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Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) * * * (Echo of an old song) Sitting on the bridge Past the barracks, town and ridge, At once the spirit seized us To sing a song that pleased us – As ‘The Fifth’ were much in rumour; It was ‘Whilst I’m in the humour, Take me, Paddy, will you now?’ And a lancer soon drew nigh, And his Royal Irish eye Said, ‘Willing, faith, am I, O, to take you anyhow, dears, To take you anyhow.’ But, lo! – dad walking by, Cried, ‘What, you lightheels! Fie! Is this the way you roam And mock the sunset gleam?’ And he marched us straightway home, Though we said, ‘We are only, daddy, Singing, “Will you take me, Paddy?” ’ – Well, we never saw from then, If we sang there anywhen, The soldier dear again, Except at night in dream-time, Except at night in dream. Perhaps that soldier’s fighting In a land that’s far away, Or he may be idly plighting Some foreign hussy gay; Or perhaps his bones are whiting In the wind to their decay! . . . Ah! – does he mind him how The girls he saw that day On the bridge, were sitting singing At the time of curfew-ringing, ‘Take me, Paddy; will you now, dear? Paddy, will you now?’ Grey’s Bridge Thomas Hardy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1326 |
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