MacDonald The Complete Poetry of George MacDonald

A Book of Strife, in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul + Rampolli: Growths from a Long-planted Root + A Hidden Life Collection and Other Poems
1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-80-268-4562-1
Verlag: e-artnow
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 335 Seiten

This carefully crafted ebook: 'The Complete Poetry of George MacDonald' is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents. George MacDonald (1824-1905) was a Scottish author, poet, and Christian minister. He was a pioneering figure in the field of fantasy literature and the mentor of fellow writer Lewis Carroll. His writings have been cited as a major literary influence by many notable authors. MacDonald has been credited with founding the 'kailyard school' of Scottish writing. Table of Contents: A Book of Strife, in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul Rampolli: Growths from a Long-planted Root Other Poetical Works: WITHIN AND WITHOUT A HIDDEN LIFE A STORY OF THE SEA-SHORE THE DISCIPLE THE GOSPEL WOMEN A BOOK OF SONNETS ORGAN SONGS VIOLIN SONGS SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS A BOOK OF DREAMS ROADSIDE POEMS TO AND OF FRIENDS PARABLES BALLADS MINOR DITTIES MOTES IN THE SUN POEMS FOR CHILDREN A THREEFOLD CORD SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS A Hidden Life and Other Poems THE HOMELESS GHOST ABU MIDJAN AN OLD STORY A BOOK OF DREAMS TO AURELIO SAFFI SONNET A MEMORIAL OF AFRICA A GIFT THE MAN OF SONGS BETTER THINGS THE JOURNEY PRAYER REST TO A. J. SCOTT LIGHT TO A. J. SCOTT WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER IF I WERE A MONK, AND THOU WERT A NUN BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH THE HILLS I KNOW WHAT BEAUTY IS I WOULD I WERE A CHILD THE LOST SOUL A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM AFTER AN OLD LEGEND THE TREE'S PRAYER A STORY OF THE SEA SHORE MY HEART O DO NOT LEAVE ME THE HOLY SNOWDROPS TO MY SISTER O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH LONGING A BOY'S GRIEF THE CHILD-MOTHER LOVE'S ORDEAL A PRAYER FOR THE PAST FAR AND NEAR MY ROOM SYMPATHY LITTLE ELFIE THE THANK OFFERING THE BURNT OFFERING FOUR SONNETS SONNET EIGHTEEN SONNETS DEATH AND BIRTH EARLY POEMS LONGING MY EYES MAKE PICTURES DEATH LESSONS FOR A CHILD HOPE DEFERRED THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR A SONG IN A DREAM A THANKSGIVING THE GOSPEL WOMEN

Autoren/Hrsg.

Macdonald, George

Leseproben

PART II.
Table of Contents

  Hark, hark, a voice amid the quiet intense!
  It is thy Duty waiting thee without.
  Rise from thy knees in hope, the half of doubt;
  A hand doth pull thee—it is Providence;
  Open thy door straightway, and get thee hence;
  Go forth into the tumult and the shout;
  Work, love, with workers, lovers, all about:
  Of noise alone is born the inward sense
  Of silence; and from action springs alone
  The inward knowledge of true love and faith.
  Then, weary, go thou back with failing breath,
  And in thy chamber make thy prayer and moan:
  One day upon His bosom, all thine own,
  Thou shall lie still, embraced in holy death.
SCENE I.—A room in Julian's castle. JULIAN and the old Nurse.   Julian.
  Nembroni? Count Nembroni?—I remember:
  A man about my height, but stronger built?
  I have seen him at her father's. There was something
  I did not like about him:—ah! I know:
  He had a way of darting looks at you,
  As if he wished to know you, but by stealth.
  Nurse.
  The same, my lord. He is the creditor.
  The common story is, he sought the daughter,
  But sought in vain: the lady would not wed.
  'Twas rumoured soon they were in grievous trouble,
  Which caused much wonder, for the family
  Was always reckoned wealthy. Count Nembroni
  Contrived to be the only creditor,
  And so imprisoned him.
  Julian.
                        Where is the lady?
  Nurse.
                     Down in the town.
  Julian.
          But where?
  Nurse.
                                    If you turn left,
  When you go through the gate, 'tis the last house
  Upon this side the way. An honest couple,
  Who once were almost pensioners of hers,
  Have given her shelter: still she hopes a home
  With distant friends. Alas, poor lady! 'tis
  A wretched change for her.
  Julian.
                      Hm! ah! I see.
  What kind of man is this Nembroni, nurse?
  Nurse.
  Here he is little known. His title comes
  From an estate, they say, beyond the hills.
  He looks ungracious: I have seen the children
  Run to the doors when he came up the street.
  Julian.
  Thank you, nurse; you may go. Stay—one thing more:
  Have any of my people seen me?
  Nurse. None
  But me, my lord.
  Julian.
                                 And can you keep it secret?—
  know you will for my sake. I will trust you.
  Bring me some supper; I am tired and faint. [Nurse goes.]
  Poor and alone! Such a man has not laid
  His plans for nothing further! I will watch him.
  Heaven may have brought me hither for her sake.
  Poor child! I would protect thee as thy father,
  Who cannot help thee. Thou wast not to blame;
  My love had no claim on like love from thee.—How
  the old tide comes rushing to my heart!
  I know not what I can do yet but watch.
  I have no hold on him. I cannot go,
  Say, I suspect; and, Is it so or not?
  I should but injure them by doing so.
  True, I might pay her father's debts; and will,
  If Joseph, my old friend, has managed well
  During my absence. I have not spent much.
  But still she'd be in danger from this man,
  If not permitted to betray himself;
  And I, discovered, could no more protect.
  Or if, unseen by her, I yet could haunt
  Her footsteps like an angel, not for long
  Should I remain unseen of other eyes,
  That peer from under cowls—not angel-eyes—
  Hunting me out, over the stormy earth.
   No; I must watch. I can do nothing better.
SCENE II.—A poor cottage. An old Man and Woman sitting together.   Man.
  How's the poor lady now?
  Woman.
                          She's poorly still.
  I fancy every day she's growing thinner.
  I am sure she's wasting steadily.
  Man.
                           Has the count
  Been here again to-day?
  Woman.
                                 No. And I think
  He will not come again. She was so proud
  The last time he was here, you would have thought
  She was a queen at least.
  Man.
                        Remember, wife,
  What she has been. Trouble like that throws down
  The common folk like us all of a heap:
  With folks like her, that are high bred and blood,
  It sets the mettle up.
  Woman.
                          All very right;
  But take her as she was, she might do worse
  Than wed the Count Nembroni.
  Man.
                                       Possible.
  But are you sure there is no other man
  Stands in his way?
  Woman.
                    How can I tell? So be,
  He should be here to help her. What she'll do
  I am sure I do not know. We cannot keep her.
  And for her work, she does it far too well
  To earn a living by it. Her times are changed—
  She should not give herself such prideful airs.
  Man.
  Come, come, old wife! you women are so hard
  On one another! You speak fair for men,
  And make allowances; but when a woman
  Crosses your way, you speak the worst of her.
  But where is this you're going then to-night?
  Do they want me to go as well as you?
  Woman.
  Yes, you must go, or else it is no use.
  They cannot give the money to me, except
  My husband go with me. He told me so.
  Man.
  Well, wife, it's worth the going—but to see:
  I don't expect a groat to come of it.
SCENE III.—Kitchen of a small inn. Host and Hostess.   Host.
  That's a queer customer you've got upstairs!
  What the deuce is he?
  Hostess.
                       What is that to us?
  He always pays his way, and handsomely.
...