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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 5/416
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But
whatever
he
wrote
,
and
in
whatever
fashion
,
Presley
was
determined
that
his
poem
should
be
of
the
West
,
that
world
’
s
frontier
of
Romance
,
where
a
new
race
,
a
new
people
—
hardy
,
brave
,
and
passionate
—
were
building
an
empire
;
where
the
tumultuous
life
ran
like
fire
from
dawn
to
dark
,
and
from
dark
to
dawn
again
,
primitive
,
brutal
,
honest
,
and
without
fear
.
Something
(
to
his
idea
not
much
)
had
been
done
to
catch
at
that
life
in
passing
,
but
its
poet
had
not
yet
arisen
.
The
few
sporadic
attempts
,
thus
he
told
himself
,
had
only
touched
the
keynote
.
He
strove
for
the
diapason
,
the
great
song
that
should
embrace
in
itself
a
whole
epoch
,
a
complete
era
,
the
voice
of
an
entire
people
,
wherein
all
people
should
be
included
—
they
and
their
legends
,
their
folk
lore
,
their
fightings
,
their
loves
and
their
lusts
,
their
blunt
,
grim
humour
,
their
stoicism
under
stress
,
their
adventures
,
their
treasures
found
in
a
day
and
gambled
in
a
night
,
their
direct
,
crude
speech
,
their
generosity
and
cruelty
,
their
heroism
and
bestiality
,
their
religion
and
profanity
,
their
self
-
sacrifice
and
obscenity
—
a
true
and
fearless
setting
forth
of
a
passing
phase
of
history
,
un
-
compromising
,
sincere
;
each
group
in
its
proper
environment
;
the
valley
,
the
plain
,
and
the
mountain
;
the
ranch
,
the
range
,
and
the
mine
—
all
this
,
all
the
traits
and
types
of
every
community
from
the
Dakotas
to
the
Mexicos
,
from
Winnipeg
to
Guadalupe
,
gathered
together
,
swept
together
,
welded
and
riven
together
in
one
single
,
mighty
song
,
the
Song
of
the
West
.
That
was
what
he
dreamed
,
while
things
without
names
—
thoughts
for
which
no
man
had
yet
invented
words
,
terrible
formless
shapes
,
vague
figures
,
colossal
,
monstrous
,
distorted
—
whirled
at
a
gallop
through
his
imagination
.
As
Harran
came
up
,
Presley
reached
down
into
the
pouches
of
the
sun
-
bleached
shooting
coat
he
wore
and
drew
out
and
handed
him
the
packet
of
letters
and
papers
.
“
Here
’
s
the
mail
.
I
think
I
shall
go
on
.
”
“
But
dinner
is
ready
,
”
said
Harran
;
“
we
are
just
sitting
down
.
”
Presley
shook
his
head
.
“
No
,
I
’
m
in
a
hurry
.
Perhaps
I
shall
have
something
to
eat
at
Guadalajara
.
I
shall
be
gone
all
day
.
”
He
delayed
a
few
moments
longer
,
tightening
a
loose
nut
on
his
forward
wheel
,
while
Harran
,
recognising
his
father
’
s
handwriting
on
one
of
the
envelopes
,
slit
it
open
and
cast
his
eye
rapidly
over
its
pages
.
“
The
Governor
is
coming
home
,
”
he
exclaimed
,
“
to
-
morrow
morning
on
the
early
train
;
wants
me
to
meet
him
with
the
team
at
Guadalajara
;
AND
,
”
he
cried
between
his
clenched
teeth
,
as
he
continued
to
read
,
“
we
’
ve
lost
the
case
.
”
“
What
case
?
Oh
,
in
the
matter
of
rates
?
”
