«Повседневная книга и настольная книга Уильяма Хоуна»

Весь путь шел сильный дождь. Мы видели несколько морских свиней, перекатывающихся в погоне за добычей; и одна, в частности, подошла так близко к берегу, что мы подумали, что она должна остаться там; но она обманула наши ожидания и выбралась снова.

Около семи часов, когда наши больные пассажиры выздоровели, мы весело поплыли и пели «Святого Иоанна», «Пишокен» и несколько других песен и мелодий сами, а наш рулевой развлекал нас несколькими матросскими песнями; но наши ноты вскоре изменились, когда наше судно наткнулось и застряло в песках Блай, хотя мы были почти посреди канала. Это был отлив, и до прилива оставался примерно час, что вызвало у нас некоторое беспокойство, полагая, что мы будем вынуждены оставаться там некоторое время и терпеть удары ветра и волн; тем не менее, благодаря усердию наших моряков и умелой помощи Тоталла, мы вскоре выбрались снова (хотя и с некоторым трудом); и ветер оказался благоприятным, мы благополучно прибыли в Грейвсенд около десяти.

Мы поужинали, выпили хорошего вина и думали, что наши приключения и необычайное веселье закончились, но обнаружили обратное: сюртук, который Скотт одолжил для этого путешествия и оставил в Грейвсенде, и путешествовал без него, мы обнаружили по прибытии сюда, что его нельзя найти. Это, хотя и было горем для него, было забавой для нас; и он вскоре преодолел свое беспокойство и стал таким же веселым, как мы. Так мы продолжали до довольно позднего времени, а затем легли спать.

В среду, в восемь часов, мы встали, позавтракали и погуляли по городу. В десять сели в лодку, которую наняли, с тюком чистой соломы, бутылкой хорошего вина, трубками, табаком и спичками. Ветер был благоприятным с юго-востока и дул свежий бриз. Наш переход был очень приятным для всех, пока мы не вошли в Эриф-Рич, когда Скотт, будучи без своего сюртука (по вышеуказанной причине), делая зарисовку нескольких судов, порыв ветра заставил наше судно зачерпнуть воду, которая окатила его с головы до ног, и никого больше. Он, сильно удивленный, встал и, вытащив переднюю полу своей рубашки из брюк (которые также были хорошо пропитаны соленой водой), держал ее обеими руками против ветра; а солнце светило тепло, он вскоре высох; и, оправившись от удивления, присоединился к нам, смеясь над происшествием.

Мы весело поднялись по реке; и, покинув нашу лодку в Биллингсгейте, сели в лодку, которая доставила нас через мост, и высадились у Сомерсет-Уотер-гейт; откуда мы все вместе пошли и прибыли около двух часов в «Бедфорд Армс», Ковент-Гарден, в том же хорошем настроении, в котором мы покинули его, чтобы отправиться в эту очень приятную экспедицию.

Я думаю, что не могу лучше закончить, чем заметив, что ни один из компании не остался без дела; ибо мистер Торнхилл сделал карту, мистер Хогарт и мистер Скотт — рисунки, мистер Тотал был нашим казначеем, что (хотя и является должностью величайшего доверия) он добросовестно исполнял; а вышеприведенные мемуары были работой

Э. Форреста.

Достоверность этой рукописи подтверждается нами,

Уильям Хогарт. Сэмюэл Скотт.

Уильям Тотал. Джон Торнхилл.

Лондон, 27 мая 1732 г. Отчет о расходах для господ Хогарта и Ко., а именно:

£. s. d.

To paid at the Dark-house, Billingsgate 0 0 8 1⁄2

To paid for a pint of Geneva Hollands 0 1 0

To paid waterman to Gravesend 0 5 0

To paid barber ditto 0 0 10

To paid for breakfast at ditto 0 2 2

To paid for beer on the road to Rochester 0 0 9

To paid for shrimps at Chatham 0 0 9

To paid at the gunnery and dock 0 1 6

To paid bill at Rochester 1 7 3

28. To gave at Upnor for information 0 0 3

To paid at the Smack at ditto 0 4 3

To paid at Hoo 0 1 8

To paid at Stoke 0 11 6

29. To paid at Mother Hubbard’s at Grain 0 3 0

To paid for passage over to Sheerness 0 2 10

To paid for lobsters at Queenborough 0 1 6

To paid for two pots of beer to treat the sexton 0 0 6

To paid for dinner, &c. 0 6 6

To charity gave the sailors 0 1 0

30. To paid for lodgings and maid 0 4 6

To paid for breakfast 0 2 6

To paid for washing shirts 0 1 8

To paid at Minster 0 9 2

To paid at Sheerness 0 1 3

To paid for a boat to Gravesend 0 7 0

31. To paid barber at ditto 0 1 2

To paid for sundry at ditto 1 0 3 1⁄2

To paid for passage to Somerset House 0 5 6

£ 6 6 0

Ваучеры представлены, проверены и приняты,

От Э. Форреста. От Уильяма Хогарта.

Сэмюэл Скотт. Джон Торнхилл.

Версия преподобного мистера Гостлинга носила то же название и девиз, что и прозаическое «Путешествие», с этим дополнением: «Имитировано в гудибрастических стихах одним, хорошо знакомым с некоторыми из путешественников и местами, здесь прославленными, с допущением некоторых дополнений». Она прилагается; а именно:

ОТЧЕТ МИСТЕРА ГОСТЛИНГА О ПУТЕШЕСТВИИ ХОГАРТА.

’Twas first of morn on Saturday,

The seven-and-twentieth day of May,

When Hogarth, Thornhill, Tothall, Scott,

And Forrest, who this journal wrote,

From Covent-Garden took departure,

To see the world by land and water.

Our march we with a song begin;

Our hearts were light, our breeches thin.

We meet with nothing of adventure

Till Billingsgate’s Dark-house we enter.

Where we diverted were, while baiting,

With ribaldry, not worth relating

(Quite suited to the dirty place)

But what most pleas’d us was his Grace

Of Puddle Dock, a porter grim,

Whose portrait Hogarth, in a whim,

Presented him in caricature,

He pasted on the cellar door.[347]

But hark! the Watchman cries “Past one!”

’Tis time that we on board were gone.

Clean straw we find laid for our bed,

A tilt for shelter over head.

The boat is soon got under sail,

Wind near S. E. a mack’rel gale,

Attended by a heavy rain;

We try to sleep, but try in vain,

So sing a song, and then begin

To feast on biscuit, beef, and gin.

At Purfleet find three men of war,

The Dursley galley, Gibraltar,

And Tartar pink, and of this last

The pilot begg’d of us a cast

To Gravesend, which he greatly wanted,

And readily by us was granted.

The grateful man, to make amends,

Told how the officers and friends

Of England were by Spaniards treated,

And shameful instances repeated.

While he these insults was deploring,

Hogarth, like Premier, fell to snoring,

But waking cry’d, “I dream’d”—and then

Fell fast asleep, and snor’d again.

The morn clear’d up, and after five

At port of Gravesend we arrive,

But found it hard to get on shore,

His boat a young son of a whore

Had fix’d just at our landing-place,

And swore we should not o’er it pass;

But, spite of all the rascal’s tricks,

We made a shift to land by six,

And up to Mrs. Bramble’s go

[A house that we shall better know],

There get a barber for our wigs,

Wash hands and faces, stretch our legs,

Had toast and butter, and a pot

Of coffee (our third breakfast) got:

Then, paying what we had to pay,

For Rochester we took our way,

Viewing the new church as we went,

And th’ unknown person’s monument.

The beauteous prospects found us talk,

And shorten’d much our two hours walk,

Though by the way we did not fail

To stop and take three pots of ale,

And this enabled us by ten

At Rochester to drink again.

Now, Muse, assist, while I declare

(Like a true English traveller)

What vast variety we survey

In the short compass of one day.

We scarce had lost the sight of Thames,

When the fair Medway’s winding streams,

And far-extending Rochester,

Before our longing eyes appear:

The Castle and Cathedral grace

One prospect, so we mend our pace;

Impatient for a nearer view,

But first must Strood’s rough street trudge through,

And this our feet no short one find;

However, with a cheerful mind,

All difficulties we get o’er,

And soon are on the Medway’s shore.

New objects here before us rise,

And more than satisfy our eyes.

The stately Bridge from side to side,

The roaring cataracts of the tide,

Deafen our ears, and charm our sight,

And terrify while they delight.

These we pass over to the Town,

And take our Quarters at The Crown,

To which the Castle is so near,

That we all in a hurry were

The grand remains on’t to be viewing;

It is indeed a noble ruin,

Must have been very strong, but length

Of time has much impair’d its strength:

The lofty Tower as high or higher

Seems than the old Cathedral’s spire;

Yet we determin’d were to gain

Its top, which cost some care and pain;

When there arriv’d, we found a well,

The depth of which I cannot tell;

Small holes cut in on every side

Some hold for hands and feet provide,

By which a little boy we saw

Go down, and bring up a jack-daw.

All round about us then we gaze,

Observing, not without amaze,

How towns here undistinguish’d join,

And one vast One to form combine.

Chatham with Rochester seems but one,

Unless we’re shewn the boundary stone,

That and its yards contiguous lie

To pleasant Brompton standing high;

The Bridge across the raging flood

Which Rochester divides from Strood,

Extensive Strood, on t’other side,

To Frindsbury quite close ally’d,

The country round, and river fair,

Our prospects made beyond compare,

Which quite in raptures we admire;

Then down to face of earth retire.

Up the Street walking, first of all

We take a view of the Town-Hall.

Proceeding farther on, we spy

A house, design’d to catch the eye,

With front so rich, by plastick skill,

As made us for a while stand still:

Four huge Hobgoblins grace the wall,

Which we four Bas Relievo’s call;

They the four Seasons represent,

At least were form’d for that intent.

Then Watts’s Hospital we see

(No common curiosity);

Endow’d (as on the front appears)

In favour of poor travellers;

Six such it every night receives,

Supper and lodging gratis gives,

And to each man next morn does pay

A groat, to keep him on his way:

But the contagiously infected,

And rogues and proctors, are rejected.

It gave us too some entertainment

To find out what this bounteous man meant,

Yet were we not so highly feasted.

But that we back to dinner hasted.

By twelve again we reach The Crown,

But find our meat not yet laid down,

So (spite of “Gentlemen, d’ye call?”)

On chairs quite fast asleep we fall,

And with clos’d eyes again survey

In dreams what we have seen to-day;

Till dinner’s coming up, when we

As ready are as that can be.

If we describe it not, we’re undone,

You’ll scarce believe we came from London,

With due attention then prepare

Yourself to hear our bill of fare

For our first course a dish there was

Of soles and flounders with crab-sauce,

A stuff’d and roast calf’s-heart beside,

With ’purt’nance minc’d, and liver fry’d;

And for a second course, they put on

Green pease and roasted leg of mutton.

The cook was much commended for’t;

Fresh was the beer, and sound the port;

So that nem. con. we all agree

(Whatever more we have to see)

From table we’ll not rise till three.

Our shoes are clean’d, ’tis three o’clock,

Come let’s away to Chatham-Dock;

We shan’t get there till almost four,

To see’t will take at least an hour;

Yet Scott and Hogarth needs must stop

At the Court-Hall to play Scotch hop.

To Chatham got, ourselves we treat

With Shrimps, which as we walk we eat,

For speed we take a round-about-

way, as we afterwards found out:

At length reach the King’s yards and docks

Admire the ships there on the stocks,

The men of war afloat we view,

Find means to get aboard of two;[348]

But here I must not be prolix,

For we went home again at six,

There smoak’d our pipes, and drank our wine,

And comfortably sat till nine,

Then, with our travels much improv’d,

To our respective beds we mov’d.

Sunday at seven we rub our eyes,

But are too lazy yet to rise,

Hogarth and Thornhill tell their dreams,

And, reasoning deeply on those themes,

After much learned speculation,

Quite suitable to the occasion,

Left off as wise as they begun,

Which made for us in bed good fun.

But by and by, when up we got,

Sam Scott was missing, “Where’s Sam Scott?”

“Oh! here he comes. Well! whence come you?”

“Why from the bridge, taking a view

Of something that did highly please me,

But people passing by would teaze me

With ‘Do you work on Sundays, friend?’

So that I could not make an end.”

At this we laugh’d, for ’twas our will

Like men of taste that day to kill.

So after breakfast we thought good

To cross the bridge again to Strood:

Thence eastward we resolve to go,

And through the Hundred march of Hoo,

Wash’d on the north side by the Thames,

And on the south by Medway’s streams,

Which to each other here incline,

Till at the Nore in one they join.

Before we Frindsbury could gain,

There fell a heavy shower of rain,

When crafty Scott a shelter found

Under a hedge upon the ground,

There of his friends a joke he made,

But rose most woefully bewray’d;

How against him the laugh was turn’d,

And he the vile disaster mourn’d!

We work, all hands, to make him clean,

And fitter to be fitly seen.

But, while we scrap’d his back and side,

All on a sudden, out he cried,

“I’ve lost my cambrick handkercher,

’Twas lent me by my wife so dear:

What I shall do I can’t devise,

I’ve nothing left to wipe my eyes.”

At last the handkerchief was found,

To his great comfort, safe and sound,

He’s now recover’d and alive;

So in high spirits all arrive

At Frindsbury, fatn’d for prospects fair,

But we much more diverted were

With what the parish church did grace,

“A list of some who lov’d the place,

In memory of their good actions,

And gratitude for their benefactions.

Witnes our hands—Will. Gibbons, Vicar—”

And no one else.—This made us snicker:

At length, with countenances serious,

We all agreed it was mysterious,

Not guessing that the reason might

Be, the Churchwardens could not write.

At ten, in council it was mov’d.

Whoe’er was tir’d, or disapprov’d

Of our proceedings, might go back,

And cash to bear his charges take.

With indignation this was heard.

Each was for all events prepar’d.

So all with one consent agreed

To Upnor-Castle to proceed,

And at the sutler’s there we din’d

On such coarse fare as we could find.

The Castle was not large, but strong,

And seems to be of standing long.

Twenty-four men its garrison,

And just for every man a gun;

Eight guns were mounted, eight men active,

The rest were rated non-effective.

Here an old couple, who had brought

Some cockles in their boat, besought

That one of us would buy a few,

For they were very fresh and new.

I did so, and ’twas charity;

He was quite blind, and half blind she.

Now growing frolicksome and gay,

Like boys, we after dinner play,

But, as the scene lay in a fort,

Something like war must be our sport:

Sticks, stones, and hogs-dung were our weapons,

And, as in such frays oft it happens,

Poor Tothall’s cloaths here went to pot,

So that he could not laugh at Scott.

From hence all conquerors we go

To visit the church-yard at Hoo.

At Hoo we found an Epitaph,

Which made us (as ’twill make you) laugh:

A servant maid, turn’d poetaster,

Wrote it in honour of her master;

I therefore give you (and I hope you

Will like it well) a Vera Copia:

“And . wHen . he . Died . You plainly . see

Hee . freely . gave . al . to . Sara . passaWee.

And . in . Doing . so . it DoTh . prevail .

that . Ion . him . can . well . bes . Tow . this Rayel .

On . Year . I sarved . him . it is well . none .

BuT Thanks . beto . God . it . is . all my . One.”

*****

Long at one place we must not stay,

’Tis almost four, let’s haste away.

But here’s a sign; ’tis rash, we think,

To leave the place before we drink.

We meet with liquor to our mind,

Our hostess complaisant and kind:

She was a widow, who, we found,

Had (as the phrase is) been shod round,

That is, had buried husbands four,

And had no want of charms for more;

Yet her we leave, and, as we go,

Scott bravely undertook to show

That through the world we could not pass,

How thin soe’er our breeches was;

“’Tis true, indeed, we may go round,

But through”—then pointed to the ground.

So well he manag’d the debate,

We own’d he was a man of weight:

And so indeed he was this once,

His pockets we had fill’d with stones.

But here we’d serv’d ourselves a trick,

Of which he might have made us sick;

We’d furnish’d him with ammunition

Fit to knock down all opposition;

And, knowing well his warmth of temper,

Out of his reach began to scamper,

Till, growing cooler, he pretends

His passion feign’d, so all are friends.

Our danger now becomes a joke,

And peaceably we go to Stoke.

About the church we nothing can see

To strike or entertain our fancy:

But near a farm, or an elm tree,

A long pole fix’d upright we see,

And tow’rd the top of it was plac’d

A weathercock, quite in high taste,

Which all of us, ere we go further,

Pronounce of the Composite order.

First, on a board turn’d by the wind,

A painter had a cock design’d,

A common weathercock was above it,

This turn’d too as the wind did move it;

Then on the spindle’s point so small

A shuttlecock stuck o’ertopp’d them all.

This triple alliance gave occasion

To much improving speculation.

Alas! we ne’er know when we are well,

So at Northfleet again must quarrel;

But fought not here with sticks and stones

(For those, you know, might break our bones)

A well just by, full to the brim,

Did fitter for our purpose seem;

So furiously we went to dashing,

Till our coats wanted no more washing;

But this our heat and courage cooling,

’Twas soon high time to leave such fooling.

To The Nag’s Head we therefore hie,

To drink, and to be turn’d adry.

At six, while supper was preparing,

And we about the marsh-lands staring,

Our two game cocks, Tothall and Scott,

To battling once again were got:

But here no weapons could they find,

Save what the cows dropp’d from behind;

With these they pelted, till we fancy

Their cloaths look’d something like a tansy.

At seven we all come home again,

Tothall and Scott their garments clean;

Supper we get, and, when that’s o’er,

A tiff of punch drink at the door;

Then, as the beds were only three,

Draw cuts who shall so lucky be

As here to sleep without a chum;

To Tothall’s share the prize did come;

Hogarth and Thornhill, Scott and I,

In pairs, like man and wife, must lie.

Then mighty frolicksome they grow,

At Scott and me the stocking throw,

Fight with their wigs, in which perhaps

They sleep, for here we found no caps.

Up at eleven again we get,

Our sheets were so confounded wet;

We dress, and lie down in our cloaths;

Monday, at three, awak’d and rose.

And of the cursed gnats complain,

Yet make a shift to sleep again.

Till six o’clock we quiet lay,

And then got out for the whole day;

To fetch a barber out we send;

Stripp’d, and in boots, he does attend,

For he’s a fisherman by trade;

Tann’d was his face, shock was his head;

He flowers our wigs and trims our faces,

And the top barber of the place is.

The cloth is for our breakfast spread,

A bowl of milk and toasted bread

Are brought, of which while Forrest eats,

To draw our pictures Hogarth sits;

Thornhill is in the barber’s hands,

Shaving himself Will Tothall stands;

While Scott is in a corner sitting,

And an unfinish’d piece completing.

Our reckoning about eight we pay,

And take for Isle of Greane our way;

To keep the road we were directed,

But, as ’twas bad, this rule neglected;

A tempting path over a stile

Led us astray above a mile;

Yet the right road at last we gain,

And joy to find ourselves at Greane;

Where my Dame Husbands, at The Chequer,

Refresh’d us with some good malt liquor;

Into her larder then she runs,

Brings out salt pork, butter, and buns,

And coarse black bread, but that’s no matter,

’Twill fortify us for the water.

Here Scott so carefully laid down

His penknife which had cost a crown,

That all in vain we sought to find it,

And, for his comfort, say, “Ne’er mind it;”

For to Sheerness we now must go:

To this the ferryman says, “No.”

We to another man repair’d:

He too says, “No—it blows too hard.”

But, while we study how to get there,

In spite of this tempestuous weather,

Our landlady a scheme propos’d,

With which we fortunately clos’d,

Was to the shore to go, and try

To hail the ships in ordinary,

So we might get, for no great matter,

A boat to take us o’er the water.

We haste, and soon the shore we tread,

With various kinds of shells bespread,

And in a little time we spy’d

A boat approaching on our side;

The man to take us in agreed,

But that was difficult indeed,

Till, holding in each hand an oar,

He made a sort of bridge to shore,

O’er which on hands and knees we crawl,

And so get safe on board the yawl.

In little time we seated were,

And now to Shepey’s coast draw near;

When suddenly, with loud report,

The cannons roar from ships and fort,

And, like tall fellows, we impute

To our approach this grand salute.

But soon, alas! our pride was humbled,

And from this fancy’d height we tumbled,

On recollecting that the day

The nine and twentieth was of May.

The firing had not long been ended,

Before at Sheerness we were landed,

Where on the battery while we walk,

And of the charming prospect talk,

Scott from us in a hurry runs,

And, getting to the new-fir’d guns,

Unto their touch-holes clapp’d his nose;

Hogarth sits down, and trims his toes;

These whims when we had made our sport,

Our turn we finish round the fort,

And are at one for Queenborough going:

Bleak was the walk, the wind fierce blowing,

And driving o’er our heads the spray;

On loose beach stones, our pebbly way,

But Thornhill only got a fall,

Which hurt him little, if at all:

So merrily along we go,

And reach that famous town by two.

Queenborough consists of one short street,

Broad, and well-pav’d, and very neat;

Nothing like dirt offends the eye,

Scarce any people could we spy:

The town-house, for the better show

Is mounted on a portico

Of piers and arches, number four,

And crown’d at top with a clock tower;

But all this did not reach so high

As a flag-staff, that stood just by,

On which a standard huge was flying

(The borough’s arms, the king’s supplying)

Which on high festivals they display

To do the honours of the day.

As for salutes, excus’d they are,

Because they have no cannon there.

To the church-yard we first repair,

And hunt for choice inscriptions there.

Search stones and rails, till almost weary all

In hopes to find something material.

When one at last, of pyebald style

(Though grave the subject) made us smile:

Telling us first, in humble prose,

“That Henry Knight doth here repose,

A Greenland Trader twice twelve year,

As master and as harpooner:”

Then, in as humble verse, we read

(As by himself in person said)

“In Greenland I whales, sea-horse, and bears did slay

Though now my body is intombed in clay.”

The house at which we were to quarter

Is call’d The Swans; this rais’d our laughter,

Because the sign is The Red Lion,

So strange a blunder we cry “Fie on!”

But, going in, all neat we see

And clean; so was our landlady:

With great civility she told us,

She had not beds enough to hold us,

But a good neighbour had just by,

Where some of us perhaps might lie.

She sends to ask. The merry dame

Away to us directly came,

Quite ready our desires to grant,

And furnish us with what we want.

Back to the church again we go,

Which is but small, ill built, and low,

View’d the inside, but still we see

Nothing of curiosity,

Unless we suffer the grave-digger

In this our work to make a figure,

Whom just beside us now we have,

Employ’d in opening of a grave.

A prating spark indeed he was,

Knew all the scandal of the place,

And often rested from his labours,

To give the history of his neighbours;

Told who was who, and what was what,

Till on him we bestow’d a pot.

(For he forgot not, you may think,

“Masters, I hope you’ll make me drink!”).

At this his scurrilous tongue run faster,

Till “a sad dog” he call’d his master,

Told us the worshipful the Mayor

Was but a custom house officer,

Still rattling on till we departed,

Not only with his tales diverted,

But so much wisdom we had got,

We treated him with t’other pot.

Return we now to the town-hall,

That, like the borough, is but small,

Under its portico’s a space,

Which you may call the market place,

Just big enough to hold the stocks,

And one, if not two, butchers’ blocks,

Emblems of plenty and excess,

Though you can no where meet with less:

For though ’tis call’d & market-town

(As they are not asham’d to own)

Yet we saw neither butcher’s meat,

Nor fish, nor fowl, nor aught to eat.

Once in seven years, they say, there’s plenty,

When strangers come to represent ye.

Hard at The Swans had been our fare,

But that some Harwich men were there,

Who lately had some lobsters taken,

With which, and eke some eggs and bacon,

Our bellies we design to fill;

But first will clamber up the hill,

A most delightful spot of ground,

O’erlooking all the country round;

On which there formerly has been

The palace of Philippa, queen

To the third Edward, as they tell,

Now nought remains on’t but a well:

But ’tis from hence, says common fame,

The borough gets its royal name.

Two sailors at this well we meet,

And do each other kindly greet:

“What brings you here, my lads?” cry we.

“Thirst, please your honours, as you see;

For (adds the spokesman) we are here

Waiting for our young officer,

A midshipman on board The Rose,

(For General S——’s son he goes)

We and our messmates, six in all,

Yesterday brought him in our yawl,

And when, as we had been commanded,

Quite safe and dry we had him landed,

By running of her fast aground

At tide of ebb, he quickly found

That he might go and see Sheerness,

So here he left us pennyless,

To feast on Queenborough air and water,

Or starve, to him ’tis no great matter;

While he among his friends at ease is,

And will return just when he pleases;

Perhaps he may come back to-day;

If not, he knows that we must stay.”

So one of us gave him a tester,

When both cried out, “God bless you, master!”

Then ran to rouse their sleeping fellows,

To share their fortune at the alehouse.

Hence to the creek-side, one and all,

We go to see The Rose’s yawl,

And found her bedded in the mud,

Immovable till tide of flood.

The sailors here had cockles got,

Which gratefully to us they brought,

’Twas all with which they could regale us;

This t’ other sixpence sent to th’ alehouse:

So merrily they went their way,

And we were no less pleas’d than they.

At seven about the town we walk,

And with some pretty damsels talk,

Beautiful nymphs indeed, I ween,

Who came to see, and to be seen.

Then to our Swans returning, there

We borrow’d a great wooden chair,

And plac’d it in the open street,

Where, in much state did Hogarth sit

To draw the townhouse, church, and steeple,

Surrounded by a crowd of people;

Tag, rag, and bobtail, stood quite thick there,

And cry’d, “What a sweet pretty picture!”

This was not finish’d long before

We saw, about the Mayor’s fore-door,

Our honest sailors in a throng:

We call’d one of them from among

The rest, to tell us the occasion;

Of which he gave us this relation:

“Our midshipman is just come back,

And chanc’d to meet or overtake

A sailor walking with a woman

(May be she’s honest, may be common):

He thought her handsome, so his honour

Would needs be very sweet upon her:

But this the seaman would not suf-

-fer, and this put him in a huff.

‘Lubber, avast,’ says sturdy John,

‘Avast, I say, let her alone;

You shall not board her, she’s my wife.

Sheer off, Sir, if you love your life:

I’ve a great mind your back to lick;’

And up he held his oaken stick.

“Our midship hero this did scare:

I’ll swear the peace before the Mayor,”

Says he, so to the Mayor’s they trudge:

How such a case by such a judge

Determin’d was I cannot say,

We thought it not worth while to stay:

For it strikes nine, “How th’ evening spends

“Come, let us drink to all our friends

A chearful glass, and eat a bit.”

So to our supper down we sit,

When something merry check’d our mirth:

The Harwich men had got a birth

Closely adjoining to our room,

And were to spend their evening come:

The wall was thin, and they so near,

That all they say, or sing, we hear.

We sung our songs, we crack’d our jokes,

Their emulation this provokes;

And they perform’d so joyously,

As distanc’d hollow all our glee;

So (were it not a bull) I’d say,

This night they fairly won the day.

Now plenteously we drink of flip,

In hopes we shall the better sleep;

Some rest the long day’s work requires;

Scott to his lodging first retires;

His landlady is waiting for him,

And to his chamber walks before him;

In her fair hand a light she bears,

And shows him up the garret-stairs;

Away comes he greatly affronted,

And his disgrace to us recounted,

This makes us game, we roast him for it,

“Scott’s too high-minded for a garret.”

But Tothall more humanely said,

“Come, Scott, be easy, take my bed,

And to your garret I will go.”

(This great good-nature sure did show)

There finding nought him to entertain

But a flock-bed without a curtain,

He too in haste came back, and got

Away to share his bed with Scott,

And at eleven each goes to nest,

Till Tuesday morn to take his rest.

At six comes Hogarth, “Rise, Sirs, rise,”

Says he, with roguery in his eyes,

“Scott’s landlady is below stairs;

And roundly the good woman swears,

That for his lodging he shall pay,

(Where his tir’d bones he scorn’d to lay)

Or he should go before the Mayor.”

She’s in the right on’t, we declare,

For this would cut the matter short,

(At least ’twould make us special sport);

But here she balk’d us, and, no doubt,

Had wit enough to find us out.

Our mark thus miss’d, we kindly go

To see how he and Tothall do.

We find the doors all open were,

(It seems that’s not unusual here)

They’re very well, but Scott last night

Had been in a most dreadful fright:

“When to his room he got,” he said,

“And just was stepping into bed,

He thought he saw the bed-cloaths stir,

So back he flew in mortal fear;

But, taking heart of grace, he try’d

To feel what ’twas, when out it cry’d;

Again he starts, but to his joy

It prov’d a little harmless boy,

Who by mistake had thither crept,

And soundly (till he wak’d him) slept.

So from his fears recover’d quite,

He got to sleep, and slept all night.”

We laugh at this, and he laughs too,

For, pray, what better could he do?

At ten we leave our Lion-Swans,

And to the higher lands advance,

Call on our laundress by the way,

For the led shirts left yesterday

To wash; “She’s sorry, they’re not yet

Quite dry!”—“Why then we’ll take them wet

They’ll dry and iron’d be, we hope,

At Minster, where we next shall stop.”

The way was good, the weather fair,

The prospects most delightful were.

To Minster got, with labour hard

We climb’d the hill to the church-yard,

But, when arriv’d there, did not fail

To read some verses on a rail

Well worth transcribing, we agree,

Whether you think so, you may see.

“Here interr’d George Anderson doth lye,

By fallen on an anchor he did dye

In Sheerness yard on Good Friday

The 6th of April, I do say,

All you that read my allegy be alwaies

Ready for to dye—aged 42 years.”

Of monuments that here they shew

Within the church, we drew but two;

One an ambassador of Spain’s,

T’other Lord Shorland’s dust contains,

Of whom they have a wondrous story,

Which (as they tell) I’ll lay before ye.

[349]The Lord of Shorland, on a day,

Chancing to take a ride this way,

About a corpse observ’d a crowd,

Against their priest complaining loud,

That he would not the service say

Till somebody his fees should pay.

On this his lordship too did rave,

And threw the priest into the grave,

“Make haste and fill it up,” said he,

“We’ll bury both without a fee.”

But when got home, and cool, reflecting

On the strange part he had been acting,

He drew a state up of the case,

Humbly petitioning for grace,

And to the sea gallop’d away,

Where, at that time, a frigate lay,

With Queen Elizabeth on board,

When (strange to tell!) this hare-brain’d Lord

On horseback swam to the ship’s side,

And there to see the Queen apply’d.

His case she reads; her royal breast

Is mov’d to grant him his request.

His pardon thankfully he takes,

And, swimming still, to land he makes:

But on his riding up the beach,

He an old woman met, a witch:

“This horse, which now your life doth save,

Says she, “will bring you to the grave.”

“You’ll prove a liar,” says my lord,

“You ugly hag!” and with his sword

(Acting a most ungrateful part)

His panting steed stabb’d to the heart.

It happen’d, after many a day,

That with some friends he stroll’d that way,

And this strange story, as they walk,

Became the subject of their talk:

When, “There the carcase lies,” he cry’d,

“Upon the beach by the sea side.”

As ’twas not far, he led them to’t,

And kick’d the skull up with his foot,

When a sharp bone pierc’d through his shoe,

And wounded grievously his toe,

Which mortify’d; so he was kill’d,

And the hag’s prophecy fulfill’d.

See there his cross-legg’d figure laid,

And near his feet the horse’s head!

The tomb[350] is of too old a fashion

To tally well with this narration;

But of the truth we would not doubt,

Nor put our Cicerone out:

It gives a moral hint at least,

That gratitude’s due to a beast.

So far it’s good, whoever made it,

And that it may not fail of credit,

A horsehead vane adorns the steeple,

And it’s Horse-church call’d by the people.

Our shirts dry’d at The George we get,

We dine there, and till four we sit;

And now in earnest think of home;

So to Sheerness again we come,

Where for a bum-boat we agree,

And about five put off to sea.

We presently were under sail,

The tide our friend, south-east the gale,

Quite wind enough, and some to spare,

But we to that accustom’d were.

When we had now got past The Nore,

And lost the sight of Shepey’s shore,

The ebbing tide of Thames we met,

The wind against it fiercely set;

This made a short and tumbling sea,

And finely toss’d indeed were we.

The porpoises in stormy weather

Are often seen in shoals together

About us while they roll and play,

One in his gambols miss’d his way,

And threw himself so far on shore,

We thought he would get off no more;

But with great straggling, and some pain,

He did, and went to play again.

On this we moralising say,

“How thoughtless is the love of play!”

When we ourselves with sorrow find

Our pleasures too with pain conjoin’d.

For troubles crowd upon us thick;

Our hero, Scott, grows very sick;

Poor Hogarth makes wry faces too

(Worse faces than he ever drew).

You’ll guess what were the consequences,

Not overpleasing to our senses;

And this misfortune was augmented

By Master Tothall’s being acquainted

With the commander of a sloop,

At Holy Haven near The Hope.

“There’s Captain Robinson,” says he,

“A friend, whom I must call and see.”

Up the ship’s side he nimbly goes,

While we lie overwhelm’d with woes,

Sick, and of winds and waves the sport,

But then he made his visit short,

And when a sup of punch he’d got,

Some lighted match to us he brought

A sovereign cordial this, no doubt,

To men whose pipes had long been out.

By seven o’clock our sick recover,

And all are glad this trouble’s over.

Now jovially we sail along,

Our cockswain giving song for song.

But soon our notes are chang’d; we found

Our boat was on Bly-sand aground,

Just in the middle of the river;

Here Tothall shew’d himself quite clever:

And, knowing we must else abide

Till lifted by the flowing tide,

Work’d without skippers, till the boat

Was once more happily afloat.

We all applaud his care and skill,

So do the boatmen his good-will.

Ere long the tide made upward, so

With that before the wind we go,

And, disembarking about ten,

Our Gravesend quarters reach again.

Here Madam, smiling, comes to tell

How glad she is to see us well:

This kind reception we commended;

And now thought all our troubles ended;

But, when for what we want we call,

Something unlucky did befall.

When we our travels first began

Scott (who’s a very prudent man)

Thought a great coat could do no harm,

And in the boat might keep him warm;

So far perhaps you think him right,

As we took water in the night:

But when from hence we took our way

On foot, the latter end of May,

He, quite as reasonably, thought

’Twould be too heavy or too hot;

“I’ll leave it here,” says he, “and take

It with me at our coming back.”

And he most certainly design’d it,

But now the thing was, how to find it?

We told him he had been mistaken,

And did without his hostess reckon.

To him it was no jest; he swore,

“He left it there three days before.”

“This Mrs. Bramble can’t deny.”

“Sir, we shall find it by and by:”

So out she goes, and rends her throat

With “Moll, go find the gem’man’s coat.”

The house Moll searches round and round.

At last, with much ado, ’twas found—

’Twas found, that, to the owner’s cost,

Or Scott’s, the borrow’d coat was lost.

“Coat lost!” says he, stamping and staring.

Then stood like dumb, then fell to swearing:

He curs’d the ill-concluding ramble,

He curs’d Gravesend and mother Bramble.

But, while his rage he thus express’d,

And we his anger made our jest,

Till wrath had almost got the upper-

-hand of his reason, in came supper:

To this at once his stomach turn’d,

No longer it with fury burn’d,

But hunger took the place of rage,

And a good meal did both assuage.

He eat and drank, he drank and eat,

The wine commended, and the meat;

So we did all, and sat so late,

That Wednesday morn we lay till eight.

Tobacco then, and wine provide,

Enough to serve us for this tide.

Get breakfast, and our reckoning pay,

And next prepare for London hey;

So, hiring to ourselves a wherry,

We put off, all alive and merry.

The tide was strong, fair was the wind,

Gravesend is soon left far behind,

Under the tilt on straw we lay,

Observing what a charming day,

There stretch’d at ease we smoke and drink,

Londoners like, and now we think

Our cross adventures all are past,

And that at Gravesend was the last:

But cruel Fate to that says no;

One yet shall Fortune find his foe.

While we (with various prospects cloy’d)

In clouds of smoke ourselves enjoy’d,

More diligent and curious, Scott

Into the forecastle had got,

And took his papers out, to draw

Some ships which right ahead he saw.

There sat he, on his work intent,

When, to increase our merriment,

So luckily we shipp’d a sea,

That he got sous’d, and only he.

This bringing to his mind a thought

How much he wanted his great coat,

Renew’d his anger and his grief;

He curs’d Gravesend, the coat, and thief;

And, still to heighten his regret,

His shirt was in his breeches wet:

He draws it out, and lets it fly,

Like a French ensign, till ’tis dry,

Then, creeping into shelter safe,

Joins with the company and laugh.

Nothing more happen’d worthy note:

At Billingsgate we change our boat,

And in another through bridge get,

By two, to Stairs of Somerset,

Welcome each other to the shore,

To Covent Garden walk once more,

And, as from Bedford Arms we started,

There wet our whistles ere we parted.

With pleasure I observe, none idle

Were in our travels, or employ’d ill.

Tothall, our treasurer, was just,

And worthily discharg’d his trust;

(We all sign’d his accounts as fair;)

Sam Scott and Hogarth, for their share,

The prospects of the sea and land did;

As Thornhill of our tour the plan did;

And Forrest wrote this true relation

Of our five days peregrination.

This to attest, our names we’ve wrote all,

Viz. Thornhill, Hogarth, Scott, and Tothall.

КОНЕЦ.

Памятник в церкви Минстера лорду Шорленду.

Of whom they have a wondrous story,

Which (as they tell) I’ll lay before ye.

Гостлинг.

[345] Отчет мистера Николса о Хогарте.

[346] Прискорбно, что портрет его светлости не сохранился в этой коллекции.

[347] Этот рисунок, к несчастью, не сохранился.

[348] «Ройял Соверен» и «Мальборо».

[349] Эта история процитирована мистером Гроузом в его «Древностях», том II, ст. «Монастырь Минстер». «Легенда», — говорит мистер Гроуз, — «была моим достойным другом переложена в собачьи стихи. Было бы плохим комплиментом читателю пытаться серьезно исследовать достоверность этой истории».

[350] Фигура со скрещенными ногами в доспехах, со щитом на левой руке, как у рыцаря-тамплиера, как говорят, представляет сэра Роберта де Шурланда, который Эдуардом I был создан рыцарем-баннеретом за его доблестное поведение при осаде Карлаверока в Шотландии. Он лежит под готической аркой в южной стене, имея у ног вооруженного пажа, а с правой стороны — голову лошади, появляющуюся из морских волн, как будто в процессе плавания. — Гроуз.

Том II.—38.

Памятная медаль Аугсбургского рейхстага.

Памятная медаль Аугсбургского рейхстага.

Редактору.

Сэр, — эта гравюра сделана с серебряной медали того же размера, которая увековечивает два события — первое относится к дате июня 1530 года, которая называется Аугсбургским исповеданием, чтобы урегулировать религиозные споры на рейхстаге, или собрании князей, между лютеранами и католиками — второе относится к празднованию столетия рейхстага.

Надпись «Johannes» на стороне медали, датированной 1530 годом, относится к Иоанну, курфюрсту Саксонскому. Надпись «Joh. Geor.» на стороне, датированной 1630 годом, относится к курфюрсту Иоанну Георгу III. Щит со скрещенными мечами, сопровождающий их гербы, обозначает достоинство Великого маршала Империи.

Медаль находится во владении Джона Баррелла Вокса, эсквайра из Тетфорда, Норфолк, который любезно одолжил ее мне с разрешением сделать с нее рисунок для любых целей, которые я пожелаю, вместе с сопровождающим ее меморандумом по этому поводу. Как друг примирения разногласий, я счел ее подходящей для мирных колонок «Настольной книги»; и я буду счастлив, если столь поразительный памятник и события, к которым он относится, получат дальнейшее освещение от других корреспондентов.

Я и т. д. Х. Б.

[По ошибке гравера, настоящая гравюра является единственной в текущем листе «Настольной книги». — Редактор.]

ЭМИГРАЦИЯ ИЗ ХАЙЛЕНДА.

Son of the Gaël, how many a wierie change

The wing of time has brought across thy hills!

How many a deed uncouth, and custom strange,

The lofty spirit of thy fathers chills!

The usage of thy foes thy region fills,

And low thy head is bowed their hand beneath,

And driven by innumerable ills,

Thy olden race is gone from hill and heath,

To live a homeless life, and die a stranger’s death.

Предыдущая строфа — первая в поэме под названием «Последний олень Беанн Доран». К последним двум строкам ее автор, мистер Джеймс Хэй Аллан, добавляет следующее примечание:—

Вследствие огромного роста арендной платы и системы превращения мелких хуторов в обширные овечьи фермы, Хайленд был настолько обезлюден за последние семьдесят семь лет, [351] что жители сейчас не составляют и трети от их числа в начале этого периода. Пример этого печального факта очень поразителен в Глен-Урхе: в 1745 году только восточная половина долины от Далмалли до Строна выставила сто сражающихся мужчин: в наши дни на том же пространстве их не более тридцати. Эта пропорция убыли является общей. За последние двадцать лет полторы тысячи человек уехали из Аргайлшира; три тысячи из Инвернесса; такое же число из Росса и Кейтнесса; и пять тысяч из Сазерленда. Опустошения были равными и на островах. Пеннант, говоря о жителях Ская, пишет: «Миграции и подавленность духа, последнее — общая причина депопуляции, с 1750 года сократили число с пятнадцати тысяч до двенадцати-тринадцати: тысяча пересекла Атлантику; другие, подавленные бедностью или в отчаянии, перестали повиноваться первой великой заповеди: Плодитесь и размножайтесь». Эти наблюдения были написаны в 1774 году; так что депопуляция, о которой упоминается, произошла за двадцать четыре года.

Невозможно описать первые отъезды людей, которые хранили память о своих предках и любовь к своей почве как часть своей души. Незнакомые с каким-либо механическим искусством и неспособные получить для своего избыточного населения сельскохозяйственную или пастбищную работу в своей стране, они были вынуждены покинуть родную землю и искать убежища в безлюдных пустынях западного мира. Уезжающие жители каждой долины и деревушки собирались в группы и маршировали из своих ущелий с волынщиком, играющим перед ними плач по умершим: «Cha pill! cha pill! cha pill me tulle!» — «Никогда! никогда! никогда я не вернусь!». На том месте, где они должны были потерять из виду свое родное место и расстаться с теми, кто оставался позади, они бросались на землю в агонии отчаяния, обнимая землю, смачивая вереск своими слезами и цепляясь с безнадежной тоской за шеи и пледы друзей, которых они больше никогда не увидят. Когда час разлуки проходил, они выходили в мир как одинокая, печальная, изгнанная раса, оторванная от всего, что связывало их с землей, и потерянная среди людского потока: никто не смешивался с ними по характеру, никто не сливался с ними в сочувствии. Они были оставлены в своей простоте бороться с мошенничеством, невежеством и бедностью, разделенный народ, обреченный на несчастья.

В третьей строфе поэмы о «Беанн Доран» ее автор говорит,

There was a time—alas! full long ago,

Wide forests waved upon thy mountains’ side.

Об этих строках мистер Аллан замечает следующее:—

Почти каждый район Хайленда несет следы огромных лесов, которыми в не столь отдаленный период были покрыты холмы и пустоши: некоторые сгнили от старости, но большие участки были намеренно уничтожены в конце XVI и начале XVII века. На южной стороне Беанн-Невис большой сосновый лес, который простирался от западных склонов Лохабара до черной воды и болот Ранаха, был сожжен, чтобы изгнать волков. В окрестностях Лох-Слои участок лесов, почти двадцать миль в окружности, был уничтожен с той же целью; а в более поздний период значительная часть лесов, прилегающих к Лохилу, была опустошена солдатами Оливера Кромвеля в их попытках покорить клан Кэмерон. Ничто в последние годы не способствовало уничтожению небольших лесов больше, чем выпас овец. Везде, где эти животные имеют доступ к вырубленному подлеску, они полностью останавливают его рост, а иногда и вовсе уничтожают его, постоянно съедая молодые побеги, как только они появляются. Значительное количество еще оставшихся лесов также слишком часто приносится в жертву алчности владельцев. На западном берегу озера Катрин, недалеко от Троссакса, земля, которая сейчас должна была быть такой же священной, как долина Темпе, прекрасный подлесок был вырублен и продан в недавний период; и на его месте виден только пустынный склон голого верескового холма. Прошло не более шестидесяти лет с тех пор, как Глен-Урха была лишена великолепного елового леса протяженностью в несколько миль. Древесина была куплена компанией ирландских авантюристов, которые платили по шесть пенсов за дерево, которое сейчас оценивалось бы в пять гиней. Вырубив весь лес, покупатели обанкротились и разбежались: надсмотрщик рабочих был повешен в Инвераре за убийство одного из своих людей. Лэрд так и не получил плату за свою древесину, и значительное количество деревьев было оставлено на месте, где они упали, или на берегах озера Эйв, куда их привезли для транспортировки, и постепенно они были уничтожены воздействием погоды. Те болота, где раньше стояли древние леса, усеяны короткими пнями деревьев, все еще стоящими там, где они росли. Время свело их почти к сердцевине, а дожди и гниение земли очистили их от почвы: все же их истощенные пни и клыки их корней сохраняют свою первоначальную форму и стоят среди лощин, воплощение скелетов деревьев в романсе «Леонора». Множество этих остатков старого мира можно увидеть в Глен-Урхе и ее окрестностях. В Коррай-Фуар, Глен-Фингласс и Глен-Эйтиве их встречают на каждом шагу. В первой еще процветает несколько живых елей; но они окружены со всех сторон разбитыми пнями, упавшими стволами и опаленными конечностями ушедшего леса.

Трудно представить печальные эмоции, которые вызываются этой картиной стареющего существования, падающего без внимания и сгорающего в глубочайшем одиночестве и тишине: со всех сторон лежат разные стадии распада, от сгнившего и лишенного коры пня, наполовину заросшего травой и мхом, до поваленного дерева, все еще несущего на своих разбитых ветвях засохшие листья своего последнего лета. В Глен-Фингласс больше нет живой древесины; но остатки того, что она когда-то производила, имеют большую величину, чем те, что в Коррай-Фуар. В этом районе деревья были в основном дубами; однако среди них были смешаны ели, а в верхней части долины находится пень диаметром шесть футов. Через равные промежутки времени встречаются пни дуба высотой от пяти до семи или восьми футов; они все большого размера и возраста: некоторые все еще покрыты корой и даже несут несколько чахлых побегов; но многие настолько стары, что мшистая земля выросла с одной стороны до их вершины, а вереск начал покрывать их, как плющ. В Глен-Эйтиве остатки менее стерты: многие из обожженных и узловатых пней все еще несут тонкую голову скрученных и карликовых ветвей, а в некоторых местах стволы огромных дубов, прямые, как мачта, все еще лежат у подножия пня, от которого они были отломлены. Я не знаю, как описать чувства, с которыми я смотрел на эти реликвии древних лесов, которые когда-то покрывали холмы, и смотрел на маленький пушистый подлесок, который — все, что теперь осталось на склоне горы. Какова должна быть душа того человека, который может смотреть на перемены без мысли? который слышит насмешки чужака, поносящего наготу его земли, и который может стоять на своем холме и простирать свой взор на сто миль поверх следов гигантских лесов и сказать: «Это мое»; и все же не просить у заброшенной земли ее плодов, не стремиться возродить погибшую славу своей страны, которая для оживления нуждается лишь в том, чтобы ее искали?

Успех тех, кто обладал этим патриотизмом, должен служить источником для подражания и является памятником укора тем, кто не следует их примеру. Княжеские аллеи Инверары, прекрасные леса Гленгарри, плантации Дантруна и рощи Атолла должны вызывать у чужеземца восхищение, а у уроженца — гордость и благодарность: гордость за плоды своей страны и благодарность благородным владельцам, которые сохранили и лелеяли то, что обязан поддерживать каждый шотландский землевладелец, — честь и интересы земли своих отцов.

Изящная поэма мистера Аллана — это «плач» об оставлении горной Шотландии ее древними обитателями. Он говорит:

Full often in the valleys still and lone,

The ruins of deserted huts appear.

And here and there grown o’er for many a year,

Half-hidden ridges in the heath are seen,

Where once the delving plough and waving corn had been.

В примечании к этой строфе мистер Аллан красноречиво описывает обезлюдевшие районы, а именно:

На узких берегах одиноких ручьев, посреди безмолвия пустошей, в лоне пустынных долин и на вершинах холмов, отданных лисам и овцам, видны полуразрушенные стены заброшенных хижин и поросшие мхом борозды покинутых полей, которые свидетельствуют о существовании народа, некогда многочисленного и богатого. В этих печальных следах запустения иногда видны остатки восьми или двенадцати домов, лишенных крыш и рассыпающихся в беспорядочную груду. На одной ферме в долине Глен-Урчай «шестьдесят лет назад» было тридцать семь «очагов»; сегодня они все погасли, за исключением четырех. Менее масштабный, но более яркий пример этого упадка народа еще лучше проиллюстрирует строки поэмы. Однажды вечером я поднимался по уединенной долине между Глен-Финглассом и Лох-Бойлом; день быстро клонился к закату, и, утомленный охотой и находясь вдали от обитаемых долин, я хотел найти какой-нибудь дом, где мог бы подкрепиться. Обогнув склон холма, я вышел на небольшую ровную равнину, где сходились четыре долины. Посреди стояли два коттеджа, и я поспешил вперед в надежде получить кружку молока и ячменную лепешку. Подойдя ближе, я заметил, что из трубы не идет дым, в долине не было скота, и не было никаких признаков маленького зеленого огорода, который теперь встречается в окрестностях горного коттеджа. Я был несколько обескуражен царившими вокруг тишиной и запустением, но, зная об уединенности и бедности пастухов на окраинах, я не удивился. Наконец, однако, подойдя вплотную, я увидел вереск, растущий в стенах хижин, двери были сняты, а оконные проемы превратились в зияющие дыры. Остановившись и оглядевшись, я заметил ровное пространство, которое когда-то было полем: оно все еще было зеленым и гладким, и поросшие травой гребни давно заброшенных борозд были различимы, отступая под натиском наступающего вереска. Знакомство с подобными объектами предотвратило удивление и почти размышление, но голод и усталость напомнили мне, что не стоит медлить, и я продолжил свой путь к Лох-Бойлу. Свернув в северо-западную долину, я снова обнаружил перед собой небольшой дом у ручья, и плотность его стен, и свежесть серой крыши, когда заходящее солнце блеснуло на ее коньке, убедили меня, что он не заброшен. Я поспешил вперед, но снова был обманут. Подойдя ближе, я обнаружил, что, хотя он был необитаем не так долго, он был покинут, как и остальные: маленькие деревянные окна были полузакрыты, дверь стояла открытой, и на пороге разросся мох; крыша заросла густым и высоким слоем давно засохшей травы: несколько полусгоревших торфяных брикетов лежали в углу очага, а дым от последнего огня все еще висел на стенах. На узкой песчаной тропинке у двери было вытоптанное место, которое все еще казалось сглаженным следами маленьких ног и демонстрировало полуразрушенные остатки детских игровых домиков, построенных из гальки и осколков разбитого фарфора: ряд камней-ступенек все еще стоял так, как они были положены в ручье, но на них не было следов ног, и, несомненно, прошло много дней с тех пор, как их переходили, если не считать лис с холма.

[351] Поэмы мистера Аллана, «Свадьба в Каолкерне», «Последний олень Бинн-Дорана» и др., были опубликованы Карпентером на Бонд-стрит в 1822 году.

Пьесы Гаррика. № XXXIII.

[Из исторической пьесы «Истинные троянцы, или Мы были троянцами», автор неизвестен, 1633 г.]

Призывание друидами богов Британии во время вторжения Цезаря.

Draw near, ye Heav’nly Powers,

Who dwell in starry bowers;

And ye, who in the deep

On mossy pillows sleep;

And ye who keep the centre,

Where never light did enter;

And ye whose habitations

Are still among the nations,

To see and hear our doings,

Our births, our wars, our wooings;

Behold our present grief

Belief doth beg relief.

By the vervain and lunary,

By fern seed planetary,

By the dreadful misletoe

Which doth on holy oak grow,

Draw near, draw near, draw near.

Help us beset with danger,

And turn away your anger;

Help us begirt with trouble,

And now your mercy double;

Help us opprest with sorrow

And fight for us to-morrow.

Let fire consume the foeman,

Let air infest the Roman,

Let seas intomb their fury,

Let gaping earth them bury.

Let fire, and air, and water,

And earth conspire their slaughter.

By the vervain, &c.

We’ll praise then your great power,

Each month, each day, each hour,

And blaze in lasting story

Your honour and your glory.

High altars lost in vapour,

Young heifers free from labour,

White lambs for suck still crying,

Shall make your music dying,

The boys and girls around,

With honey suckles crown’d;

The bards with harp and rhiming

Green bays their brows entwining,

Sweet tune and sweeter ditty,

Shall chaunt your gracious pity.

By the vervain, &c.

Еще одно, к Луне.

Thou Queen of Heav’n, Commandress of the deep,

Lady of lakes, Regent of woods and deer;

A Lamp, dispelling irksome night; the Source

Of generable moisture; at whose feet

Wait twenty thousand Naiades!—thy crescent

Brute elephants adore, and man doth feel

Thy force run through the zodiac of his limbs.

O thou first Guide of Brutus to this isle,

Drive back these proud usurpers from this isle.

Whether the name of Cynthia’s silver globe,

Or chaste Diana with a gilded quiver,

Or dread Proserpina, stern Dis’s spouse,

Or soft Lucina, call’d in child-bed throes,

Doth thee delight: rise with a glorious face.

Green drops of Nereus trickling down thy cheeks,

And with bright horns united in full orb

Toss high the seas, with billows beat the banks,