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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 200/241
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With
languorous
look
and
lavish
limb
!
Are
you
not
weary
of
ardent
ways
?
Tell
no
more
of
enchanted
days
.
What
birds
were
they
?
He
stood
on
the
steps
of
the
library
to
look
at
them
,
leaning
wearily
on
his
ashplant
.
They
flew
round
and
round
the
jutting
shoulder
of
a
house
in
Molesworth
Street
.
The
air
of
the
late
March
evening
made
clear
their
flight
,
their
dark
quivering
bodies
flying
clearly
against
the
sky
as
against
a
limp-hung
cloth
of
smoky
tenuous
blue
.
He
watched
their
flight
;
bird
after
bird
:
a
dark
flash
,
a
swerve
,
a
flutter
of
wings
.
He
tried
to
count
them
before
all
their
darting
quivering
bodies
passed
:
six
,
ten
,
eleven
:
and
wondered
were
they
odd
or
even
in
number
.
Twelve
,
thirteen
:
for
two
came
wheeling
down
from
the
upper
sky
.
They
were
flying
high
and
low
but
ever
round
and
round
in
straight
and
curving
lines
and
ever
flying
from
left
to
right
,
circling
about
a
temple
of
air
.
He
listened
to
the
cries
:
like
the
squeak
of
mice
behind
the
wainscot
:
a
shrill
twofold
note
.
But
the
notes
were
long
and
shrill
and
whirring
,
unlike
the
cry
of
vermin
,
falling
a
third
or
a
fourth
and
trilled
as
the
flying
beaks
clove
the
air
.
Their
cry
was
shrill
and
clear
and
fine
and
falling
like
threads
of
silken
light
unwound
from
whirring
spools
.
The
inhuman
clamour
soothed
his
ears
in
which
his
mother
's
sobs
and
reproaches
murmured
insistently
and
the
dark
frail
quivering
bodies
wheeling
and
fluttering
and
swerving
round
an
airy
temple
of
the
tenuous
sky
soothed
his
eyes
which
still
saw
the
image
of
his
mother
's
face
.
Why
was
he
gazing
upwards
from
the
steps
of
the
porch
,
hearing
their
shrill
twofold
cry
,
watching
their
flight
?
For
an
augury
of
good
or
evil
?
A
phrase
of
Cornelius
Agrippa
flew
through
his
mind
and
then
there
flew
hither
and
thither
shapeless
thoughts
from
Swedenborg
on
the
correspondence
of
birds
to
things
of
the
intellect
and
of
how
the
creatures
of
the
air
have
their
knowledge
and
know
their
times
and
seasons
because
they
,
unlike
man
,
are
in
the
order
of
their
life
and
have
not
perverted
that
order
by
reason
.
And
for
ages
men
had
gazed
upward
as
he
was
gazing
at
birds
in
flight
.
The
colonnade
above
him
made
him
think
vaguely
of
an
ancient
temple
and
the
ashplant
on
which
he
leaned
wearily
of
the
curved
stick
of
an
augur
.
A
sense
of
fear
of
the
unknown
moved
in
the
heart
of
his
weariness
,
a
fear
of
symbols
and
portents
,
of
the
hawk-like
man
whose
name
he
bore
soaring
out
of
his
captivity
on
osier-woven
wings
,
of
Thoth
,
the
god
of
writers
,
writing
with
a
reed
upon
a
tablet
and
bearing
on
his
narrow
ibis
head
the
cusped
moon
.
