Cyprian Norwid - Spartakus.docx

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                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Spartakus                                                                                                                                                                                              1                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Za drugą, trzecią skonów metą                                                                                                                                                                        Gladiator rękę podniósł swą:                                                                                                                                                                           „To nie to – krzycząc – Siła nie to,                                                                                                                                                                       To nie to Mądrość ,co dziś zwą…                                                                                                                                                                           Sam Jowisz  mi niegroźny więcej,                                                                                                                                 Minerwa sama z siebie drwi;                                                                                                                                                                      Wam – widzów dwakroć sto tysięcy,                                                                                                                               Co dzień już trzeba łez i krwi…                                                                                                                                                                                                        Przyszliście drżąc i wątpiąc razem,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Gdzie dusza wietrzyć i gdzie moc?...                                                                                                                                                            A my wam – księgą i obrazem,                                                                                                                                                       A głos nasz ku wam – pocisk z proc.                                                                                                                                                                                                         - Przyszliście drżąc i wątpić razem,                                                                                                                                                                                Cała już  światłość wasza – no!”                                                                                                                                                                                           2                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Za drugą, trzecią skonów metą                                                                                                                                                                                            Gladiator rękę podniósł swą:                                                                                                                                                                                                                            „To nie to – krzycząc –Miłość nie to,                                                                                                                                                                 - To nie Przyjaźń co dziś zwą…                                                                                                                                                                                   Z Kastorem Polluks, druhy dawne,                                                                                                                                                                                                                        W całusach sobie wierność klną;                                                                                                                                                                               A Wenus włosy ma przyprawne,                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Rumieńce z potem w maść jej lgną…                                                                                                                                                                                                              - Siedliście, głazy w głazów kole,                                                                                                                                                                                    Aż mchu porośnie na was sierść:                                                                                                                                                              I duszą waszą – nasze –bole,                                                                                                                                                                                             I ciałem waszym –naszych-ćwierć.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              - Siedliście, głazy w głazów kole -                                                                                                                                                                                             Całe już życie wasze: śmierć!”                                                                                      Pisałem 1857                                                                                                   str.93                                            

 

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