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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 188/821
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A
smile
of
light
brightened
his
darkrimmed
eyes
,
lengthened
his
long
lips
.
—
The
Greek
!
he
said
again
.
Kyrios
!
Shining
word
!
The
vowels
the
Semite
and
the
Saxon
know
not
.
Kyrie
!
The
radiance
of
the
intellect
.
I
ought
to
profess
Greek
,
the
language
of
the
mind
.
Kyrie
eleison
!
The
closetmaker
and
the
cloacamaker
will
never
be
lords
of
our
spirit
.
We
are
liege
subjects
of
the
catholic
chivalry
of
Europe
that
foundered
at
Trafalgar
and
of
the
empire
of
the
spirit
,
not
an
imperium
,
that
went
under
with
the
Athenian
fleets
at
Aegospotami
.
Yes
,
yes
.
They
went
under
.
Pyrrhus
,
misled
by
an
oracle
,
made
a
last
attempt
to
retrieve
the
fortunes
of
Greece
.
Loyal
to
a
lost
cause
.
He
strode
away
from
them
towards
the
window
.
—
They
went
forth
to
battle
,
Mr
O
’
Madden
Burke
said
greyly
,
but
they
always
fell
.
—
Boohoo
!
Lenehan
wept
with
a
little
noise
.
Owing
to
a
brick
received
in
the
latter
half
of
the
matinée
.
Poor
,
poor
,
poor
Pyrrhus
!
He
whispered
then
near
Stephen
’
s
ear
:
LENEHAN
’
S
LIMERICK
—
There
’
s
a
ponderous
pundit
MacHugh
Who
wears
goggles
of
ebony
hue
.
As
he
mostly
sees
double
