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Charles Stuart Calverley (Чарльз Стюарт Калверли) There Stands A City Ingoldsby Year by year do Beauty's daughters, In the sweetest gloves and shawls, Troop to taste the Chattenham waters, And adorn the Chattenham balls. 'Nulla non donanda lauru' Is that city: you could not, Placing England's map before you, Light on a more favoured spot. If no clear translucent river Winds 'neath willow-shaded paths, 'Children and adults' may shiver All day in 'Chalybeate baths:' If 'the inimitable Fechter' Never brings the gallery down, Constantly 'the Great Protector' There 'rejects the British crown:' And on every side the painter Looks on wooded vale and plain And on fair hills, faint and fainter Outlined as they near the main. There I met with him, my chosen Friend--the 'long' but not 'stern swell,' {15a} Faultless in his hats and hosen, Whom the Johnian lawns know well:- Oh my comrade, ever valued! Still I see your festive face; Hear you humming of 'the gal you'd Left behind' in massive bass: See you sit with that composure On the eeliest of hacks, That the novice would suppose your Manly limbs encased in wax: Or anon,--when evening lent her Tranquil light to hill and vale, - Urge, towards the table's centre, With unerring hand, the squail. Ah delectablest of summers! How my heart--that 'muffled drum' Which ignores the aid of drummers - Beats, as back thy memories come! Oh, among the dancers peerless, Fleet of foot, and soft of eye! Need I say to you that cheerless Must my days be till I die? At my side she mashed the fragrant Strawberry; lashes soft as silk Drooped o'er saddened eyes, when vagrant Gnats sought watery graves in milk: Then we danced, we walked together; Talked--no doubt on trivial topics; Such as Blondin, or the weather, Which 'recalled us to the tropics.' But--oh! in the deuxtemps peerless, Fleet of foot, and soft of eye! - Once more I repeat, that cheerless Shall my days be till I die. And the lean and hungry raven, As he picks my bones, will start To observe 'M. N.' engraven Neatly on my blighted heart. Charles Stuart Calverley's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1340 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |