Charles Hubert Hastings Parry - L'Allegro ed il Pensieroso - текст песни (слова)

Hence loathed Melancholy
 Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,
 In Stygian cave forlorn
 'Mongst horrid shapes and sights unholy.
 Find out some uncouth cell,
 Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings,
 And the night-raven sings;
 There, under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks,
 As ragged as thy locks,
 In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
 But come, thou goddess fair and free,
 In heaven yclept Euphrosyne,
 And by men, heart easing Mirth.
 
 Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
 Jest and youthful Jollity,
 Quips and Cranks, and wanton wiles,
 Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
 Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
 And love to live in dimple sleek;
 Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
 And Laughter holding both his sides.
 
 And in thy right hand lead with thee,
 The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
 And if I give thee honour due,
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew
 To live with her, and live with thee,
 In unreproved pleasures free;
 
 Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
 Mirth and youthful Jollity
 Quips and Cranks, and wanton wiles,
 Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
 Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
 Laughter holding both his sides.
 And in thy right hand lead with thee
 The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
 And if I give thee honour due,
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew
 To live with her, and live with thee,
 In unreproved pleasures free.
 
 To hear the Lark begin his flight,
 And singing startle the dull night,
 From his watch-tower in the skies,
 Till the dappled dawn arise;
 Then to come in spite of sorrow,
 And at my window bid good morrow,
 Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
 Or the twisted eglantine.
 
 While the cock with lively din,
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
 And to the stack, or the barn door,
 Stoutly struts his dames before,
 Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn
 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
 From the side of some hoar hill,
 Through the high wood echoing shrill.
 
 Sometime walking not unseen
 By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,
 Right against the eastern gate,
 Where the great sun begins his state,
 Robed in flames, and amber light,
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight.
 
 Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
 While the landscape round it measures,
 Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
 Mountains on whose barren breast
 The labouring clouds do often rest:
 Meadows trim with daisies pied,
 Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
 Towers and battlements it sees
 Bosomed high in tufted trees,
 Where perhaps some beauty lies.
 
 The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
 
 Towered cities please us then,
 And the busy hum of men,
 Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
 In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
 With store of Ladies, whose bright eyes
 Rain influence, and judge the prize
 Of Wit, or arms, while both contend
 To win her Grace, whom all commend.
 
 
 There let Hymen oft appear
 With saffron robe and taper clear,
 With pomp, and feast, and revelry,
 With mask, and antique pageantry,
 Such sights as youthful poets dream
 On Summer eves by haunted stream.
 
 
 And ever, against eating cares,
 Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
 Married to immortal verse
 Such as the meeting soul may pierce
 In notes, with many a winding bout
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
 With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
 The melting voice through mazes running;
 Untwisting all the chains that tie
 The hidden soul of harmony.
 
 That Orpheus self may heave his head
 From golden slumber on a bed
 Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear
 Such strains as would have won the ear
 Of Pluto, to have quite set free
 His half regained Eurydice.
 
 
 These delights, if thou canst give,
 Mirth with thee, I mean to live.
 
 Hence, vain deluding Joys,
 The brood of Folly without father bred!
 
 How little you bested,
 Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
 Dwell in some idle brain
 And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess
 As thick and numberless
 As the gay motes that people the sunbeams;
 Or likest hovering dreams
 The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.
 
 But hail, thou goddess sage and holy,
 Hail, divinest Melancholy,
 Whose saintly visage is too bright
 To hit the sense of human sight.
 
 Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure.
 Sober, steadfast and demure,
 All in a robe of darkest grain,
 Flowring with majestic train.
 
 Come, but keep thy wonted state
 With even step and music gait,
 With looks commercing with the skies,
 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes;
 There, held in holy passion still,
 Forget thyself to marble,
 Till with a sad, leaden, downward cast,
 Thou fix them on the earth as fast,
 And join with thee calm peace and quiet,
 Spare fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
 And hears the Muses in a ring
 Aye round about Jove's altar sing.
 
 And the mute silence hist along
 'Less Philomel will deign a song, 
 saddest plight,
 Smoothing the rugged brow of night.
 While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
 Gently o'er the accustomed oak.
 Sweet bird, that shunnest the noise of folly,
 Most musical, most melancholy,
 Thee, chantress, oft the woods among,
 I woo to hear thy evensong;
 And missing thee I walk unseen
 On the dry, smooth-shaven green,
 To behold the wand'ring moon,
 Ridding near her highest noon.
 Like one that has been led astray,
 Through the heaven's wide pathless way,
 And oft as if her head she bowed,
 Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
 
 Oft on a plat of rising ground,
 I heard the far oft curfew sound
 Over some wide watered shore,
 Swinging slow with sullen roar;
 Or, if the air will not permit
 Some still removed place will fit,
 Where glowing embers thro' the room,
 Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
 Far from all resort of mirth,
 Save the cricket on the hearth,
 Or the bellman's drowsy charm
 To bless the doors from nightly harm.
 
 Or let my lamp at midnight hour
 Be seen in some high, lonely tower,
 Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,
 With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
 The spirit of Plato, to unfold
 What worlds or what vast regions hold 
 The immortal mind, that hath forsook
 Her mansions in this fleshly nook,
 And of those demons that are found
 In fire, air, flood or underground,
 Whose pow'r hath come true consent with planet
 Or with element.
 
 And when the sun begins to fling
 His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
 To arched walks of twilight groves,
 And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves;
 
 There in close covert by some brook,
 Where no profaner eye may look,
 Hide me from day's garish eye,
 While the bee with honeyed thigh,
 That at her flowery work doth sing,
 And the waters murmuring,
 With such consort as they keep,
 Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep.
 
 And let some strange mysterious dream
 Wave at his wings, in aery stream
 Of lively portraiture displayed,
 Softly on mine eyelids laid.
 
 And as I wake, sweet music breathe
 Above, about, or underneath
 Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,
 Or the unseen Genius of the wood.
 
 But let my due feet never fail
 To walk the studious cloister's pale,
 And love the high embowed roof,
 With antic pillars massy proof,
 And storied windows richly dight,
 Castling a dimreligious light.
 
 But let my due feet never fail
 To tread the studious cloister's pale,
 And love the high embowed roof,
 With antic pillars massy proof,
 And storied windows richly dight,
 Castling a dimreligious light.
 
 There let the pealing organ blow,
 To the full voiced quire below,
 In service high and anthems clear,
 As may with sweetness through mine ear
 Dissolve me into ecstasies,
 And bring all heaven before mine eyes.