like Zeus;
         And termed old Dis a master;
     But then he had a strong excuse …
         He never heard a pastor。


     However; it occurs to me
         That; had he cut Demeter
     And followed you; or followed me;
         He wouldn't have been sweeter。


Page: 207 


     No doubt with ‘‘shepherds'' of this time
         He's not the ‘‘clean potato'';
     Because … excuse me for my rhyme …
         He pinned his faith to Plato。


     But these are facts you can't deny;
         My pastor; smudged and sooty;
     His mind was like a summer sky …
         He lived a life of beauty …


     To lift his brothers' thoughts above
         This earth he used to labour:
     His heart was luminous with love …
         He didn't wound his neighbour。


     To him all men were just the same …
         He never foamed at altars;
     Although he lived ere Moody came …
         Ere Sankey dealt in psalters。


Page: 208 


     The Lycian sage; my ‘‘reverend'' sir;
         Had not your chances ample;
     But; after all; I must prefer
         His perfect; pure example。


     You; having read the Holy Writ …
         The Book the angels foster …
     Say have you helped us on a bit;
         You overfed impostor?


     What have you done to edify;
         You clammy chapel tinker?
     What act like his of days gone by …
         The grand old Asian thinker?


     Is there no deed of yours at all
         With beauty shining through it?
     Ah; no! your heart reveals its gall
         On every side I view it。


Page: 209 


     A blatant bigot with a big
         Fat heavy fetid carcass;
     You well become your greasy ‘‘rig'' …
         You're not a second Arcas。


     What sort of ‘‘gospel'' do you preach?
         What ‘‘Bible'' is your Bible?
     There's worse than wormwood in your speech;
         You livid; living libel!


     How many lives are growing gray
         Through your depraved behaviour!
     I tell you plainly … every day
         You crucify the Saviour!


     Some evil spirit curses you …
         Your actions never vary:
     You cannot point your finger to
         One fact to the contrary。


Page: 210 


     You seem to have a wicked joy
         In your malicious labour;
     Endeavouring daily to destroy
         The neighbour's love for neighbour。


     The brutal curses you eject
         Make strong men dread to hear you。
     The world outside your petty sect
         Feels sick when it is near you。


     No man who shuns that little hole
         You call your tabernacle
     Can have; you shriek; a ransomed soul …
         He wears the devil's shackle。


     And; hence the ‘‘Papist'' by your clan
         Is dogged with words inhuman;
     Because he loves that friend of man
         The highest type of woman …


Page: 211 


     Because he has that faith which sees
         Before the high Creator
     A Virgin pleading on her knees …
         A shining Mediator!


     God help the souls who grope in night …
         Who in your ways have trusted!
     I've said enough! the more I write;
         The more I feel disgusted。


     The warm; soft air is tainted through
         With your pernicious leaven。
     I would not live one hour with you
         In your peculiar heaven!


     Now mount your musty pulpit … thump;
         And muddle flat clodhoppers;
     And let some long…eared booby ‘‘hump''
         The plate about for coppers。


Page: 212 


     At priest and parson spit and bark;
         And shake your ‘‘church'' with curses;
     You bitter blackguard of the dark …
         With this I close my verses。


Page: 213 

NAMES UPON A STONE

(INSCRIBED TO G。L。FAGAN; ESQ。)


     ACROSS bleak widths of broken sea
         A fierce north…easter breaks;
     And makes a thunder on the lea …
         A whiteness of the lakes。
     Here; while beyond the rainy stream
         The wild winds sobbing blow;
     

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