V Epilogue
…She set her foot upon the ship,
No mariners could she behold,
But the sails were o the taffetie,
And the masts o the beaten gold.
She had not sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,
And drumlie grew his ee.
They had not sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
Until she espied his cloven foot,
And she wept right bitterlie.
‘O hold your tongue of your weeping,’ says he,
‘Of your weeping now let me be,
I will shew you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy.’
‘O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?’
‘O yon are the hills of heaven,’ he said,
‘Where you will never win.’
‘O whaten a mountain is yon,’ she said,
‘All so dreary wi frost and snow?’
‘O yon is the mountain of hell,’ he cried,
‘Where you and I will go.’
He strack the tap-mast wi his hand,
The fore-mast wi his knee,
And he brake that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her in the sea.
ТЕЛЕГРАМКанал с обзорами, анонсами новинок и книжными подборками
Книжный Вестник
Бот для удобного поиска и скачивания книг
Книжный Бот
Свежие любовные романы в удобных форматах
Любовные романы
О психологии, саморазвитии и личностном росте
Саморазвитие
Детективы и триллеры, все новинки
Детективы
Фантастика и фэнтези, все новинки
Фантастика
ВКОНТАКТЕ