Черноземова Е. Н. История английской литературы: Планы. Разработки. Материалы. Задания. 2-е изд., испр

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  1. Поэтическое открытие детства английской литературой на рубеже XVIII—XIX вв.

1. Сравните два текста У. Блейка.

2. В чем, по-вашему, состоит различие в разработке темы и образов в каждом из них? Что меняется в позиции лирического героя?





When my mother died I was young,

And my father sold me while yet my tongue

Could scarcely cry "weep!' weep!' weep!"

So your chimneys I sweep, and is soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,

That curi'd like a lamb's back, was shav'd: so I said

"Hush, Tom! Never mind it, for when your head's bare

You know that the soot cannot apoil your white hair."

And so he was quiet, and that very night,

As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight! —

That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,

Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black.

And by came an Angel who had a bright key,

And he open'd the coffins and set them all free;

Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,

And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.

Then nacked and white, all their bags left behind,

They rise upon clouds and spot in the wind;

And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,

He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,

And got with our bags and our brushes to work.

Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm;

So if do their duty need not fear harm.




A little black thing among the snow,

Cring "weep!' weep!" in notes of woe!

"Where are thy father and mother, say?" —

"They are both gone up to the Church to pray.

Because I was happy upon the heath,

And smii'd among the winter's snow,

They clothed me in the clothes of death,

And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

And becouse I am happy and dance and sing,

They think they have done me no injory,

And are gone to prise God and His Priest and King,

Who make up a Heaven of our misery."

3. Каковы функции мотива смерти в каждом из стихотворе­ний?

4. В произведении Р. Саути, как у У. Блейка, соединены об­разы детства и смерти.

  • Какую художественную задачу преследует при этом поэт?

  • В чем состоит разница взрослого и детского взгляда на описываемые события?




It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done,

And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun,

And by him sported on the green

His little grandchild Wilhelmine.


She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,

Which he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;

He came to ask what he had found,

That was so large, and smooth, and round.


Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,

And with a natural sigh,

"Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,

"Who fell in the great victory.


"I find them in garden, for

There's many here about;

And often where I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out!

For many thousand men," said he,

"Were slain in that great victory."


"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"

Young Peterkin, he cries;

And little Wilhelmine looks up

With wonder-waiting eyes;

"Now tell us all about the war,

And what they fought each other for."


"It was the English," Kasper cried,

"Who put the French to rout;

But what they fought each other for,

I could not well make out;

But every body said," quoth he,

"That 'twas a famous victory.


"My father lived at Blenheim then,

Yon little stream hard by;

They burnt his dwelling to the ground,

And he was forced to fly;

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to rest his head.


"With fire and sword the country round

Was wasted far and wide,

And many a childing mother then,

And new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be

At every famous victory.


"They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be

After a famous victory.


"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,

And our good Prince Eugene."

"Why 'twas a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay... nay... my little girl," quoth he,

"It was a famous victory.


"And every body praised the Duke

Who this great fight did win."

"But what good came of it at last?"

Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why that I cannot tell," said he,

"But 'twas a famous victory."


The Child is Father of the Man

And I could wish to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.


There was a time when meadow, grove and stream,

The earth and every common sight,

To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.

It is not now as it hath been of yore; —

Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen, I now can see no more.


Our birth is but a sleep, and a forgetting:

This soul that rises with us, our lifes star

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar;

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God who is our home:

Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

Shades of the prison house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy

But he beholds the light and whence it flows

He sees it in his joy;

The Youth, who daily father from the east

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,

And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended;

At length the Man perceives it die away,

And fade into the light of common day.


Book 1

Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up 305

Fostered alike by beauty and by fear;

Much favour'd by my birthplace, and no less

In that beloved Vale to which ere long

I was transplanted... 309

I heard among the solitary hills 329

Low breathings coming after me, and sounds 330

Of undistinguishable motion, steps

Almost as silent as the turf they trod.

Nor less in springtime when on southern barks

The shining sun had from his knot of leaves

Decoy'd the primrose flower, and when the Vales

And woods were warm, was I a plunderer then

In the high places, on the lonesome peals

Were'er, among the mountains and the winds,

The Mother Bird had built her lodge. Though mean

My object, and inglorious, yet the end

Was not ignoble. Oh! When I have hung

Above the raven's nest, by knots of grass 340

And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock

But ill-sustained, and almost, as it seemed,

Suspended by the blast which blew amain,

Shouldering the naked crag; Oh! At that time,

With what strange utterance did the loud dry wind 345

Blow through my ears! The sky seemed not a sky

Of earth, and with what motion mov'd the clouds!

The mind of Man is fram'd even like the breath

And harmony of music. There is a dark

Invisibleworkmanship that reconciles 350

Discordant elements, and makes them move

In one society. Ah me! That all

The terrors, all the early miseries,

Regrets, vexations, lassitudes, that all

The thoughts and feelings which have been infus'd 355

Into my mind, should ever have made up

The clam existence that is mine when I

Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end!

Thanks likewise for the means! But I believe

That Nature, oftentimes, when she would frame 360

A favour'd Being, from his earliest dawn

Of infancy doth open out the clouds,

As at the touch of lightning, seeking him,

With gentlest visitation; not the less,

Though haply aiming at the self-same end, 365

Does it delight her sometimes to employ

Severer interentions, ministry

More palpable, and so she dealt with me.

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! 425

Thou Soul that are the Eternity of Thought

That giv'st to forms and images a breath

And everlasting motion! Not in vain,

By day or starlight thus from my first dawn

Of Childhood didst thou intertwine for me 430

The passions that build up our human Soul,

Not with the mean and vulgar works of Man,

But with high objects, with enduring things,

With life and nature, purifing thus

The elements of feeling and of thought, 435

And sanctifying, by such discipline,

Both pain and fear, until we recognize

A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.

См. литературу к лекции II.

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