Текст оригинала на английском языке
For a Cavern That Overlooks the River Avon
ENTER this cavern, Stranger! Here, awhile Respiring from the long and steep ascent, Thou mayst be glad of rest, and haply too Of shade, if from the summer’s westering sun Sheltered beneath this beetling vault of rock. Round the rude portal clasping its rough arms, The antique ivy spreads a canopy, From whose gray blossoms the wild bees collect In autumn their last store. The Muses love This spot; believe a Poet who hath felt Their visitation here. The tide below, Rising or refluent, scarcely sends its sound Of waters up; and from the heights beyond, Where the high-hanging forest waves and sways, Varying before the wind its verdant hues, The voice is music here. Here thou mayst feel How good, how lovely, Nature! And when, hence Returning to the city’s crowded streets, Thy sickening eye at every step revolts From scenes of vice and wretchedness, reflect That Man creates the evil he endures.
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