Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
The Peace Peal
(After Four Years of Silence) Said a wistful daw in Saint Peter’s tower, High above Casterbridge slates and tiles, ‘Why do the walls of my Gothic bower Shiver, and shrill out sounds for miles? This gray old rubble Has scorned such din Since I knew trouble And joy herein. How still did abide them These bells now swung, While our nest beside them Securely clung!... It means some snare For our feet or wings; But I’ll be ware Of such baleful things!’ And forth he flew from his louvred niche To take up life in a damp dark ditch. – So mortal motives are misread, And false designs attributed, In upper spheres of straws and sticks, Or lower, of pens and politics. At the end of the War
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