Т.В. Артеменко, Е.В. Кривощекова, Е.В. Кравченко, Н.Е. Николаева - Reader in Language and Culture (1098538), страница 9
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Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:O, no! it is an ever-fixed markThat looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wandering bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle's compass come;Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom.If this be error and upon me proved,I never writ, nor no man ever loved.49William BlakeWilliam Blake was born on November 28, 1757 in London, the thirdof five children. His father James was a hosier, and could only afford togive William enough schooling to learn the basics of reading and writing,though for a short time he was able to attend a drawing school run byHenry Par.William worked in his father's shop until his talent for drawingbecame so obvious that he was apprenticed to engraver James Basire at age14.
He finished his apprenticeship at age 21, and set out to make his livingas an engraver.Blake married Catherine Boucher at age 25, and she worked with himon most of his artistic creations. Together they published a book of Blake'spoems and drawings called Songs of Innocence.Blake engraved the words and pictures on copper plates (a method heclaimed he received in a dream), and Catherine coloured the plates andbound the books.
Songs of Innocence sold slowly during Blake's lifetime,indeed Blake struggled close to poverty for much of his life.More successful was a series of copperplate engravings Blake did toillustrate the Book of Job for a new edition of the Old Testament.Blake did not have a head for business, and he turned downpublisher's requests to focus on his own subjects.
In his choice of subjectBlake was often guided by his gentle, mystical views of Christianity. Songsof Experience (1794) was followed by Milton (1804-1808), and Jerusalem(1804-1820).In 1800 Blake gained a patron in William Hayley, who commissionedhim to illustrate his Life of Cowper, and to create busts of famous poets forhis house in Felpham, Suurey.While at Felpham, Blake was involved in a bizarre episode which50could have proven disastrous; he was accused by a drunken soldier ofcursing the king, and on this testimony he was brought to trial for treason.The cae against Blake proved flimsy, and he was cleared of the charges.Blake poured his whole being into his work.
The lack of publicrecognition sent him into a severe depression which lasted from 1810-1817,and even his close friends thought him insane.Unlike painters like Gainsborough, Blake worked on a small scale;most of his engravings are little more than inches in height, yet the detailedrendering is superb and exact. Blake's work received far more publicacclaim after his death, and an excerpt from his poem Milton was set tomusic, becoming a sort of unofficial Christian anthem of Englishnationalism in the 20th century.William Blake died on August 12, 1827, and is buried in an unmarkedgrave at Bunhill Fields, London.LondonI wander thro' each charter'd street,Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,And mark in every face I meetMarks of weakness, marks of woe.In every cry of every Man,In every Infant's cry of fear,In every voice, in every ban,The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.How the Chimney-sweeper's cry51Every black'ning Church appalls;And the hapless Soldier's sighRuns in blood down Palace walls.But most thro' midnight streets I hearHow the youthful Harlot's curseBlasts the new born Infant's tear.And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.George Gordon ByronLord George Gordon Byron (1788-1824) was as famous in his lifetimefor his personality cult as for his poetry.
He created the concept of the'Byronic hero' - a defiant, melancholy young man, brooding on somemysterious, unforgivable event in his past. Byron's influence on Europeanpoetry, music, novel, opera, and painting has been immense, although thepoet was widely condemned on moral grounds by his contemporaries.George Gordon, Lord Byron, was the son of Captain John Byron, andCatherine Gordon.
He was born with a club-foot and became extremesensitivity about his lameness. Byron spent his early childhood years in poorsurroundings in Aberdeen, where he was educated until he was ten. After heinherited the title and property of his great-uncle in 1798, he went on toDulwich, Harrow, and Cambridge, where he piled up debts and aroused alarmwith bisexual love affairs.
Staying at Newstead in 1802, he probably first methis half-sister, Augusta Leigh with whom he was later suspected of having anincestuous relationship.In 1807 Byron's first collection of poetry, Hours Of Idleness appeared.It received bad reviews. The poet answered his critics with the satire EnglishBards And Scotch Reviewersin 1808.
Next year he took his seat in the House52of Lords, and set out on his grand tour, visiting Spain, Malta, Albania,Greece, and the Aegean. Real poetic success came in 1812 when Byronpublished the first two cantos of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1812-1818). Hebecame an adored character of London society; he spoke in the House ofLords effectively on liberal themes, and had a hectic love-affair with LadyCaroline Lamb. Byron's The Corsair (1814), sold 10,000 copies on the firstday of publication. He married Anne Isabella Milbanke in 1815, and theirdaughter Ada was born in the same year.
The marriage was unhappy, andthey obtained legal separation next year.When the rumors started to rise of his incest and debts wereaccumulating, Byron left England in 1816, never to return. He settled inGeneva with Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, and ClaireClairmont, who became his mistress. There he wrote the two cantos of ChildeHarold and "The Prisoner Of Chillon". At the end of the summer Byroncontinued his travels, spending two years in Italy. During his years in Italy,Byron wrote Lament Of Tasso, inspired by his visit in Tasso's cell in Rome,Mazeppa and started Don Juan, his satiric masterpiece.
While in Ravenna andPisa, Byron became deeply interested in drama, and wrote among others TheTwo Foscari, Sardanapalaus, Cain, and the unfinished Heaven And Earth.After a long creative period, Byron had come to feel that action wasmore important than poetry. He armed a brig, the Hercules, and sailed toGreece to aid the Greeks, who had risen against their Ottoman overlords.However, before he saw any serious military action, Byron contracted a feverfrom which he died in Missolonghi on 19 April 1824.
Memorial serviceswere held all over the land. Byron's body was returned to England but refusedby the deans of both Westminster and St Paul's. Finally Byron's coffin wasplaced in the family vault at Hucknall Torkard, near Newstead Abbey inNottinghamshire.53Hebrew MelodiesIOh! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;But on thy turf shall roses rearTheir leaves, the earliest of the year;And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:IIAnd oft by yon blue gushing streamShall Sorrow lean her drooping head,And feed deep thought with many a dream,And lingering pause and lightly tread;Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!IIIAway! we know that tears are vain,That death nor heeds nor hears distress:Will this unteach us to complain?Or make one mourner weep the less?And thou-who tell'st me to forget,Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.Love And DeathI watched thee when the foe was at our side,Ready to strike at him – or thee and meWere safety hopeless – rather than divide54Aught with one loved save love and liberty.I watched thee on the breakers where a rockReceived our prow and all was storm and fear,And bade thee cling to me through every shock;This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes,Yielding my couch and stretched me on the ground,When overworn with watching ne’er to riseFrom thence if thou and early grave hadst found.The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall,And men and nature reeled as if with wine.Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?For thee.
Whose safety first prove for? Thine.And when convulsive throes denied my breathThe faintest utterance to my fading thought,To thee – to thee – e’en in the gasp of deathMy spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.Thus much and more; and yet thou lovs’t me not,And never wilt! Love dwells not in our willNor can I blame thee, though it be my lotTo strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.Fare Thee Well55Fare thee well! and if for ever,Still for ever, fare thee well:Even though unforgiving, never’Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.Would that breast were bared before theeWhere thy head so oft hath lain,While that placid sleep came o’er theeWhich thou ne’er canst know again:Would that breast, by thee glanced over,Every inmost thought could show!Then thou wouldst at last discover’Twas not well to spurn it so.Though the world for this commend thee—Though it smile upon the blow,Even its praises must offend thee,Founded on another’s woe:Though my many faults defaced me,Could no other arm be found,Than the one which once embraced me,To inflict a cureless wound?Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;Love may sink by slow decay,But by sudden wrench, believe notHearts can thus be torn away:56Still thine own its life retaineth,Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;And the undying thought which painethIs—that we no more may meet.These are words of deeper sorrowThan the wail above the dead;Both shall live, but every morrowWake us from a widow’d bed.And when thou wouldst solace gather,When our child’s first accents flow,Wilt thou teach her to say ‘Father!’Though his care she must forego?When her little hands shall press thee,When her lip to thine is press’d,Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,Think of him thy love had bless’d!Should her lineaments resembleThose thou never more may’st see,Then thy heart will softly trembleWith a pulse yet true to me.All my faults perchance thou knowest,All my madness none can know;All my hopes, where’er thou goest,Wither, yet with thee they go.57Every feeling hath been shaken;Pride, which not a world could bow,Bows to thee—by thee forsaken,Even my soul forsakes me now:But ’tis done—all words are idle—Words from me are vainer still;But the thoughts we cannot bridleForce their way without the will.Fare thee well! thus disunited,Torn from every nearer tie,Sear’d in heart, and lone, and blighted,More than this I scarce can die.John KeatsJohn Keats (1795-1821), English lyric poet, usually regarded as thearchetype of the Romantic writer.
Keats felt that the deepest meaning of lifelay in the apprehension of material beauty, although his mature poems revealhis fascination with a world of death and decay.Keats was born in London on October 31, 1795 as the son of a liverystable manager. He was the oldest of four children, who remained deeplydevoted to each other. After their father died in 1804, Keats's motherremarried but the marriage was soon broken. She moved with the children,John and his sister Fanny and brothers George and Tom, to live with hermother at Edmonton, near London. She died of tuberculosis in 1810.At school Keats read widely. He was educated at Clarke's School inEnfield, where he began a translation of the Aeneid.
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