Edward Bulwer-Lytton (Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон)
The Everlasting Grave-Digge
Methought I stood amidst a burial-place
And saw a phantom ply the sexton's trade,
Pale o'er the charnel bow'd the phantom's face,
Noiseless the phantom spade
Gleam'd in the stars.
Wondering I ask'd, "Whose grave dost thou prepare?"
The labouring ghost disdainful paused and said,
"To dig the grave is Death my father's care,
I disinter the dead
Under the stars."
Therewith he cast a skull before my feet,
A skull with worms encircled, and a crown,
And mouldering shreds of Beauty's winding-sheet.
Chilling and cheerless down
Shimmer'd the stars.
"And of the Past," I sigh'd, "are these alone
The things disburied? spare the dread repose,
Or bring once more the monarch to his throne,
To Beauty's cheek the rose."
Cloud wrapt the stars,
While the pale sexton answer'd, "Fool, away!
Thou ask'st of Memory that which Faith must give;
Mine is the task to disinter the clay,
Hers to bid life revive,"--
Cloud left the stars.
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