Оглавление
- TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM. FROM HER BOY
- I. BED IN SUMMER
- II. A THOUGHT
- III. AT THE SEASIDE
- IV. YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT
- V. WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN
- VI. RAIN
- VII. PIRATE STORY
- VIII. FOREIGN LANDS
- IX. WINDY NIGHTS
- X. TRAVEL
- XI. SINGING
- XII. LOOKING FORWARD
- XIII. A GOOD PLAY
- XIV. WHERE GO THE BOATS?
- XV. AUNTIE'S SKIRTS
- XVI. THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE
- XVII. THE LAND OF NOD
- XVIII. MY SHADOW
- XIX. SYSTEM
- XX. A GOOD BOY
- XXI. ESCAPE AT BEDTIME
- XXII. MARCHING SONG
- XXIII. THE COW
- XXIV. HAPPY THOUGHT
- XXV. THE WIND
- XXVI. KEEPSAKE MILL
- XXVII. GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN
- XXVIII. FOREIGN CHILDREN
- XXIX. THE SUN'S TRAVELS
- XXX. THE LAMPLIGHTER
- XXXI. MY BED IS A BOAT
- XXXII. THE MOON
- XXXIII. THE SWING
- XXXIV. TIME TO RISE
- XXXV. LOOKING-GLASS RIVER
- XXXVI. FAIRY BREAD
- XXXVII. FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE
- XXXVIII. WINTER-TIME
- XXXIX. THE HAYLOFT
- XL. FAREWELL TO THE FARM
- XLI. NORTH-WEST PASSAGE
- THE CHILD ALONE
- I. THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE
- II. MY SHIP AND I
- III. MY KINGDOM
- IV. PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER
- V. MY TREASURES
- VI. BLOCK CITY
- VII. THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS
- VIII. ARMIES IN THE FIRE
- IX. THE LITTLE LAND
- GARDEN DAYS
- I. NIGHT AND DAY
- II. NEST EGGS
- III. THE FLOWERS
- IV. SUMMER SUN
- V. THE DUMB SOLDIER
- VI. AUTUMN FIRES
- VII. THE GARDENER
- VIII. HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS
- ENVOYS
- I. TO WILLIE AND HENRIETTA
- II. TO MY MOTHER
- III. TO AUNTIE
- IV. TO MINNIE
- V. TO MY NAME-CHILD
- VI. TO ANY READER
- Главная
- Роберт Льюис Стивенсон
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- Детский цветник стихов
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- VIII. HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONSVIII. HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS
VIII. HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS
DEAR Uncle Jim, this garden groundThat now you smoke your pipe around,Has seen immortal actions doneAnd valiant battles lost and won.Here we had best on tip-toe tread,While I for safety march ahead,For this is that enchanted groundWhere all who loiter slumber sound.Here is the sea, here is the sand,Here is simple Shepherd's Land,Here are the fairy hollyhocks,And there are Ali Baba's rocks.But yonder, see! apart and high,Frozen Siberia lies; where I,With Robert Bruce and William Tell,Was bound by an enchanter's spell.There, then, awhile in chains we lay,In wintry dungeons, far from day;But ris'n at length, with might and main,Our iron fetters burst in twain.Then all the horns were blown in town;And to the ramparts clanging down,All the giants leaped to horseAnd charged behind us through the gorse.On we rode, the others and I,Over the mountains blue, and byThe Silver River, the sounding sea,And the robber woods of Tartary.A thousand miles we galloped fast,And down the witches' lane we passed,And rode amain, with brandished sword,Up to the middle, through the ford.Last we drew rein – a weary three —Upon the lawn, in time for tea,And from our steeds alighted downBefore the gates of Babylon.
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