Скачать или смотреть Enoch Arden by Alfred Lord - Poem

Enoch Arden by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm;


And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands;


Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf


In cluster; then a moulderíd church; and higher


A long street climbs to one tall-toweríd mill;


And high in heaven behind it a gray down


With Danish barrows; and a hazelwood,


By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes


Green in a cuplike hollow of the down.




Here on this beach a hundred years ago,


Three children of three houses, Annie Lee,


The prettiest little damsel in the port,


And Philip Ray the millerís only son,


And Enoch Arden, a rough sailorís lad


Made orphan by a winter shipwreck, playíd


Among the waste and lumber of the shore,


Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets,


Anchors of rusty fluke, and boats updrawn;


And built their castles of dissolving sand


To watch them overflowíd, or following up


And flying the white breaker, daily left


The little footprint daily washíd away.




A narrow cave ran in beneath the cliff:


In this the children playíd at keeping house.


Enoch was host one day, Philip the next,


While Annie still was mistress; but at times


Enoch would hold possession for a week:


ëThis is my house and this my little wife.í


ëMine tooí said Philip ëturn and turn about:í


When, if they quarrellíd, Enoch stronger-made


Was master: then would Philip, his blue eyes


All flooded with the helpless wrath of tears,


Shriek out ëI hate you, Enoch,í and at this


The little wife would weep for company,


And pray them not to quarrel for her sake,


And say she would he little wife to both.




But when the dawn of rosy childhood past,


And the new warmth of lifeís ascending sun


Was felt by either, either fixt his heart


On that one girl; and Enoch spoke his love,


But Philip loved in silence; and the girl


Seemíd kinder unto Philip than to him;


But she loved Enoch; thoí she knew it not,


And would if askíd deny it. Enoch set


A purpose evermore before his eyes,


To hoard all savings to the uttermost,


To purchase his own boat, and make a home


For Annie: and so prosperíd that at last


A luckier or a bolder fisherman,


A carefuller in peril, did not breathe


For leagues along that breaker-beaten coast


Than Enoch. Likewise had he served a year


On board a merchantman, and made himself


Full sailor; and he thrice had pluckíd a life


From the dread sweep of the down-streaming seas:


And all men lookíd upon him favourably:


And ere he touchíd his one-and-twentieth May


He purchased his own boat, and made a home


For Annie, neat and nestlike, halfway up


The narrow street that clamberíd toward the mill.




Then, on a golden autumn eventide,


The younger people making holiday,


With bag and sack and basket, great and small,


Went nutting to the hazels. Philip stayíd


(His father lying sick and needing him)


An hour behind; but as he climbíd the hill,


Just where the prone edge of the wood began


To feather toward the hollow, saw the pair,


Enoch and Annie, sitting hand-in-hand,


His large gray eyes and weather-beaten face


All-kindled by a still and sacred fire,


That burníd as on an altar. Philip lookíd,


And in their eyes and faces read his doom;


Then, as their faces drew together, groaníd,


And slipt aside, and like a wounded life


Crept down into the hollows of the wood;


There, while the rest were loud in merry-making,


Had his dark hour unseen, and rose and past


Bearing a lifelong hunger in his heart.




So these were wed, and merrily rang the bells,


And merrily ran the years, seven happy years,


Seven happy years of health and competence,


And mutual love and honourable toil;


With children; first a daughter. In him woke,


With his first babeís first cry, the noble wish


To save all earnings to the uttermost,


And give his child a better bringing-up


Than his had been, or hers; a wish renewíd,


When two years after came a boy to be


The rosy idol of her solitudes,


While Enoch was abroad on wrathful seas,


Or often journeying landward; for in truth


Enochís white horse, and Enochís ocean-spoil


In ocean-smelling osier, and his face,


Rough-reddeníd with a thousand winter gales,


Not only to the market-cross were known,


But in the leafy lanes behind the down,


Far as the portal-warding lion-whelp,


And peacock-yewtree of the lonely Hall,


Whose Friday fare was Enochís ministering.




Then came a change, as all things human change.


Ten miles to northward of the narrow port


Openíd a larger haven: thither used


Enoch at times to go by land or sea;


And once when there, and clambering on a mast


In harbour, by mischance he slipt and fell:


A limb was broken when they lifted him;


And while he lay recovering there, his wife


Bore him another son, a sickly one:


Another hand crept too across his trade


Taking her bread and theirs: and on him fell,


Althoí a grave and staid God-fearing man,


Yet lying thus ina