最让我印象深刻的是豪斯曼的《西罗普郡少年》。我第一次了解豪斯曼是

从爱丽丝门罗的《温洛岭》写的,不过借用爱丽丝门罗的话:我当时对这些英国

田园诗人的名字没有特别感觉,赫里克,豪斯曼,丁尼生。而走进地下通道后,这些文字开始打击我。

2013年我15岁,我当时也没有看懂爱丽丝门罗写的一些奇怪的关系,不明白其写作含义。

不过在我走进地下通道的时候,我记起了了这些文字:温洛岭一带草木深诉着悲苦。

诗歌讲究韵律和音调,例如:光和霜,海和开,散和叹。 thought and fought,name and frame,disire and ire.

中文绝句讲究对齐,英文很多都不讲词对齐,但很注重韵,好像踏步一样,121,121,稍息,立正。

例如雪莱的《The Cloud》:

【1】I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, (头韵:1和3首呼应 I,内韵: showers 和 flowers)

【2】From the seas and the streams; (尾韵:2和4尾呼应 streams 和 dreams) 

【3】I bear light shade for the leaves when laid (light ,leaves,laid ) 

【4】In their noonday dreams.  

【5】From my wings are shaken the dews that waken  (内韵: shaken 和 waken)

【6】The sweet buds every one,  

【7】When rocked to rest on their mother&aposs breast,  (内韵: rest 和 breast)

【8】As she dances about the sun.  

【9】I wield the flail of the lashing hail,  (内韵: flail 和 hail)

【10】And whiten the green plains under,  (10和12 under 和 thunder)

【11】And then again I dissolve it in rain,  

【12】And laugh as I pass in thunder.

文字一旦翻译,韵也随之消失,文字韵味大打折扣。

例如席勒的《THE GREATNESS OF THE WORLD、世界之大》 , 翻译成中文完全没有那种韵和感觉。

Through the world which the Spirit creative and kind
First formed out of chaos,
I fly like the wind,
Until on the strand Of its billows I land,
My anchor cast forth where the breeze blows no more,
And Creation’s last boundary stands on the shore.
I saw infant stars into being arise,
For thousands of years to roll on through the skies;
I saw them in play
Seek their goal far away, —
For a moment my fugitive gaze wandered on, —
I looked round me, and lo! — all those bright stars had flown!

1572-John Donne - Wikipedia

1591-Robert Herrick (poet) - Wikipedia

1759-Robert Burns - Wikipedia

1770-William Wordsworth - Wikipedia

1788-Lord Byron - Wikipedia

1792-Percy Bysshe Shelley - Wikipedia

1795-John Keats - Wikipedia

1806-Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Wikipedia

1809-Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Wikipedia

1809-Edgar Allan Poe - Wikipedia

1812-Robert Browning - Wikipedia

1830-Emily Dickinson - Wikipedia

1840-Thomas Hardy - Wikipedia

1854-Oscar Wilde - Wikipedia

1859-A. E. Housman - Wikipedia

1883-Kahlil Gibran - Wikipedia

1885-D. H. Lawrence - Wikipedia

1914-Dylan Thomas - Wikipedia

1572-John Donne

约翰·但恩(John Donne,1572—1631),十七世纪英国玄学诗派鼻祖。

其诗怪诞奇诡,不合正统,长期得不到应有评价。

二十世纪初,其全集出版,才被重新“发现”,备受著名诗人艾略特推崇。

Aire and Angels

Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapelesse flame,
Angells  affect us oft, and worship'd bee;
Still when, to where thou wert, I came, 5
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
But since my soule, whose child love is,
Takes limmes of flesh, and else could nothing doe,
More subtile then the parent is,
Love must not be, but take a body too, 10
And therefore what thou wert, and who
I bid Love aske, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fixe it selfe in thy lip, eye, and brow.



Whilst thus to ballast love, I thought, 15
And so more steddily to have gone,
With wares which would sinke admiration,
I saw, I had loves pinnace overfraught,
Ev'ry thy haire for love to worke upon
Is much too much, some fitter must be sought; 20
For, nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere;
Then as an Angell, face, and wings
Of aire, not pure as it, yet pure doth weare,
So thy love may be my loves spheare; 25
Just such disparitie
As is twixt Aire and Angells puritie,
'Twixt womens love, and mens will ever bee.

空气与天使

尚不识你的名姓或颜容,
我就已爱过你两遍或三遍;
或化作声音,或化作无形的火焰,
天使常影响我们,并受到尊崇;
每当我来到你所在的地点, 5
我总是看见美好而荣耀的虚空。
但既然我的灵魂——爱是其子——
采用了肉体,否则什么也不能做,
那么,爱比其生母更精微,
若不也寄托于形体,必无法存活。 10
所以,你是何许人,叫什么,
我教爱来问;爱既已
选中你的身体,那我就允许,
且把爱固定在你嘴唇、眼睛、和眉宇。

像这样给爱压舱,我以为, 15
就可以更平稳出航远行,
载着足以使倾慕沉没的货品,
然而我看出,爱的轻舟已超载;
你每根头发对爱都太重
而难以承受,必须找更合适的东西; 20
因为,爱不能居于虚空,
也不能居于极端而发光的物体;
那就像天使,穿戴纯净
空气——虽不如他纯粹——面容和翅翼,
你的爱可以做我的爱的天体; 25
正如空气与天使
二者的纯粹之间有如此差异,
女人与男人的爱情之间也如此。

The Paradox

No Lover saith, I love, nor any other
Can judge a perfect Lover;
Hee thinkes that else none can or will agree,
That any loves but hee:
I cannot say I lov'd, for who can say 5
Hee was kill'd yesterday?
Love with excesse of heat, more yong then old,
Death kills with too much cold;
Wee dye but once, and who lov'd last did die,
Hee that saith twice, doth lye: 10
For though hee seeme to move, and stirre a while,
It doth the sense beguile.
Such life is like the light which bideth yet
When the lights life is set,
Or like the heat, which fire in solid matter 15
Leaves behinde, two houres after.
Once I lov'd and dyed; and am now become
Mine Epitaph and Tombe.
Here dead men speake their last, and so do I;
Love-slaine, loe, here I lye. 20

悖 论

没有恋人说,我爱,也没有任何别人
能够评判完美的恋人;
他认为别人谁都不会,或愿意同意,
除他之外就无人恋爱;
我不能说我曾爱过,因为谁又能说 5
昨天他曾被人杀死过?
爱神以过热戕害青年,多于死神
以过度寒冷杀死的老人;
我们只能死一回,上回爱过者已死亡;
谁要说两回,谁就在撒谎, 10
因为,虽然他似乎暂时在行走,动作,
那不过在蒙骗我们的视觉。
这样的生命就像余晖还继续存留,
在那光源的生命沉落后,
或像在固体燃料之上,火焰熄灭 15
两小时之后,留下的余热。
从前我爱过且已死去,如今已变成
自己的墓志碑铭和坟茔。
在此,死者谈论着前生,我也一样:
被爱所害哟,我在此横躺。 

A Lecture upon the Shadow

Stand still, and I will read to thee
A Lecture, Love, in loves philosophy.
These three houres that we have spent,
Walking here; Two shadowes went
Along with us, which we our selves produc'd; 5
But, now the Sunne is just above our head,
We doe those shadowes tread;
And to brave clearnesse all things are reduc'd.
So whilst our infant loves did grow,
Disguises did, and shadowes, flow, 10
From us, and our cares; but, now 'tis not so.



That love hath not attain'd the high'st degree,
Which is still diligent lest others see.



Except our loves at this noone stay,
We shall new shadowes make the other way. 15
As the first were made to blinde
Others; these which come behinde
Will worke upon our selves, and blind our eyes.
If once love faint, and westwardly decline;
To me thou, falsly, thine, 20
And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.
The morning shadowes weare away,
But these grow longer all the day,
But oh, loves day is short, if love decay.



Love is a growing, or full constant light; 25
And his first minute, after noone, is night.

一堂讲影子的课

静静地站好,我要给你,
爱人,读一篇爱情哲学讲义。
我们在此漫步,共度过
三个小时,自身所抛落
那两条影子一直随我们而行; 5
可是,此刻太阳正照在头顶,
我们践踏着身影;
万物都被删减得清爽鲜明。
同样,幼小的爱情长大时,
伪装和阴影从身边流逝, 10
我们便无忧;可现在并不如此。

唯恐别人看见,仍小心翼翼:
这种爱尚未达到最高境地。
除非爱情在正午驻停,
我们将反向制造出新的阴影。 15
正如先前是造来蒙蔽
别人的,这些后来的影子
将作用于自己,蒙蔽我们的眼睛。
一旦爱情变暗淡,向西沉坠,
对我,你虚饰,你的, 20
我也将对你伪装我的行径。
上午的影子已经消亡,
但这些整日里却越长越长,
可是呵,白昼短暂,如果爱枯黄。

1591-Robert Herrick

罗伯特·赫里克(1591年8月24日受洗)
于1674年10月15日被埋葬是17世纪的英国抒情诗人和神职人员。

没有翻译,只有英文版本的

The Phillis,To Love And Live With Him

Live, live with me, and thou shalt see
The pleasures I'll prepare for thee:
What sweets the country can afford
Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy board.
The soft sweet moss shall be thy bed,
With crawling woodbine over-spread:
By which the silver-shedding streams
Shall gently melt thee into dreams.
Thy clothing next, shall be a gown
Made of the fleeces' purest down.
The tongues of kids shall be thy meat;
Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat
The paste of filberts for thy bread
With cream of cowslips buttered:
Thy feasting-table shall be hills
With daisies spread, and daffadils;
Where thou shalt sit, and Red-breast by,
For meat, shall give thee melody.
I'll give thee chains and carcanets
Of primroses and violets.
A bag and bottle thou shalt have,
That richly wrought, and this as brave;
So that as either shall express
The wearer's no mean shepherdess.
At shearing-times, and yearly wakes,
When Themilis his pastime makes,
There thou shalt be; and be the wit,
Nay more, the feast, and grace of it.
On holydays, when virgins meet
To dance the heys with nimble feet,
Thou shalt come forth, and then appear
The Queen of Roses for that year.
And having danced ('bove all the best)
Carry the garland from the rest,
In wicker-baskets maids shall bring
To thee, my dearest shepherdling,
The blushing apple, bashful pear,
And shame-faced plum, all simp'ring there.
Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find
The name of Phillis in the rind
Of every straight and smooth-skin tree;
Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.
To thee a sheep-hook I will send,
Be-prank'd with ribbands, to this end,
This, this alluring hook might be
Less for to catch a sheep, than me.
Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine,
Not made of ale, but spiced wine;
To make thy maids and self free mirth,
All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth.
Thou shalt have ribbands, roses, rings,
Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings
Of winning colours, that shall move
Others to lust, but me to love.
--These, nay, and more, thine own shall be,
If thou wilt love, and live with me.

Farwell Frost,Or Welcome Spring

Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appear
Reclothed in fresh and verdant diaper;
Thaw'd are the snows; and now the lusty Spring
Gives to each mead a neat enamelling;
The palms put forth their gems, and every tree
Now swaggers in her leafy gallantry.
The while the Daulian minstrel sweetly sings
With warbling notes her Terean sufferings.
--What gentle winds perspire!  as if here
Never had been the northern plunderer
To strip the trees and fields, to their distress,
Leaving them to a pitied nakedness.
And look how when a frantic storm doth tear
A stubborn oak or holm, long growing there,--
But lull'd to calmness, then succeeds a breeze
That scarcely stirs the nodding leaves of trees;
So when this war, which tempest-like doth spoil
Our salt, our corn, our honey, wine, and oil,
Falls to a temper, and doth mildly cast
His inconsiderate frenzy off, at last,
The gentle dove may, when these turmoils cease,
Bring in her bill, once more, the branch of Peace.

Corina’s Going A Maying

Get up, get up for shame!  the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air:
Get up, sweet-slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east,
Above an hour since; yet you not drest,
Nay!  not so much as out of bed?
When all the birds have matins said,
And sung their thankful hymns:  'tis sin,
Nay, profanation, to keep in,--
Whenas a thousand virgins on this day,
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.

Rise; and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green,
And sweet as Flora.  Take no care
For jewels for your gown, or hair:
Fear not; the leaves will strew
Gems in abundance upon you:
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept:
Come, and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:
And Titan on the eastern hill
Retires himself, or else stands still
Till you come forth.  Wash, dress, be brief in praying:
Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying.

Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark
How each field turns a street; each street a park
Made green, and trimm'd with trees:  see how
Devotion gives each house a bough
Or branch:  each porch, each door, ere this,
An ark, a tabernacle is
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street,
And open fields, and we not see't?
Come, we'll abroad:  and let's obey
The proclamation made for May:
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.

There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day,
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
A deal of youth, ere this, is come
Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Some have dispatch'd their cakes and cream,
Before that we have left to dream:
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
Many a green-gown has been given;
Many a kiss, both odd and even:
Many a glance, too, has been sent
From out the eye, love's firmament:
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pick'd:--yet we're not a Maying.

--Come, let us go, while we are in our prime;
And take the harmless folly of the time!
We shall grow old apace, and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short; and our days run
As fast away as does the sun:--
And as a vapour, or a drop of rain
Once lost, can ne'er be found again:
So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade;
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies drown'd with us in endless night.
--Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna!  come, let's go a Maying.

His Content In The Country

HERE, Here I live with what my board
Can with the smallest cost afford;
Though ne'er so mean the viands be,
They well content my Prue and me:
Or pea or bean, or wort or beet,
Whatever comes, Content makes sweet.
Here we rejoice, because no rent
We pay for our poor tenement;
Wherein we rest, and never fear
The landlord or the usurer.
The quarter-day does ne'er affright
Our peaceful slumbers in the night:
We eat our own, and batten more,
Because we feed on no man's score;
But pity those whose flanks grow great,
Swell'd with the lard of other's meat.
We bless our fortunes, when we see
Our own beloved privacy;
And like our living, where we're known
To very few, or else to none.

Of Love: A Sonnet

How Love came in, I do not know,
Whether by th'eye, or ear, or no;
Or whether with the soul it came,
At first, infused with the same;
Whether in part 'tis here or there,
Or, like the soul, whole every where.
This troubles me; but I as well
As any other, this can tell;
That when from hence she does depart,
The outlet then is from the heart.

To Death

Thou bidst me come away,
And I'll no longer stay,
Than for to shed some tears
For faults of former years;
And to repent some crimes
Done in the present times;
And next, to take a bit
Of bread, and wine with it;
To don my robes of love,
Fit for the place above;
To gird my loins about
With charity throughout;
And so to travel hence
With feet of innocence;
These done, I'll only cry,
'God, mercy!' and so die.

Upon Julia’s Cloths

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Till, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes!
Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!

To The Virgins, To Make Much of Time

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may:
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.

--Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

1759-Robert Burns

彭斯的一生是短促的:生在1759年1月25日的“一阵大风”里,
死在1796年7月21日的病床上,活了不过37岁。
他的父亲先是园丁,后为佃农,始终经济困难,彭斯弟兄从小就在田里劳动。

最后几年他虽当了税局职员,却要骑马在雨中巡行,每周达200英里,
因此得了风湿性心脏病。他是由于劳累过度而早死的,而且死时还欠着债。
他在世之年,正是苏格兰、英国、欧洲以至整个西方世界的多事之秋。
18世纪下半叶的产业革命正在深刻地改变西欧社会的经济结构,从而又引起一系列其它变动,
例如农业的耕作方法由于实行大面积灌溉而在革新,而彭斯父子屡次务农失败,
其原因之一就是没有财力适应这个新的形势。1775年,彭斯16岁,大西洋彼岸爆发了美国革命。
后来彭斯写过一首诗,除了赞扬华盛顿领导下的美国人民敢于同英国暴君斗争之外,
还慨叹苏格兰人安于受人奴役的可耻:

你那自由的灵魂逃到了何处?
同你伟大的先烈进了坟墓!

——《颂歌〔庆祝华盛顿将军诞辰〕》

A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
 That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie,
 That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
 So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
 Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
 While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
 And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
 Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

一朵红红的玫瑰

呵,我的爱人像朵红红的玫瑰,
  六月里迎风初开;
呵,我的爱人像支甜甜的曲子,
  奏得合拍又和谐。

我的好姑娘,你有多么美,
  我的情也有多么深。
我将永远爱你,亲爱的,
  直到大海干枯水流尽。

直到大海干枯水流尽,
  太阳把岩石烧作灰尘,
我也永远爱你,亲爱的,
  只要我一息犹存。

珍重吧,我唯一的爱人,
  珍重吧,让我们暂时别离,
我准定回来,亲爱的,
  哪怕跋涉千万里!

A Man’s a Man for a’ That

Is there for honesty Poverty
 That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave—we pass him by,
 We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
 Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
 The Man's the gowd for a' that.
 
 What though on hamely fare we dine,
 Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
 A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, an a' that,
 Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
 Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
 Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
 He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
 His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind

 He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
 A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
 Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
 Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
 Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
 (As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
 Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
 It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
 Shall brothers be for a' that.

不管那一套

有没有人,为了正大光明的贫穷
而垂头丧气,挺不起腰——
这种怯懦的奴才,我们不齿他!
我们敢于贫穷,不管他们那一套,
管他们这一套那一套,
什么低贱的劳动那一套,
官衔只是金币上的花纹,
人才是真金,不管他们那一套!

我们吃粗粮,穿破烂,
但那又有什么不好?
让蠢才穿罗着缎,坏蛋饮酒作乐,
大丈夫是大丈夫,不管他们那一套!
管他们这一套那一套,
他们是绣花枕头
正大光明的人,尽管穷得要死,
才是人中之王,不管他们那一套!

你瞧那个叫做老爷的家伙
装模作样,大摆大摇,
尽管他一呼百诺,
尽管他有勋章绶带一大套,
白痴还是白痴!
管他们这一套那一套,
一个有独立人格的人

看了只会哈哈大笑!

国王可以封官:
公侯伯子男一大套。
光明正大的人不受他管——
他也别梦想弄圈套!
管他们这一套那一套,
什么贵人的威仪那一套,
实实在在的真理,顶天立地的品格,
才比什么爵位都高!

好吧,让我们来为明天祈祷,
不管怎么变化,明天一定会来到,
那时候真理和品格
将成为整个地球的荣耀!
管他们这一套那一套,
总有一天会来到:
那时候全世界所有的人
都成了兄弟,不管他们那一套!

1770-William Wordsworth

威廉·华兹华斯(William Wordsworth,1770—1850)是英国浪漫主义诗人中成就最高的一个,

也是莎士比亚和弥尔顿以后英国最重要的诗人。这一崇高的评价,是权威评论家、

诗人马修·阿诺德在19世纪后期郑重提出的。20世纪以来,

这种评价逐渐得到英美文学界多数人的认同,也被各种文学史、传记、辞书所沿用。

现在,在英美各派文艺理论家、批评家、文学史家中间,对这一结论提出重大异议的已经不多了。

[Untitled]

What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine,
Through my very heart they shine;
And, if my brow gives back their light,
Do thou look gladly on the sight;
As the clear Moon with modest pride
 Beholds her own bright beams
Reflected from the mountain's side
 And from the headlong streams.

无题

女士呵!你神采超凡的微笑
把我的心灵朗照;
这神采若在我眉宇间映出,
就请你欣然注目——
像高天皓月,怡然自得,
 望见自己的明辉
照亮了下界的静静山坡,
 照亮了滔滔流水。

To Sleep

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,
 One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
 Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;
I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie

 Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies
  Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees;
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay
 And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
So do not let me wear to-night away:
 Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?
Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
 Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

致睡眠

一头跟一头慢悠悠走过的白羊,
 雨声,蜜蜂的低语,奔泻的川流,
 清风,碧海,平旷的原野田畴,
澄洁的天宇,白茫茫一片湖光——
这种种,我在卧榻上轮番想象,
 总也睡不着;从那边果园中,不久
 就会传来鸟雀们第一阵啁啾,
还有杜鹃第一声忧郁的吟唱。
昨夜如此,前两夜同样如此,
 睡眠呵!你总也不肯悄悄降临;
来吧,莫让我再把今夜虚掷:
 没有你,岂不辜负了明艳的清晨?
来吧,把今天与明天分开的界石,
 清新思想和健康体魄的母亲!

[Untitled]

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
 I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
 But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
 But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
 Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss!—That thought's return
 Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
 Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
 Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
 

无 题 (  为作者夭折的女儿凯瑟琳而作。凯瑟琳生于1808年9月,死于1812年6月。)

当欢乐涌来,我像风一般焦急
 要找人分享这喜悦——不找你找谁?
 你却在深深墓穴里悄然入睡,
那儿永没有变化,万古如一。
出于真诚的挚爱,我又想起你——
 我怎会忘了你呢?凭借着什么
 居然能够哄住我(哪怕只片刻),
让我把惨痛的损失淡然忘记?
这悔恨自责的心思萦回不已,
 成了我最深的痛苦,最大的悲哀,
仅次于那一回——当我绝望地僵立,

知道我最爱的珍宝已不复存在,

知道而今而后的悠悠岁月里,
 那天使一般的面影再不会回来。

[Untitled]

Not Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell
 Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change,
 Nor Duty struggling with afflictions strange—
Not these alone inspire the tuneful shell;
But where untroubled peace and concord dwell,
 There also is the Muse not loth to range,
 Watching the twilight smoke of cot or grange,
Skyward ascending from a woody dell.
Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavour,
 And sage content, and placid melancholy;
She loves to gaze upon a crystal river—
 Diaphanous because it travels slowly;
Soft is the music that would charm for ever;
 The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.

无 题

不必唱爱情,战争,内乱的风涛,
 不必唱沧桑演变留下的遗迹,
 不必唱志士仁人苦斗的业绩——
诗琴的音响何止这几种腔调!
有宁静和谐的境域,远离纷扰,
 那边,缪斯也同样乐于去游憩,

去眺望夕烟从田庄农舍间升起,
从林木葱茏的幽谷飘向云霄。
她赞许明智知足,志趣恬淡,
 也赞许寂寞勤苦,沉郁安详;
  她凝眸观赏晶莹明净的河川——
 水清见底,只因它缓缓流荡;
乐曲柔和,魅力才绵延久远;
 谦恭羞怯的花朵气味最芬芳。

[Untitled]

Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant
 Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
 Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant—
 Bound to thy service with unceasing care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
 For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak—though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
 A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
  Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow
 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine—
  Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!

无 题

你为何沉默不语?难道你的爱
 是弱不禁风的花草,只要天气
 一变化,就萎谢飘零?情分,恩义,
你一点不欠?一点也拿不出来?
而我对你的思念却从不倦怠,
 时时牵挂着,一心要为你效力,
怀着卑微的愿望:愿做个乞丐,

 只求从你的福泽中分一点余沥。
你说呀!我这温存而灼热的心底
 消受过你我二人的千般欢乐,
如今却冷气森森,凄凉孤寂,
有甚于花凋叶落的野蔷薇丛里
 积满了皑皑白雪的荒废鸟窠;——
说呀!驱散我心头苦涩的猜疑!

The Stepping-stones

The struggling Rill insensibly is grown
 Into a Brook of loud and stately march,
  Crossed ever and anon by plank or arch;
And, for like use, lo! what might seem a zone
Chosen for ornament—stone matched with stone
 In studied symmetry, with interspace
 For the clear waters to pursue their race
Without restraint. How swiftly have they flown,
Succeeding—still succeeding! Here the Child
Puts, when the high-swoln Flood runs fierce and wild,
 His budding courage to the proof; and here
Declining Manhood learns to note the sly
And sure encroachments of infirmity,
 Thinking how fast time runs, life's end how near!

踏脚石

奔突的溪水,在不知不觉之中
 变成了涛声震耳的壮丽河川,
 不时有板桥、拱桥把河身横贯;
看吧!水浅处,与桥梁功用相同——
一块块石头,摆布得均匀齐整,
 像玲珑玉带一条,把两岸联缀,
 中间有许多空隙,让清清流水
不受阻碍,急匆匆趱赶路程。
好快呵!一浪跟一浪,滔滔不息!
 少年人来了,碰上了激浪汹波,
正好试试他初生之犊的勇气;
 老年人来了,发觉衰惫和虚弱
悄悄地,确确实实地,侵入了肌体,
 更痛感流光飞驶,来日无多!

After-thought

I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
 As being past away.—Vain sympathies!
 For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide;
 The Form remains, the Function never dies;
 While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish;—be it so!
 Enough, if something from our hands have power
 To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
 Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,
We feel that we are greater than we know.

追 思

我一离开你,我的同伴和向导,
便对你思念殷殷——痴愚的依恋!
 达登河!我后顾前瞻,俨然望见
你在往日、今日、来日的风貌:
你长流不息,永远滚滚滔滔,
 你姿容不改,活力永不中断;
 而我们——人呢?刚强,聪慧,勇敢,
年轻时叱咤风云,心高气傲,
到头来却难逃一死;——这又何妨!
 我们只求:自己的劳绩,有一些
 能留存,起作用,效力于未来岁月;
只求:当我们走向幽寂的泉壤,
 凭着爱、希望、信仰的价值而察觉
我们比自己料想的更为高尚。

The Tables Turned

意为:形势已发生重大转折,

大约是指启蒙运动和法国大革命给予英国和整个欧洲思想文化界的巨大冲击和深刻影响。

诗人劝导人们要顺应形势的变化而弃旧图新,指出:迷信书本业已山穷水尽,

师法自然才有柳暗花明。诗中贬斥科学和艺术的论调,受卢梭的影响甚为明显。

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
 Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
 Why all this toil and trouble?
 
 The sun, above the mountain's head,
 A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
 His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
 Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
 There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
 He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
 Let Nature be your Teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
 Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
 Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
 May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
 Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
 Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
 We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
 Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
 That watches and receives.

转 折
起来!朋友,把书本丢掉,
 当心会驼背弯腰;
起来!朋友,且开颜欢笑,
 凭什么自寻苦恼?

依山的斜日渐渐西垂,
 把傍晚金黄的光焰,
把清心爽目的霞彩柔辉,
 洒遍青碧的田园。

啃书本——无穷无尽的忧烦;
 听红雀唱得多美!
到林间来听吧,我敢断言:
 这歌声饱含智慧。

唱得多畅快,这小小画眉!
 听起来不同凡响;
来吧,来瞻仰万象的光辉,
 让自然做你的师长。

自然的宝藏丰饶齐备,
 能裨益心灵、脑力——
生命力散发出天然智慧,
 欢愉显示出真理。

春天树林的律动,胜过
 一切圣贤的教导,
它能指引你识别善恶,
 点拨你做人之道。

自然挥洒出绝妙篇章;
 理智却横加干扰,
它毁损万物的完美形象——
 剖析无异于屠刀。

合上你索然无味的书本,
 再休提艺术、科学;
来吧,带着你一颗赤心,
 让它观照和领略。

Ode: Intimations of Immortality

from Recollections of Early Childhood
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

I

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
   Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
  Turn wheresoe'er I may,
   By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.


II

   The Rainbow comes and goes,
   And lovely is the Rose,
   The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
   Waters on a starry night
   Are beautiful and fair;
  The sunshine is a glorious birth;
  But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

III

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
 And while the young lambs bound
   As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
   And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
   And all the earth is gay;
    Land and sea
     Give themselves up to jollity,
   And with the heart of May
  Doth every Beast keep holiday;—
    Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
    Shepherd-boy!

IV

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
 Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
 My heart is at your festival,
  My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.
   Oh evil day! if I were sullen
   While Earth herself is adorning,
    This sweet May-morning,
   And the Children are culling
    On every side,
   In a thousand valleys far and wide,
  Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:—
   I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
   —But there's a Tree, of many, one,
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
    The Pansy at my feet
    Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

V

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
   Hath had elsewhere its setting,
    And cometh from afar:
   Not in entire forgetfulness,
   And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
   From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
   Upon the growing Boy,
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
   He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
   Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
   And by the vision splendid
   Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

VI

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
   And no unworthy aim,
   The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
   Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.

VII

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
 A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!
 See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
 Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
 With light upon him from his father's eyes!
 See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
 Some fragment from his dream of human life,
 Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;
    A wedding or a festival,
    A mourning or a funeral;
     And this hath now his heart,
    And unto this he frames his song:
     Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
   But it will not be long
   Ere this be thrown aside,
   And with new joy and pride
The little Actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his “humorous stage"1
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
    As if his whole vocation
    Were endless imitation.

VIII

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
   Thy Soul's immensity;
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,—
   Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!
   On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by;
   To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
   Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!


IX

   O joy! that in our embers
   Is something that doth live,
   That nature yet remembers
   What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest;
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—
Not for these I raise
   The song of thanks and praise;
  But for those obstinate questionings
  Of sense and outward things,
  Fallings from us, vanishings;
  Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised:
   But for those first affections,
   Those shadowy recollections,
  Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
  Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
    To perish never:
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
    Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
  Hence in a season of calm weather
   Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
   Which brought us hither,
  Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

X

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
   And let the young Lambs bound
   As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
   Ye that pipe and ye that play,
   Ye that through your hearts today
   Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
  Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
   We will grieve not, rather find
   Strength in what remains behind;
   In the primal sympathy
   Which having been must ever be;
   In the soothing thoughts that spring
   Out of human suffering;
   In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

XI

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
     Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

永生的信息

儿童乃是成人的父亲;
我可以指望:我一世光阴
自始至终贯穿着对自然的虔敬。

1

还记得当年,大地的千形万态,
 绿野,丛林,滔滔的流水,
    在我看来
 仿佛都呈现天国的明辉,
赫赫的荣光,梦境的新姿异彩。
可是如今呢,光景已不似当年——
  不论白天或晚上,
  不论我走向何方,
当年所见的情境如今已不能重见。

2

   虹霓显而复隐,
   玫瑰秀色宜人;
   明月怡然环顾,
   天宇澄净无云;
   湖水清丽悦目,
   星斗映现湖心;
  旭日方升,金辉闪射;
  然而,不论我身在何方,
我总觉得:大地的荣光已黯然减色。

3

听这些鸟儿,把欢乐之歌高唱,
  瞧这些小小羊羔
  应着鼓声而蹦跳,
惟独我,偏偏有愁思来到心间;
沉吟咏叹了一番,把愁思排遣,
  于是乎心神重旺。
悬崖上,似号角齐鸣,飞泻着瀑布;
再不许愁思搅扰这大好时光;
听回声此伏彼起,响彻山冈,
清风从沉睡的田野向我吹拂,
  天地间喜气盈盈;
   海洋和陆地
 都忘情作乐,似醉如迷,
 鸟兽也以五月的豪情
  把佳节良辰欢庆;
   快乐的牧童!
高声喊叫吧,让我听听你快乐的叫声!

4

 我听到你们一声声互相呼唤,
  你们,幸福的生灵!我看到
 和你们一起,天廷也开颜喜笑;
  我心中分享你们的狂欢,
  我头上戴着节日的花冠,
你们丰饶的福泽,我一一耳濡目染。
 这样的日子里怎容得愁闷!

温馨的五月,明丽的清晨,
  大地已装扮一新,
  四下里远远近近,
  溪谷间,山坡下,
 都有孩子们采集鲜花;
 和煦的阳光照临下界,
 母亲怀抱里婴儿跳跃;
 我听着,听着,满心欢悦!
然而,有一棵老树,在林间独立,
 有一片田园,在我的眼底,
它们低语着,谈着已逝的往昔;
  我脚下一株三色堇
  也在把旧话重提:
到哪儿去了,那些幻异的光影?
如今在哪儿,往日的荣光和梦境?

5

我们的诞生不过是入睡,是忘却:
与躯体同来的魂魄——生命的星辰,
  原先在异域安歇,
  此时从远方来临;
 并未把前缘淡忘无余,
 并非赤条条身无寸缕,
我们披祥云,来自上帝身边——
  那本是我们的家园;
年幼时,天国的明辉近在眼前;
当儿童渐渐成长,牢笼的阴影
  便渐渐向他逼近,
然而那明辉,那流布明辉的光源,
  他还能欣然望见;
少年时代,他每日由东向西,
 也还能领悟造化的神奇,
  幻异的光影依然
  是他旅途的同伴;
及至他长大成人,明辉便泯灭,
消溶于暗淡流光,平凡日月。

6

尘世自有她一套世俗的心愿,
她把世俗的欢娱罗列在膝前;
这保姆怀着绝不卑微的志向,
  俨若有慈母心肠,
 她竭尽全力,诱使世人
 (她带养的孩子,收留的居民)
忘掉昔年常见的神圣荣光,
忘掉昔年惯住的天国殿堂。

7

瞧这个孩子,沉浸在早年的幸福里,
六岁的宝贝,小不点,玲珑乖巧!
小手做出的玩意儿摆布在周遭,
母亲的频频亲吻叫他厌腻,
父亲的灼灼目光向他闪耀!
他身边有他勾画的小小图形,
那是他人生憧憬的零星片段,
是他用新学手艺描摹的场景:
 一场庆典,或一席婚筵,
 一次葬礼,或一番悼念;
 这些,盘绕于他的心灵,
 这些,他编成歌曲哼唱;

  此后,他另换新腔
去谈论爱情,谈论斗争和事业;
  过不了多久时光,
  他又把这些抛却,
  以新的豪情和欢悦,
这位小演员,把新的台词诵读,
出入于“谐剧舞台”,演各色人物
(全都是人生女神挈带的臣仆),
直演到老迈龙钟,疯瘫麻木;
  仿佛他一生业绩
  便是不停的模拟。

8

你的外在身形远远比不上
 内在灵魂的宏广;
 卓越的哲人!保全了异禀英才,
 你是盲人中间的明眸慧眼,
 不听也不说,谛视着永恒之海,
 永恒的灵智时时在眼前闪现。
  超凡的智者,有福的先知!
  真理就在你心头栖止
 (为寻求真理,我们辛劳了一世,
 寻得了,又在墓穴的幽冥里亡失);
 “永生”是凛然不容回避的存在,
 它将你抚育,像阳光抚育万物,
 它将你荫庇,像主人荫庇奴仆;
     在你看来,
 墓穴无非是一张寂静的眠床,
  不知白昼,不见阳光,
 让我们在那儿沉思,在那儿期待。 孩子呵!如今你位于生命的高峰,
 因保有天赋自由而享有尊荣,
 为什么你竟懵然与天恩作对,
 为什么迫不及待地吁请“年岁”
 早早把命定的重轭加在你身上?
快了!你的灵魂要熬受尘世的苦楚,
 你的身心要承载习俗的重负,
凌厉与冰霜相似,深广与生活相仿!

9

   幸而往昔的余烬里
   还有些火星留下,
   性灵还不曾忘记
   匆匆一现的昙花!
 对往昔岁月的追思,在我的心底
 唤起了历久不渝的赞美和谢意;
 倒不是为了这些最该赞美的:
 快乐和自由——孩子的天真信仰;
 不论他是忙是闲,总想要腾飞的
 新近在他心坎里形成的希望;
   我歌唱、赞美、感谢,
   并不是为了这些;
 而是为了儿时对感官世界、
 对世间万物寻根究底的盘诘;
  为了失落的、消亡的一切;
  为了在迷茫境域之间
 漂泊不定的旅人的困惑犹疑;
 为了崇高的天性——在它面前
 俗骨凡胎似罪犯惊惶战栗;
   为了早岁的情思,

   为了幽渺的往事——
   这些,不论怎样,
 总是我们整个白昼的光源,
 总是我们视野里主要的光焰;
 有它们把我们扶持,把我们哺养,
 我们喧嚣扰攘的岁月便显得
 不过是永恒静穆之中的片刻;
  醒了的真理再不会亡失:
   不论冷漠或愚痴,
    成人或童稚,
  世间与欢乐为敌的一切,
 都休想把这些真理抹煞或磨灭!
  因此,在天朗气清的季节里,
   我们虽深居内地,
 灵魂却远远望得见永生之海:
  这海水把我们送来此间,
  一会儿便可以登临彼岸,
 看得见岸边孩子们游玩比赛,
听得见终古不息的海浪滚滚而来。

10

 唱吧,鸟儿们,唱一曲欢乐之歌!
   让这些小小羊羔
   应着鼓声而蹦跳!
  我们也想与你们同乐,
   会玩会唱的一群!
   今天,你们从内心
   尝到了五月的欢欣!
 尽管那一度荧煌耀眼的明辉
 已经永远从我的视野里消退,
  尽管谁也休想再觅回
鲜花往日的荣光,绿草昔年的明媚;
 我们却无需悲痛,往昔的影响
 仍有留存,要从中汲取力量;
  留存于早岁萌生的同情心——
  它既已萌生,便永难消泯;
  留存于抚慰心灵的思想——
  它源于人类的苦难创伤;
  留存于洞察死生的信念——
 它来自富于哲理启示的童年。

11

哦!流泉,丛树,绿野,青山!
我们之间的情谊永不会中断!
你们的伟力深入我心灵的中心;
我虽然舍弃了儿时的那种欢欣,
却更加亲近你们,受你们陶冶。
我喜爱奔流的溪涧,胜过当初
我脚步和溪涧同样轻快的时节;
一日之始的晨光,纯净澄洁,
  也依然引我爱慕;
对于审视过人间生死的眼睛,
 落日周围的霞光云影
 色调也显得庄严素净;
又一段赛程终结了,又一番告捷获胜。
感谢人类的心灵哺养了我们,
感谢这心灵的欢乐、忧虑和温存;
对于我,最平淡的野花也能启发
最深沉的思绪——眼泪所不能表达。

1788-Lord Byron

拜伦幼时跟母亲住在苏格兰,生活贫困。10岁时,因伯祖父威廉·拜伦去世而承袭男爵爵位,家境好转。1801年至1805年在哈罗公学上学,1805年至1808年在剑桥大学读书。在此期间,他阅读了大量文学作品和历史、哲学著作,深受法国启蒙思想家卢梭、伏尔泰等人的思想影响。1807年,他出版了第一本诗集《闲散的时光》。1809年迁居伦敦,在上议院获得世袭的议员席位。同年出版了讽刺诗《英格兰诗人和苏格兰评论家》,受到赞誉,在英国诗坛初露锋芒。

1809年6月,拜伦离开英国,先后游历了葡萄牙、西班牙、阿尔巴尼亚、希腊和土耳其,1811年7月回国。他这次出国远游,饱览了各地的自然景色,观察了各国的社会生活和政治制度,接触了各阶层的人们。他亲眼看到了给法国侵略者以沉重打击的西班牙游击队,看到了在土耳其铁蹄蹂躏下正在聚集力量准备发动解放斗争的希腊人民。这次旅行也使他对南欧各民族的文化发生了强烈兴趣。这些,都对他的思想和创作产生了重要影响。旅途中开始写作《恰尔德·哈罗德游记》。这首长诗的第一、二章于1812年2月出版后,立即震动了英国文坛,并赢得全欧洲的声誉。拜伦说:“早晨我一觉醒来,发现自己已经成名,成了诗坛上的拿破仑。”而他在1813年至1815年间创作的《东方故事诗》六种,出版后更是风靡一时,吸引了广大读者。

1811年至1812年,英国爆发了工人破坏机器的“卢德运动”。1812年春,英国国会制定“编织机法案”,规定凡破坏机器者一律处死。2月27日,拜伦在上议院发表演说,为破坏机器的工人辩护,并严厉谴责政府当局对工人的残暴镇压。4月21日,他第二次在上议院演说,猛烈抨击英国政府对爱尔兰的压迫和奴役政策。拜伦在国会的两次演说,还有他那些矛头指向反动当局的作品,使他与英国统治集团之间结下了不解的仇恨。1814年,他又因写诗嘲讽摄政王乔治,遭到了豪绅政客和御用文人的围攻。1815年滑铁卢战役后,俄、普、奥等国政府结成“神圣同盟”,力图在欧洲维护封建统治秩序,扑灭各国的革命和民族独立运动。在此后数年中,拜伦成为欧洲各国进步势力反对“神圣同盟”的思想领袖。1816年春,拜伦的妻子米尔班克离家出走并要求分居。英国各种守旧势力便以此为口实,对拜伦再次汹汹围攻,规模之大,声势之猛,远超过1814年那一次。同年4月,拜伦便永远离开了英国。

他先到比利时,凭吊了滑铁卢战场,然后溯莱茵河到瑞士,在莱蒙湖畔住了四个多月。在这里结识了雪莱夫妇,时相过从。雪莱的无神论和乐观主义,对拜伦的思想和创作产生了有益的影响。10月,拜伦从瑞士移居意大利,不久便与谋求意大利独立解放的秘密革命组织“烧炭党”发生接触。在此后的几年中,拜伦积极参与烧炭党反抗奥地利统治的革命活动,为党人草拟革命传单、宣言等文件。奥地利当局视拜伦为眼中钉,检查他的信件,禁止他的作品出版发行,派警察、暗探对他盯梢,甚至雇了刺客准备暗杀他。

1816年至1817年间,拜伦除完成了《恰尔德·哈罗德游记》第三、四章外,还写了《锡雍的囚徒》、《曼弗瑞德》和《贝波》等作品。从1818年开始,陆续写《堂璜》各章。1820年至1822年,创作了《该隐》、《爱尔兰的万家生佛》、《审判的幻景》和《青铜时代》,还写了几部历史剧,包括《马里诺·法利埃罗》和《福斯卡利父子》等。

1821年,烧炭党所组织的革命起义终归失败。此后,拜伦的注意力转向希腊的民族解放斗争。他要求加入在伦敦成立的“英国支援希腊独立委员会”,并表示愿意亲赴希腊参战。得到委员会的同意后,他便把变卖庄园所得款项和稿费积蓄都捐献出来,支援希腊的独立事业。1823年7月中旬,他雇了一艘大船,带着炮两门、其他军械若干、马五匹、药品若干、西班牙币五万元,从意大利西海岸出发,前往希腊。8月3日到达希腊的凯法利尼亚岛,为军队的整顿、训练和作战进行各项准备工作。1824年1月5日到达迈索隆吉翁,受到万人空巷的盛大欢迎。后来,他被希腊独立政府任命为希腊独立军一个方面军的总司令,致力于军事、政治、经济各方面的繁重事务,十分紧张劳累,每天与士兵吃同样的伙食,和士兵一道参加军事操练。4月终因操劳过度而病倒。迁延至4月18日,他自知不起,说:“不幸的人们!不幸的希腊!为了她,我付出了我的时间,我的财产,我的健康;现在,又加上了我的生命。此外我还能做什么呢?”4月19日逝世,年仅36岁。

I would I were a Careless Child

I would I were a careless child,
Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
Or roaming through the dusky wild,
Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave;
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride
Accords not with the freeborn soul,
Which loves the mountain's craggy side,
And seeks the rocks where billows roll.
Fortune! take back these cultured lands,
Take back this name of splendid sound!
I hate the touch of servile hands,
I hate the slaves that cringe around.
Place me among the rocks I love,
Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar;
I ask but this—again to rove
Through scenes my youth hath known before.
Few are my years, and yet I feel
The world was ne'er design'd for me:
Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal
The hour when man must cease to be?
Once I beheld a splendid dream,
A visionary scene of bliss:
Truth!—wherefore did thy hated beam
Awake me to a world like this?
I loved—but those I loved are gone;
Had friends—my early friends are fled:
How cheerless feels the heart alone
When all its former hopes are dead!
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
The heart—the heart—is lonely still.
How dull! to hear the voice of those
Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power,
Have made, though neither friends nor foes,
Associates of the festive hour.
Give me again a faithful few,
In years and feelings still the same,
And I will fly the midnight crew,
Where boist´rous joy is but a name.
And woman, lovely woman! thou,
My hope, my comforter, my all?
How cold must be my bosom now,
When e'en thy smiles begin to pall!
Without a sigh would I resign
This busy scene of splendid woe,
To make that calm contentment mine,
Which virtue knows, or seems to know.
Fain would I fly the haunts of men—
I seek to shun, not hate mankind;
My breast requires the sullen glen,
Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind.
Oh! that to me the wings were given
Which bear the turtle to her nest!
Then would I cleave the vault of heaven,
To flee away, and be at rest.

我愿做无忧无虑的小孩

我愿做无忧无虑的小孩,
仍然居住在高原的洞穴,
或是在微曛旷野里徘徊,
或是在暗蓝海波上腾跃;
撒克逊浮华的繁文缛礼
不合我生来自由的意志,
我眷念坡道崎岖的山地,
我向往狂涛扑打的巨石。
命运呵!请收回丰熟的田畴,
收回这响亮的尊荣称号!
我厌恶被人卑屈地迎候,
厌恶被奴仆躬身环绕。
把我放回我酷爱的山岳,
听巉岩应和咆哮的海洋;
我只求让我重新领略
我从小熟悉的故国风光。
我虽然年少,也能感觉出
这世界决不是为我而设;
幽冥暗影为何要幂覆
世人向尘寰告别的时刻?
我也曾瞥见过辉煌梦境——
极乐之乡的神奇幻觉;
真相呵!为何你可憎的光明
唤醒我面临这么个世界?
我爱过——所爱之人已离去;
有朋友——早年友谊已终结;
孤苦的心灵怎能不忧郁,
当原有的希望都黯然熄灭!
纵然酒宴中欢谑的伙伴们
把恶劣情怀驱散了片刻;
豪兴能振奋痴狂的灵魂,
心儿呵,心儿却永远寂寞。
多无聊!去听那些人闲谈:
那些人与我非敌非友,
是门第、权势、财富或机缘
使他们与我在筵前聚首。
把几个忠诚密友还给我,
还是原来的年纪和心情;
躲开那半夜喧嚣的一伙,
他们的欢乐不过是虚名。
美人,可爱的美人!你就是
我的希望,慰藉,和一切?
连你那笑靥的魅力也消失,
我心中怎能不奇寒凛冽!
又富丽又惨苦的繁嚣俗境,
我毫无叹惜,愿从此告辞;
我只要怡然知足的恬静——
“美德”熟识它,或似曾相识。
告别这熙来攘往的去处——
我不恨人类,只是想避开;
我痴心寻觅阴沉崖谷,
那暝色契合这晦暗胸怀。
但愿能给我一双翅膀:
像斑鸠飞回栖宿的巢里,
我也要展翅飞越穹苍,
飘然远引,得享安息。

When We Two Parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this!
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:—
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.

当初我们俩分别

当初我们俩分别,
只有沉默和眼泪,
心儿几乎要碎裂,
得分隔多少年岁!
你的脸发白发冷,
你的吻更是冰凉;
确实呵,那个时辰
预告了今日的悲伤!
清晨滴落的露珠
浸入我眉头,好冷——
对我今天的感触
仿佛是预先示警。
你把盟誓都背弃,
名声也轻浮浪荡;
听别人把你说起,
连我也羞愧难当。
他们当着我说你,
像丧钟响彻耳旁;
我周身止不住战栗——
对你怎这样情长?
他们不知我熟悉你——
只怕是熟悉过度;
我会久久惋惜你,
深切得难以陈诉。
想当初幽期密约,
到如今默默哀怨:
你的心儿会忘却,
你的灵魂会欺骗。
要是多少年以后,
我偶然与你相会,
用什么将你迎候?
只有沉默和眼泪。

Maid of Athens

希腊少女常以花朵作为表白爱情的信物。

Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
Zωη μου, σας αγαπω.
By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Aegean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Zωη μου, σας αγαπω.
By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Zωη μου, σας αγαπω.Maid of Athens! I am gone:
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol,
Athens holds my heart and soul:
Can I cease to love thee? No!
Zωη μου, σας αγαπω.

雅典的女郎

趁我们还没分手的时光,
还我的心来,雅典的女郎!
不必了,心既已离开我胸口,
你就留着吧,把别的也拿走!
我临行立下了誓言,请听:
我爱你呵,你是我生命!

凭着你那些松散的发辫——
爱琴海清风将它们眷恋;
凭着你眼皮——那乌黑眼睫
亲吻你颊上嫣红的光泽;
凭着你小鹿般迷人的眼睛,
我爱你呵,你是我生命!
凭着我痴情渴慕的红唇;
凭着那丝带紧束的腰身;
凭着定情花——它们的暗喻

胜过了人间的千言万语;
凭着爱情的欢乐和酸辛,
我爱你呵,你是我生命!
我可真走了,雅典的女郎!
怀念我吧,在孤寂的时光!
我身向伊斯坦布尔飞奔,

雅典却拘留了我的心魂:
我能够不爱你吗?不能!
我爱你呵,你是我生命!

Away, Away

Away, away, ye notes of woe!
Be silent, thou once soothing strain,
Or I must flee from hence—for, oh!
I dare not trust those sounds again.
To me they speak of brighter days—
But lull the chords, for now, alas!
I must not think, I may not gaze
On what I am—on what I was.
The voice that made those sounds more sweet
Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled;
And now their softest notes repeat
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee
Beloved dust! since dust thou art;
And all that once was harmony
Is worse than discord to my heart!
'Tis silent all!—but on my ear
The well remember'd echoes thrill;
I hear a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still:
Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake;
Even slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flown.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream;
A star that trembled o'er the deep,
Then turned from earth its tender beam.
But he who through life's dreary way
Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath,
Will long lament the vanish'd ray
That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.

去吧,去吧

去吧,去吧,悲凉的曲调!
沉默吧,一度甘美的乐音!
否则,我只得掩耳奔逃,
这样的乐曲我不忍重听。
它们追述欢愉的往昔——
此刻,快停止拨弄琴弦!
我不愿正视,也不堪回忆
我的今日,和我的当年。
你嗓音已哑,使这些乐曲
原先的魅力都逃逸无踪;
如今,它们低回的旋律
不过是挽歌哀乐的复诵。
是的,它们在唱你,赛沙!
唱你——被人挚爱的尘土;
那曲调原先是雍融和洽,
如今比不上嘈杂的喧呼!
全都静默了!可是我耳边
记忆犹新的回声在颤栗;
听见的声音,我不愿听见,
这样的声音早就该沉寂。
它还在摇撼我迷惘的心灵,
那柔婉乐音潜入我梦寐,
“意识”枉然醒过来谛听,
那梦境早已飞去不回。
赛沙呵!醒来也如在梦中,
你化为一场神奇的梦幻;
仿佛海上闪烁的孤星,
清光已不再俯照人寰。
当苍天震怒,大地阴晦,
有人在人生的征途跋涉,
他久久悼惜那隐没的明辉——
它在这征途上投洒过欢乐。

If Sometimes in the Haunts of Men

If sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade,
The lonely hour presents again
The semblance of thy gentle shade:
And now that sad and silent hour
Thus much of thee can still restore,
And sorrow unobserved may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile
I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And self-condemn'd, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy memory!
Nor deem that memory less dear,
That then I seem not to repine;
I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.
If not the goblet pass unquaff'd,
It is not drain'd to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could Oblivion set my soul
From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drown'd a single thought of thee.
For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind
To honour thine abandon'd Urn?
No, no—it is my sorrow's pride
That last dear duty to fulfil;
Though all the world forget beside,
'Tis meet that I remember still.
For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou:
And, oh! I feel in that was given
A blessing never meant for me;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven.
For earthly Love to merit thee.

倘若偶尔在繁嚣人境

倘若偶尔在繁嚣人境,
你音容暂从我心头隐退,
不久,你温柔娴静的幽影
又在我孤寂的时刻重回;
如今,那黯然无语的时刻
还能唤回你前尘历历,
无人察见的哀思会诉说
以前未敢倾吐的悲戚。
恕我有时也不免虚耗
那本应专注于你的心意,
我责怪自己强颜欢笑,
未能尽忠于对你的思忆。
似乎我不曾哀恸,那决非
对往事旧情不知珍惜;
我不愿愚夫们听到我伤悲:
向你,只向你吞声饮泣!
传杯把盏,我并不拒绝,
却不是以此排遣忧伤;
杯中的毒素要更加酷烈,
才能忘却心中的绝望。
“遗忘”或能把我的灵魂
从种种骚乱烦扰中解脱;
它若敢淹没对你的思忖,
我就要把那金杯摔破!
倘若你从我心头消失,
这空白心灵又转向何处?
那时有谁留下来坚持
祭扫你被人离弃的坟墓?
我悲怆的心情以此自豪——
履行这最终的高贵职责;
哪怕全世界都把你忘掉,
只要有我在,我终久记得!
因为我深知,在悠悠往昔,
你对他何等亲切温存;
今后他死去再无人悼惜,
眷念过他的只有你一人;
我从你那儿蒙受的恩幸
决不是理应归我所有;
你宛如一场天国绮梦,
尘世爱情不配去攀求。

I Saw Thee Weep

I saw thee weep—the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew;
I saw thee smile—the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays
That fill'd that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.

我见过你哭

我见过你哭——炯炯的蓝眼
滴出晶莹的珠泪,
在我想象里幻成紫罗兰
滴着澄洁的露水。
我见过你笑——湛蓝的宝石
光泽也黯然收敛,
怎能匹敌你嫣然的瞥视
那灵活闪动的光焰!
有如夕阳给远处云层
染就了绮丽霞彩,
冉冉而来的暝色也不能
把霞光逐出天外;
你的笑颜让抑郁的心灵
分享纯真的欢乐,
这阳光留下了一道光明
在心灵上空闪射。

Stanzas for Music

There be none of Beauty’s daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing

The charmed ocean’s pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull’d winds seem dreaming.
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o’er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant’s asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer’s ocean.

歌词

“美”的女儿没有哪一个
能像你这样迷人;
你柔美的声音听来宛若
水上飘荡的乐音;
仿佛这乐音迷醉了海洋,
海洋已停止动荡,
涟漪静卧着,粼粼闪闪,
风儿也睡梦方酣。
明月在编织皎洁的纱布
笼罩午夜的大海;
海的胸膛轻轻地起伏,
如同熟睡的婴孩;
心灵在向你鞠躬致敬,
默默地向你倾听;
那感情浓烈而又柔婉,
像夏天海上波澜。

So, We’ll Go No More a Rovin

( 以“剑”喻灵魂,以“鞘”喻躯体,是欧洲人常用的比喻。)

So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.

我们不会再徘徊

我们不会再徘徊
在那迟迟的深夜,
尽管心儿照样爱,
月光也照样皎洁。
利剑把剑鞘磨穿,
灵魂也磨损胸臆;
心儿太累,要稍喘,
爱情也需要歇息。
黑夜原是为了爱,
白昼转眼就回还,
但我们不再徘徊
沐着那月光一片。

On This Day I Complete My Thirty-sixth Year

'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile!
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
But 'tis not thus—and 'tis not here—
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now,
Where glory decks the hero's bier,
Or binds his brow.
The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.
Awake! (not Greece—she is awake!)
Awake, my spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home!
Tread those reviving passions down,
Unworthy manhood! —unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.
If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here: —up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!
Seek out—less often sought than found—
A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.

三十六岁生日

这颗心既不再激动别个,
也不该为别个激动起来;
但是,尽管没有人爱我,
我还是要爱!
我的岁月似黄叶凋残,
爱情的香花甜果已落尽;
只有蛀虫、病毒和忧患
是我的命运!
烈焰在我的心胸烧灼,
犹如火山岛,孤寂,荒废;
在这儿点燃的并不是炬火——
而是火葬堆!
希望,忧虑,嫉妒的烦恼,
爱情的威力和痛苦里面
可贵的部分,我都得不到,
只得到锁链。
荣光照耀着英雄灵榇,
花环缠绕在勇士额旁——
在此时此地,怎容许心魂
被情思摇荡!
看吧:刀剑、旌旗和战场,
希腊和荣誉,就在我四周!
斯巴达男儿,卧在盾牌上,
怎及我自由!
醒来吧,我的心!希腊已醒来!
醒来吧,我的心!去深思细察
你生命之血的来龙去脉,
把敌人狠打!
赶快踏灭那重燃的情焰,
男子的习性不值分毫!
如今你再也不应眷念
美人的颦笑。
你悔恨等闲把青春度过,
那么,何必还苟活图存?
快奔赴战场——光荣的死所,
在那里献身!
去寻求(不寻求也常会碰上)
战士的坟墓,于你最相宜;
环顾四旁,选一方土壤,
去静静安息。

Childe Harold’s Good Night

Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;
The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land—Good Night!
A few short hours and He will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.
'Come hither, hither, my little page!
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong:
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along.'
'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful in mind;
For I have from my father gone,
A mother whom I love,
And have no friend, save these alone,
But thee—and one above.
'My father bless'd me fervently,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.'
'Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had,
Mine own would not be dry.
'Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,
Why dost thou look so pale?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?
Or shiver at the gale?´
'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife
Will blanch a faithful cheek.
'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
Along the bordering lake,
And when they on their father call,
What answer shall she make?'
'Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.'
For who would trust the seeming sighs
Of wife or paramour?
Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes
We late saw streaming o'er.
For pleasures past I do not grieve,
Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave
No thing that claims a tear.
And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea:
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands;
But long ere I come back again
He'd tear me where he stands.
With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves!
And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!
My native Land—Good Night!

去国行

别了,别了!故国的海岸
消失在海水尽头;
汹涛狂啸,晚风悲叹,
海鸥也惊叫不休。
海上的红日径自西斜,
我的船扬帆直追;
向太阳、向你暂时告别,
我的故乡呵,再会!
不几时,太阳又会出来,
又开始新的一天;
我又会招呼蓝天碧海,
却难觅我的家园。
华美第宅已荒无人影,
炉灶里火灭烟消;
墙垣上野草密密丛生,
爱犬在门边哀叫。
“过来,过来,我的小书童!
你怎么伤心痛哭?
你是怕大海浪涛汹涌,
还是怕狂风震怒?
别哭了,快把眼泪擦干;
这条船又快又牢靠:
咱们家最快的猎鹰也难
飞得像这般轻巧。”
“风只管吼叫,浪只管打来,
我不怕惊风险浪;
可是,公子呵,您不必奇怪
我为何这样悲伤;
只因我这次拜别了老父,
又和我慈母分离,
离开了他们,我无亲无故,
只有您——还有上帝。
“父亲祝福我平安吉利,
没怎么怨天尤人;
母亲少不了唉声叹气,
巴望我回转家门。”
“得了,得了,我的小伙子!
难怪你哭个没完;
若像你那样天真老实,
我也会热泪不干。
“过来,过来,我的好伴当!
你怎么苍白失色?
你是怕法国敌寇凶狂,
还是怕暴风险恶?”
“公子,您当我贪生怕死?
我不是那种脓包;
是因为挂念家中的妻子,
才这样苍白枯槁。
“就在那湖边,离府上不远,
住着我妻儿一家;
孩子要他爹,声声哭喊,
叫我妻怎生回话?”
“得了,得了,我的好伙伴!
谁不信你的悲伤;
我的心性却轻浮冷淡,
一笑就去国离乡。”
谁会相信妻子或情妇
虚情假意的伤感?
两眼方才还滂沱如注,
又嫣然笑对新欢。
我不为眼前的危难而忧伤,
也不为旧情悲悼;
伤心的倒是:世上没一样
值得我珠泪轻抛。
如今我一身孤孤单单,
在茫茫大海飘流;
没有任何人把我牵念,
我何必为别人担忧?
我走后哀吠不休的爱犬
会跟上新的主子;
过不了多久,我若敢近前,
会把我咬个半死。
船儿呵,全靠你,疾驶如飞,
横跨那滔滔海浪;
任凭你送我到天南地北,
只莫回我的故乡。
我向你欢呼,苍茫的碧海!
当陆地来到眼前,
我就欢呼那石窟、荒埃!
我的故乡呵,再见!

Don Juan and Haidée

As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen
Unequal in its aspect here and there,
They felt the freshness of its growing green,
That waved in forest-tops, and smooth'd the air,
And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen
From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bare—
Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep
Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep.
The shore look'd wild, without a trace of man,
And girt by formidable waves; but they
Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran,
Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay:
A reef between them also now began
To show its boiling surf and bounding spray,
But finding no place for their landing better,
They ran the boat for shore,—and overset her.
……
So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark,
He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to ply
With the quick wave, and gain, ere it was dark,
The beach which lay before him, high and dry:
The greatest danger here was from a shark,
That carried off his neighbour by the thigh;
As for the other two, they could not swim,
So nobody arrived on shore but him.
Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar,
Which, providentially for him, was wash'd
Just as his feeble arms could strike no more,
And the hard wave o'erwhelmed him as 'twas dash'd
Within his grasp; he clung to it, and sore
The waters beat while he thereto was lash'd;
At last, with swimming, wading, scrambling, he
Roll'd on the beach, half senseless from the sea:
There, breathless, with his digging nails he clung
Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave,
From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung,
Should suck him back to her insatiate grave:
And there he lay, full length, where he was flung,
Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave,
With just enough of life to feel its pain,
And deem that it was saved, perhaps, in vain.
With slow and staggering effort he arose,
But sunk again upon his bleeding knee
And quivering hand; and then he look'd for those
Who long had been his mates upon the sea;
But none of them appear'd to share his woes,
Save one, a corpse from out the famish'd three,
Who died two days before, and now had found
An unknown barren beach for burial ground.
And as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast,
And down he sunk; and as he sunk, the sand
Swam round and round, and all his senses pass'd:
He fell upon his side, and his stretch'd hand
Droop'd dripping on the oar (their jury-mast).
And, like a wither'd lily, on the land
His slender frame and pallid aspect lay
As fair a thing as e'er was form'd of clay.
How long in his damp trance young Juan lay
He knew not, for the earth was gone for him,
And time had nothing more of night nor day
For his congealing blood, and senses dim;
And how this heavy faintness pass'd away
He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb,
And tingling vein, seem'd throbbing back to life,
For Death, though vanquish'd, still retired with strife.
His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed,
For all was doubt and dizziness; he thought
He still was in the boat, and had but dozed,
And felt again with his despair o'erwrought,
And wish'd it death in which he had reposed,
And then once more his feelings back were brought,
And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen
A lovely female face of seventeen.
'Twas bending close o'er his, and the small mouth
Seem'd almost prying into his for breath;
And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth
Recall'd his answering spirits back from death;
And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe
Each pulse to animation, till beneath
Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh
To these kind efforts made a low reply.
Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung
Around his scarce-clad limbs; and the fair arm
Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung:
And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm,
Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she wrung
His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm;
And watch'd with eagerness each throb that drew
A sigh from his heaved bosom—and hers, too.
And lifting him with care into the cave,
The gentle girl, and her attendant,—one
Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave,
And more robust of figure,—then begun
To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave
Light to the rocks that roof'd them, which the sun
Had never seen, the maid, or whatso'er
She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair.
Her brow was overhung with coins of gold,
That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair,
Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd
In braids behind; and though her stature were
Even of the highest for a female mould,
They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air
There was a something which bespoke command,
As one who was a lady in the land.
Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes
Were black as death, their lashes the same hue,
Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies
Deepest attraction; for when to the view
Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies,
Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew;
'Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours his length,
And hurls at once his venom and his strength.
Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure dye
Like twilight rosy still with the set sun;
Short upper lip—sweet lips! that make us sigh
Ever to have seen such; for she was one
Fit for the model of a statuary
(A race of mere impostors, when all's done—
I 've seen much finer women, ripe and real,
Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal).
……
But with our damsel this was not the case:
Her dress was many-colour'd, finely spun;
Her locks curl'd negligently round her face,
But through them gold and gems profusely shone:
Her girdle sparkled, and the richest lace
Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious stone
Flash'd on her little hand; but, what was shocking,
Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking.
……
And these two tended him, and cheer'd him both
With food and raiment, and those soft attentions,
Which are—(as I must own)—of female growth,
And have ten thousand delicate inventions:
They made a most superior mess of broth,
A thing which poesy but seldom mentions,
But the best dish that e'er was cook'd since Homer's
Achilles order'd dinner for new comers.
I'll tell you who they were, this female pair,
Lest they should seem princesses in disguise;
Besides, I hate all mystery, and that air
Of clap-trap, which your recent poets prize;
And so, in short, the girls they really were
They shall appear before your curious eyes,
Mistress and maid; the first was only daughter
Of an old man, who lived upon the water.
A fisherman he had been in his youth,
And still a sort of fisherman was he;
But other speculations were, in sooth,
Added to his connection with the sea,
Perhaps not so respectable, in truth;
A little smuggling, and some piracy,
Left him, at last, the sole of many masters
Of an ill-gotten million of piastres.
A fisher, therefore, was he,—though of men,
Like Peter the Apostle,—and he fish'd
For wandering merchant-vessels, now and then,
And sometimes caught as many as he wish'd;
The cargoes he confiscated, and gain
He sought in the slave-market too, and dish'd
Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade,
By which, no doubt, a good deal may be made.
He was a Greek, and on his isle had built
(One of the wild and smaller Cyclades)
A very handsome house from out his guilt,
And there he lived exceedingly at ease;
Heaven knows, what cash he got or blood he spilt,
A sad old fellow was he, if you please;
But this I know, it was a spacious building,
Full of barbaric carving, paint, and gilding.
He had an only daughter, call'd Haidée,
The greatest heiress of the Eastern Isles;
Besides, so very beautiful was she,
Her dowry was as nothing to her smiles:
Still in her teens, and like a lovely tree
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
How to accept a better in his turn.
And walking out upon the beach, below
The cliff, towards sunset, on that day she found,
Insensible,—not dead, but nearly so,—
Don Juan, almost famish'd, and half drown'd;
But being naked, she was shock'd, you know,
Yet deem'd herself in common pity bound,
As far as in her lay, 'to take him in,
A stranger' dying, with so white a skin.
But taking him into her father's house
Was not exactly the best way to save,
But like conveying to the cat the mouse,
Or people in a trance into their grave;
Because the good old man had so much vους,
Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave,
He would have hospitably cured the stranger,
And sold him instantly when out of danger.
And therefore, with her maid, she thought it best
(A virgin always on her maid relies)
To place him in the cave for present rest:
And when, at last, he open'd his black eyes,
Their charity increased about their guest;
And their compassion grew to such a size,
It open'd half the turnpike-gates to heaven—
(St. Paul says, 'tis the toll which must be given.)
They made a fire,—but such a fire as they
Upon the moment could contrive with such
Materials as were cast up round the bay,—
Some broken planks, and oars, that to the touch
Were nearly tinder, since so long they lay
A mast was almost crumbled to a crutch;
But, by God's grace, here wrecks were in such plenty,
That there was fuel to have furnish'd twenty.
He had a bed of furs, and a pelisse,
For Haidée stripp'd her sables off to make
His couch; and, that he might be more at ease,
And warm, in case by chance he should awake,
They also gave a petticoat apiece,
She and her maid,—and promised by daybreak
To pay him a fresh visit, with a dish
For breakfast, of eggs, coffee, bread, and fish.
And thus they left him to his lone repose:
Juan slept like a top, or like the dead,
Who sleep at last, perhaps (God only knows),
Just for the present; and in his lull'd head
Not even a vision of his former woes
Throbb'd in accursed dreams, which sometimes spread
Unwelcome visions of our former years,
Till the eye, cheated, opens thick with tears.
Young Juan slept all dreamless:—but the maid,
Who smooth'd his pillow, as she left the den
Look'd back upon him, and a moment stay'd,
And turn'd, believing that he call'd again.
He slumber'd; yet she thought, at least she said
(The heart will slip, even as the tongue and pen),
He had pronounced her name—but she forgot
That at this moment Juan knew it not.
And pensive to her father's house she went,
Enjoining silence strict to Zoe, who
Better than her knew what, in fact, she meant,
She being wiser by a year or two:
A year or two's an age when rightly spent,
And Zoe spent hers, as most women do,
In gaining all that useful sort of knowledge
Which is acquired in Nature's good old college.
The morn broke, and found Juan slumbering still
Fast in his cave, and nothing clash'd upon
His rest; the rushing of the neighbouring rill,
And the young beams of the excluded sun,
Troubled him not, and he might sleep his fill;
And need he had of slumber yet, for none
Had suffer'd more—his hardships were comparative
To those related in my grand-dad's 'Narrative.'
Not so Haidée: she sadly toss'd and tumbled,
And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er
Dream'd of a thousand wrecks, o'er which she stumbled,
And handsome corpses strew'd upon the shore;
And woke her maid so early that she grumbled,
And call'd her father's old slaves up, who swore
In several oaths—Armenian, Turk, and Greek—
They knew not what to think of such a freak.
But up she got, and up she made them get,
With some pretence about the sun, that makes
Sweet skies just when he rises, or is set;
And 'tis, no doubt, a sight to see when breaks
Bright Phoebus, while the mountains still are wet
With mist, and every bird with him awakes,
And night is flung off like a mourning suit
Worn for a husband,—or some other brute.
……
And Haidée met the morning face to face;
Her own was freshest, though a feverish flush
Had dyed it with the headlong blood, whose race
From heart to cheek is curb'd into a blush,
Like to a torrent which to a mountain's base,
That overpowers some Alpine river's rush,
Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread;
Or the Red Sea—but the sea is not red.
And down the cliff the island virgin came,
And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew,
While the sun smiled on her with his first flame,
And young Aurora kiss'd her lips with dew,
Taking her for a sister; just the same
Mistake you would have made on seeing the two,
Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair,
Had all the advantage, too, of not being air.
And when into the cavern Haidée stepp'd
All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw
That like an infant Juan sweetly slept;
And then she stopp'd, and stood as if in awe
(For sleep is awful), and on tiptoe crept
And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw,
Should reach his blood, then o'er him still as death
Bent, with hush'd lips, that drank his scarce-drawn breath.
……
For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek
A purple hectic play'd like dying day
On the snow-tops of distant hills: the streak
Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay,
Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, and weak;
And his black curls were dewy with the spray,
Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and salt,
Mix'd with the stony vapours of the vault.
And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath,
Hush'd as the babe upon its mother's breast,
Droop'd as the willow when no winds can breathe,
Lull'd like the depth of ocean when at rest,
Fair as the crowning rose of the whole wreath,
Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest;
In short, he was a very pretty fellow,
Although his woes had turn'd him rather yellow.
He woke and gazed, and would have slept again,
But the fair face which met his eyes forbade
Those eyes to close, though weariness and pain
Had further sleep a further pleasure made;
For woman's face was never form'd in vain
For Juan, so that even when he pray'd
He turn'd from grisly saints, and martyrs hairy,
To the sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary.
And thus upon his elbow he arose,
And look'd upon the lady, in whose cheek
The pale contended with the purple rose,
As with an effort she began to speak;
Her eyes were eloquent, her words would pose,
Although she told him, in good modern Greek
With an Ionian accent, low and sweet,
That he was faint, and must not talk, but eat.
Now Juan could not understand a word,
Being no Grecian; but he had an ear,
And her voice was the warble of a bird,
So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear,
That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard;
The sort of sound we echo with a tear,
Without knowing why—an overpowering tone,
Whence Melody descends as from a throne.
……
But to resume. The languid Juan raised
His head upon his elbow, and he saw
A sight on which he had not lately gazed,
As all his latter meals had been quite raw,
Three or four things, for which the Lord he praised,
And, feeling still the famish'd vulture gnaw,
He fell upon whate'er was offer'd, like
A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike.
……
Next they—he being naked, save a tatter'd
Pair of scarce decent trowsers—went to work,
And in the fire his recent rags they scatter'd,
And dress'd him, for the present, like a Turk,
Or Greek—that is, although it not much matter'd,
Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk,—
They furnish'd him, entire, except some stitches,
With a clean shirt, and very spacious breeches.
And then fair Haidée tried her tongue at speaking,
But not a word could Juan comprehend,
Although he listen'd so that the young Greek in
Her earnestness would ne'er have made an end;
And, as he interrupted not, went eking
Her speech out to her protégé and friend,
Till pausing at the last her breath to take,
She saw he did not understand Romaic.
And then she had recourse to nods, and signs,
And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye,
And read (the only book she could) the lines
Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy,
The answer eloquent, where the soul shines
And darts in one quick glance a long reply;
And thus in every look she saw exprest
A world of words, and things at which she guess'd.
And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes,
And words repeated after her, he took
A lesson in her tongue; but by surmise,
No doubt, less of her language than her look:
As he who studies fervently the skies
Turns oftener to the stars than to his book,
Thus Juan learn'd his alpha beta better
From Haidée's glance than any graven letter.
'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue
By female lips and eyes—that is, I mean,
When both the teacher and the taught are young,
As was the case, at least, where I have been;
They smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong
They smile still more, and then there intervene
Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss:—
I learn'd the little that I know by this:
……
Return we to Don Juan. He begun
To hear new words, and to repeat them; but
Some feelings, universal as the sun,
Were such as could not in his breast be shut
More than within the bosom of a nun:
He was in love,—as you would be, no doubt,
With a young benefactress,—so was she,
Just in the way we very often see.
And every day by daybreak—rather early
For Juan, who was somewhat fond of rest—
She came into the cave, but it was merely
To see her bird reposing in his nest;
And she would softly stir his locks so curly,
Without disturbing her yet slumbering guest,
Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth,
As o'er a bed of roses the sweet south.
And every morn his colour freshlier came,
And every day help'd on his convalescence;
'Twas well, because health in the human frame
Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence,
For health and idleness to passion's flame
Are oil and gunpowder; and some good lessons
Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus,
Without whom Venus will not long attack us.
……
Both were so young, and one so innocent,
That bathing pass'd for nothing; Juan seem'd
To her, as 'twere, the kind of being sent,
Of whom these two years she had nightly dream'd,
A something to be loved, a creature meant
To be her happiness, and whom she deem'd
To render happy; all who joy would win
Must share it,—Happiness was born a twin.
It was such pleasure to behold him, such
Enlargement of existence to partake
Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch,
To watch him slumbering, and to see him wake:
To live with him for ever were too much;
But then the thought of parting made her quake:
He was her own, her ocean-treasure, cast
Like a rich wreck—her first love, and her last.
And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidée
Paid daily visits to her boy, and took
Such plentiful precautions, that still he
Remain'd unknown within his craggy nook;
At last her father's prows put out to sea,
For certain merchantmen upon the look,
Not as of yore to carry off an Io,
But three Ragusan vessels, bound for Scio.
Then came her freedom, for she had no mother,
So that, her father being at sea, she was
Free as a married woman, or such other
Female, as where she likes may freely pass,
Without even the encumbrance of a brother,
The freest she that ever gazed on glass:
I speak of Christian lands in this comparison,
Where wives, at least, are seldom kept in garrison.
Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk
(For they must talk), and he had learnt to say
So much as to propose to take a walk,—
For little had he wander'd since the day
On which, like a young flower snapp'd from the stalk,
Drooping and dewy on the beach he lay,—
And thus they walk'd out in the afternoon,
And saw the sun set opposite the moon.
It was a wild and breaker-beaten coast,
With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore,
Guarded by shoals and rocks as by an host,
With here and there a creek, whose aspect wore
A better welcome to the tempest-tost;
And rarely ceas'd the haughty billow's roar,
Save on the dead long summer days, which make
The outstretch'd ocean glitter like a lake.
……
The coast—I think it was the coast that I
Was just describing—Yes, it was the coast—
Lay at this period quiet as the sky,
The sands untumbled, the blue waves untost,
And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's cry,
And dolphin's leap and little billow crost
By some low rock or shelve, that made it fret
Against the boundary it scarcely wet.
……
It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded,
Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky,
With one star sparkling through it like an eye.
And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand,
Over the shining pebbles and the shells,
Glided along the smooth and harden'd sand,
And in the worn and wild receptacles
Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd,
In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells,
They turn'd to rest; and, each clasp'd by an arm,
Yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm.
They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow
Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;
They gazed upon the glittering sea below,
Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;
They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low,
And saw each other's dark eyes darting light
Into each other—and beholding this,
Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;
A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,
And beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above;
Such kisses as belong to early days,
Where heart and soul, and sense, in concert move,
And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake,—for a kiss's strength,
I think it must be reckon'd by its length.
By length I mean duration; theirs endured
Heaven knows how long—no doubt they never reckon'd;
And if they had, they could not have secured
The sum of their sensations to a second:
They had not spoken, but they felt allured,
As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd,
Which, being join'd, like the swarming bees they clung—
Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey sprung.
They were alone, but not alone as they
Who shut in chambers think it loneliness;
The silent ocean, and the starlight bay,
The twilight glow, which momently grew less,
The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay
Around them, made them to each other press,
As if there were no life beneath the sky
Save theirs, and that their life could never die.
They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone beach,
They felt no terrors from the night, they were
All in all to each other: though their speech
Was broken words, they thought a language there,—
And all the burning tongues the passion teach
Found in one sigh the best interpreter
Of nature's oracle—first love,—that all
Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall.
Haidée spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows,
Nor offer'd any; she had never heard
Of plight and promises to be a spouse,
Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd;
She was all which pure ignorance allows,
And flew to her young mate like a young bird;
And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she
Had not one word to say of constancy.
She loved, and was beloved—she adored,
And she was worshipp'd; after nature's fashion,
Their intense souls, into each other pour'd,
If souls could die, had perish'd in that passion,—
But by degrees their senses were restored,
Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on;
And, beating 'gainst his bosom, Haidée's heart
Felt as if never more to beat apart.
……
And when those deep and burning moments pass'd,
And Juan sank to sleep within her arms,
She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast,
Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms;
And now and then her eye to heaven is cast,
And then on the pale cheek her breast now warms,
Pillow'd on her o'erflowing heart, which pants
With all it granted, and with all it grants.
An infant when it gazes on a light,
A child the moment when it drains the breast,
A devotee when soars the Host in sight,
An Arab with a stranger for a guest,
A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,
A miser filling his most hoarded chest,
Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.
For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved,
All that it hath of life with us is living;
So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,
And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving;
All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved,
Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving ;
There lies the thing we love with all its errors

And all its charms, like death without its terrors.
The lady watch'd her lover—and that hour
Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude,
O'erflowed her soul with their united power;
Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude
She and her wave-worn love had made their bower,
Where nought upon their passion could intrude,
And all the stars that crowded the blue space
Saw nothing happier than her glowing face.
……
Haidée was Nature's bride, and knew not this;
Haidée was Passion's child, born where the sun
Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss
Of his gazelle-eyed daughters; she was one
Made but to love, to feel that she was his
Who was her chosen: what was said or done
Elsewhere was nothing.—She had nought to fear,
Hope, care, nor love, beyond, her heart beat here.
……
And now 'twas done—on the lone shore were plighted
Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed
Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted:
Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed,
By their own feelings hallow'd and united,
Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed:
And they were happy, for to their young eyes
Each was an angel, and earth paradise.
……
Yet they were happy,—happy in the illicit
Indulgence of their innocent desires;
But more imprudent grown with every visit,
Haidée forgot the island was her sire's;
When we have what we like, 'tis hard to miss it,
At least in the beginning, ere one tires;
Thus she came often, not a moment losing,
Whilst her piratical papa was cruising.
Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange,
Although he fleeced the flags of every nation,
For into a prime minister but change
His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation;
But he, more modest, took an humbler range
Of life, and in an honester vocation
Pursued o'er the high seas his watery journey,
And merely practised as a sea-attorney.
……
Then having settled his marine affairs,
Despatching single cruisers here and there,
His vessel having need of some repairs,
He shaped his course to where his daughter fair
Continued still her hospitable cares;
But that part of the coast being shoal and bare,
And rough with reefs which ran out many a mile,
His port lay on the other side o' the isle.
……
Arriving at the summit of a hill
Which overlook'd the white walls of his home,
He stopp'd.—What singular emotions fill
Their bosoms who have been induced to roam!
With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill—
With love for many, and with fears for some;

All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost,
And bring our hearts back to their starting-post.
……
He saw his white walls shining in the sun,
His garden trees all shadowy and green;
He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run,
The distant dog-bark; and perceived between
The umbrage of the wood so cool and dun
The moving figures, and the sparkling sheen
Of arms (in the East all arm)—and various dyes
Of colour'd garbs, as bright as butterflies.
And as the spot where they appear he nears,
Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling,
He hears—alas! no music of the spheres,
But an unhallow'd, earthly sound of fiddling!
A melody which made him doubt his ears,
The cause being past his guessing or unriddling;
A pipe, too, and a drum, and shortly after,
A most unoriental roar of laughter.
And still more nearly to the place advancing,
Descending rather quickly the declivity,
Through the waved branches, o'er the greensward glancing,
'Midst other indications of festivity,
Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing
Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he
Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance so martial,
To which the Levantines are very partial.
And further on a group of Grecian girls,
The first and tallest her white kerchief waving,
Were strung together like a row of pearls,
Link'd hand in hand, and dancing; each too having
Down her white neck long floating auburn curls—
(The least of which would set ten poets raving);
Their leader sang—and bounded to her song,
With choral step and voice, the virgin throng.
And here, assembled cross-legg'd round their trays,
Small social parties just begun to dine;
Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze,
And flasks of Samian and of Chian wine,
And sherbet cooling in the porous vase;
Above them their dessert grew on its vine,
The orange and pomegranate nodding o'er,
Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow store.
……
He—being a man who seldom used a word
Too much, and wishing gladly to surprise
(In general he surprised men with the sword)
His daughter—had not sent before to advise
Of his arrival, so that no one stirr'd;
And long he paused to reassure his eyes,
In fact much more astonish'd than delighted,
To find so much good company invited.
He did not know (alas! how men will lie)
That a report (especially the Greeks)
Avouch'd his death (such people never die),
And put his house in mourning several weeks,—
But now their eyes and also lips were dry;
The bloom, too, had return'd to Haidée's cheeks,
Her tears, too, being return'd into their fount,
She now kept house upon her own account.
Hence all this rice, meat, dancing, wine, and fiddling,
Which turn'd the isle into a place of pleasure;
The servants all were getting drunk or idling,
A life which made them happy beyond measure.
Her father's hospitality seem'd middling,
Compared with what Haidée did with his treasure;
'Twas wonderful how things went on improving,
While she had not one hour to spare from loving.
……
Advancing to the nearest dinner tray,
Tapping the shoulder of the nighest guest,
With a peculiar smile, which, by the way,
Boded no good, whatever it express'd,
He ask'd the meaning of this holiday;
The vinous Greek to whom he had address'd
His question, much too merry to divine
The questioner, fill'd up a glass of wine,
And without turning his facetious head,
Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air,
Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said,
'Talking's dry work, I have no time to spare.'
A second hiccup'd, 'Our old master's dead,
You'd better ask our mistress who's his heir.'
'Our mistress!' quoth a third: 'Our mistress!—pooh!—
You mean our master—not the old, but new.'
These rascals, being new comers, knew not whom
They thus address'd—and Lambro's visage fell—
And o'er his eye a momentary gloom
Pass'd, but he strove quite courteously to quell
The expression, and endeavouring to resume
His smile, requested one of them to tell
The name and quality of his new patron,
Who seem'd to have turn'd Haidée into a matron.
'I know not,' quoth the fellow, 'who or what
He is, nor whence he came—and little care;
But this I know, that this roast capon's fat,
And that good wine ne'er wash'd down better fare;
And if you are not satisfied with that,
Direct your questions to my neighbour there;
He'll answer all for better or for worse,
For none likes more to hear himself converse.'
……
He ask'd no further questions, and proceeded
On to the house, but by a private way,
So that the few who met him hardly heeded,
So little they expected him that day;
If love paternal in his bosom pleaded
For Haidée's sake, is more than I can say,
But certainly to one deem'd dead returning,
This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning.
……
He enter'd in the house no more his home,
A thing to human feelings the most trying,
And harder for the heart to overcome,
Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying;
To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb,
And round its once warm precincts palely lying
The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief,
Beyond a single gentleman's belief.
He enter'd in the house— his home no more,

For without hearts there is no home;—and felt
The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome: there he long had dwelt,
There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er,
There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt
Over the innocence of that sweet child,
His only shrine of feelings undefiled.
……
But whatsoe'er he had of love reposed
On that beloved daughter; she had been
The only thing which kept his heart unclosed
Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen,
A lonely pure affection unopposed:
There wanted but the loss of this to wean
His feelings from all milk of human kindness,
And turn him like the Cyclops mad with blindness.
The cubless tigress in her jungle raging
Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock;
The ocean when its yeasty war is waging
Is awful to the vessel near the rock;
But violent things will sooner bear assuaging,
Their fury being spent by its own shock,
Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless ire
Of a strong human heart, and in a sire.
……
Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate,
And stood within his hall at eventide;
Meantime the lady and her lover sate
At wassail in their beauty and their pride:
An ivory inlaid table spread with state
Before them, and fair slaves on every side;
Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the service mostly,
Mother of pearl and coral the less costly.
The dinner made about a hundred dishes;
Lamb and pistachio nuts—in short, all meats,
And saffron soups, and sweetbreads; and the fishes
Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets,
Drest to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes;
The beverage was various sherbets
Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice,
Squeezed through the rind, which makes it best for use.
These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer,
And fruits, and date-bread loaves closed the repast,
And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure,
In small fine China cups, came in at last;
Gold cups of filigree made to secure
The hand from burning underneath them placed;
Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil'd
Up with the coffee, which (I think) they spoil'd.
The hangings of the room were tapestry, made
Of velvet panels, each of different hue,
And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid;
And round them ran a yellow border too;
The upper border, richly wrought, display'd,
Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue,
Soft Persian sentences, in lilac letters,
From poets, or the moralists their betters.
……
Haidée and Juan carpeted their feet
On crimson satin, border'd with pale blue;

Their sofa occupied three parts complete
Of the apartment—and appear'd quite new;
The velvet cushions (for a throne more meet)—
Were scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew
A sun emboss'd in gold, whose rays of tissue,
Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue.
……
Of all the dresses I select Haidée's:
She wore two jelicks—one was of pale yellow;
Of azure, pink, and white was her chemise—
'Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow;
With buttons form'd of pearls as large as peas,
All gold and crimson shone her jelick's fellow,
And the striped white gauze baracan that bound her,
Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flow'd round her.
One large gold bracelet clasp'd each lovely arm,
Lockless—so pliable from the pure gold
That the hand stretch'd and shut it without harm,
The limb which it adorn'd its only mould;
So beautiful—its very shape would charm,
And clinging as if loath to lose its hold,
The purest ore enclosed the whitest skin
That e'er by precious metal was held in.
Around, as princess of her father's land,
A like gold bar above her instep roll'd
Announced her rank; twelve rings were on her hand;
Her hair was starr'd with gems; her veil's fine fold
Below her breast was fasten'd with a band
Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told;
Her orange silk full Turkish trousers furl'd
About the prettiest ankle in the world.
Her hair's long auburn waves down to her heel
Flow'd like an Alpine torrent which the sun
Dyes with his morning light,—and would conceal
Her person if allow'd at large to run,
And still they seem resentfully to feel
The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun
Their bonds whene'er some Zephyr caught began
To offer his young pinion as her fan.
Round her she made an atmosphere of life,
The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes,
They were so soft and beautiful, and rife
With all we can imagine of the skies,
And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife—
Too pure even for the purest human ties;
Her overpowering presence made you feel
It would not be idolatry to kneel.
Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were tinged
(It is the country's custom), but in vain;
For those large black eyes were so blackly fringed,
The glossy rebels mock'd the jetty stain,
And in their native beauty stood avenged:
Her nails were touched with henna; but again
The power of art was turn'd to nothing, for
They could not look more rosy than before.
The henna should be deeply dyed to make
The skin relieved appear more fairly fair;
She had no need of this, day ne'er will break
On mountain tops more heavenly white than her:
The eye might doubt if it were well awake,
She was so like a vision; I might err,
But Shakespeare also says, 'tis very silly,
'To gild refined gold, or paint the lily.'
Juan had on a shawl of black and gold,
But a white baracan, and so transparent
The sparkling gems beneath you might behold,
Like small stars through the milky way apparent;
His turban, furl'd in many a graceful fold,
An emerald aigrette, with Haidée's hair in 't,
Surmounted, as its clasp, a glowing crescent,
Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant.
……
T' our tale.—The feast was over, the slaves gone,
The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired;
The Arab lore and poet's song were done,
And every sound of revelry expired;
The lady and her lover, left alone,
The rosy flood of twilight's sky admired;—
Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea,
That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee.
Ave Maria! blessed be the hour!
The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft
Have felt that moment in its fullest power
Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft,
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,
Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft,
And not a breath crept through the rosy air,
And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer.
……
Sweet hour of twilight!—in the solitude
Of the pine forest, and the silent shore
Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood,
Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er,
To where the last Caesarian fortress stood,
Evergreen forest! which Boccaccio's lore
And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me,
How have I loved the twilight hour and thee!
The shrill cicalas, people of the pine,
Making their summer lives one ceaseless song,
Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine,
And vesper bell's that rose the boughs along;
The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line,
His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng
Which learn'd from this example not to fly
From a true lover,—shadow'd my mind's eye.
Oh, Hesperus! thou bringest all good things—
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer,
To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,
The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer;
Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings,
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear,
Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest;
Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.
Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart
Of those who sail the seas, on the first day
When they from their sweet friends are torn apart;
Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way
As the far bell of vesper makes him start,
Seeming to weep the dying day's decay;
Is this a fancy which our reason scorns?
h! surely nothing dies but something mourns!
……
Young Juan and his lady-love were left
To their own hearts' most sweet society;
Even Time the pitiless in sorrow cleft
With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms; he
Sigh'd to behold them of their hours bereft
Though foe to love; and yet they could not be
Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring,
Before one charm or hope had taken wing.
Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their
Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to fail;
The blank grey was not made to blast their hair,
But like the climes that know nor snow nor hail,
They were all summer: lightning might assail
And shiver them to ashes, but to trail
A long and snake-like life of dull decay
Was not for them—they had too little clay.
They were alone once more; for them to be
Thus was another Eden; they were never
Weary, unless when separate: the tree
Cut from its forest root of years—the river
Damm'd from its fountain—the child from the knee
And breast maternal wean'd at once for ever,—
Would wither less than these two torn apart;
Alas! there is no instinct like the heart—
……
Haidée and Juan thought not of the dead.
The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd made for them:
They found no fault with Time, save that he fled;
They saw not in themselves aught to condemn:
Each was the other's mirror, and but read
Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem,
And knew such brightness was but the reflection
Of their exchanging glances of affection.
The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch,
The least glance better understood than words,
Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much;
A language, too, but like to that of birds,
Known but to them, at least appearing such
As but to lovers a true sense affords;
Sweet playful phrases, which would seem absurd
To those who have ceased to hear such, or ne'er heard:
All these were theirs, for they were children still,
And children still they should have ever been;
They were not made in the real world to fill
A busy character in the dull scene,
But like two beings born from out a rill,
A nymph and her beloved, all unseen
To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers,
And never know the weight of human hours.
……
They gazed upon the sunset; 'tis an hour
Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes,
For it had made them what they were: the power
Of love had first o'erwhelm'd them from such skies,
When happiness had been their only dower,
And twilight saw them link'd in passion's ties;
Charm'd with each other, all things charm'd that brought
The past still welcome as the present thought.
I know not why, but in that hour to-night,
Even as they gazed, a sudden tremor came,
And swept, as 'twere, across their heart's delight,
Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame,
When one is shook in sound, and one in sight:
And thus some boding flash'd through either frame,
And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh,
While one new tear arose in Haidée's eye.
That large black prophet eye seem'd to dilate
And follow far the disappearing sun,
As if their last day of a happy date
With his broad, bright, and dropping orb were gone;
Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate—
He felt a grief, but knowing cause for none,
His glance inquired of hers for some excuse
For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse.
She turn'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort
Which makes not others smile; then turn'd aside:
Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short,
And master'd by her wisdom or her pride;
When Juan spoke, too—it might be in sport—
Of this their mutual feeling, she replied—
'If it should be so,—but—it cannot be—
Or I at least shall not survive to see.'
Juan would question further, but she press'd
His lip to hers, and silenced him with this,
And then dismiss'd the omen from her breast,
Defying augury with that fond kiss;
And no doubt of all methods 'tis the best:
Some people prefer wine—'tis not amiss;
I have tried both; so those who would a part take
May choose between the headache and the heartache.
……
Juan and Haidée gazed upon each other
With swimming looks of speechless tenderness,
Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, brother,
All that the best can mingle and express
When two pure hearts are pour'd in one another,
And love too much, and yet cannot love less;
But almost sanctify the sweet excess
By the immortal wish and power to bless.
Mix'd in each other's arms, and heart in heart,
Why did they not then die?—they had lived too long
Should an hour come to bid them breathe apart;
Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong;
The world was not for them, nor the world's art
For beings passionate as Sappho's song;
Love was born with them, in them, so intense,
It was their very spirit—not a sense.
They should have lived together deep in woods,
Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were
Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes
Call'd social, haunts of Hate, and Vice, and Care:
How lonely every freeborn creature broods!
The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair;
The eagle soars alone; the gull and crow
Flock o'er their carrion, just like men below.
Now pillow'd cheek to cheek, in loving sleep,
Haidée and Juan their siesta took,
A gentle slumber, but it was not deep,
For ever and anon a something shook
Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would creep;
And Haidée's sweet lips murmur'd like a brook
A wordless music, and her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air;
Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream
Within an Alpine hollow, when the wind
Walks o'er it, was she shaken by the dream,
The mystical usurper of the mind—
O'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem
Good to the soul which we no more can bind;
Strange state of being! (for 'tis still to be)
Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see.
She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore,
Chain'd to a rock; she knew not how, but stir
She could not from the spot, and the loud roar
Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threatening her;
And o'er her upper lip they seem'd to pour,
Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they were
Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and high—
Each broke to drown her, yet she could not die.
Anon—she was released, and then she stray'd
O'er the sharp shingles with her bleeding feet,
And stumbled almost every step she made;
And something roll'd before her in a sheet,
Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid:
'Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to meet
Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and grasp'd,
And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd.
The dream changed:—in a cave she stood, its walls
Were hung with marble icicles; the work
Of ages on its water-fretted halls,
Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and lurk;
Her hair was dripping, and the very balls
Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, and mirk
The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caught,
Which froze to marble as it fell,—-she thought.
And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet,
Pale as the foam that froth'd on his dead brow,
Which she essay'd in vain to clear, (how sweet
Were once her cares, how idle seem'd they now!)
Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat
Of his quench'd heart; and the sea dirges low
Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid's song,
And that brief dream appear'd a life too long.
And gazing on the dead, she thought his face
Faded, or alter'd into something new—
Like to her father's features, till each trace
More like and like to Lambro's aspect grew—
With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace;
And starting, she awoke, and what to view?
Oh! Powers of Heaven! what dark eye meets she there?
'Tis—'tis her father's—fix'd upon the pair!
Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell,
With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see
Him whom she deem'd a habitant where dwell
The ocean-buried risen from death, to be
Perchance the death of one she loved too well:
Dear as her father had been to Haidée,
It was a moment of that awful kind—
I have seen such—-but must not call to mind.
Up Juan sprung to Haidée's bitter shriek,
And caught her falling, and from off the wall
Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak
Vengeance on him who was the cause of all:
Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak,
Smiled scornfully, and said, 'Within my call,
A thousand scimitars await the word;
Put up, young man, put up your silly sword.'
And Haidée clung around him; 'Juan, 'tis—
'Tis Lambro—'tis my father! Kneel with me—
He will forgive us—yes—it must be—yes.
Oh! dearest father, in this agony
Of pleasure and of pain—even while I kiss
Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be
That doubt should mingle with my filial joy?
Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy.'
High and inscrutable the old man stood,
Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye—
Not always signs with him of calmest mood:
He look'd upon her, but gave no reply;
Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood
Oft came and went, as there resolved to die;
In arms, at least, he stood, in act to spring
On the first foe whom Lambro's call might bring.
'Young man, your sword;' so Lambro once more said:
Juan replied, 'Not while this arm is free.'
The old man's cheek grew pale, but not with dread,
And drawing from his belt a pistol, he
Replied, 'Your blood be then on your own head.'
Then look'd close at the flint, as if to see
'Twas fresh—for he had lately used the lock—
And next proceeded quietly to cock.
……
Lambro presented, and one instant more
Had stopp'd this Canto, and Don Juan's breath,
When Haidée threw herself her boy before;
Stern as her sire: 'On me,' she cried, 'let death
Descend—the fault is mine; this fatal shore
He found—but sought not. I have pledged my faith;
I love him—I will die with him: I knew
Your nature's firmness—know your daughter's too.'
A minute past, and she had been all tears,
And tenderness, and infancy; but now
She stood as one who champion'd human fears—
Pale, statue-like, and stern, she woo'd the blow;
And tall beyond her sex, and their compeers,
She drew up to her height, as if to show
A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye scann'd
Her father's face—but never stopp'd his hand.
He gazed on her, and she on him; 'twas strange
How like they look'd! the expression was the same;
Serenely savage, with a little change
In the large dark eye's mutual-darted flame;
For she, too, was as one who could avenge,
If cause should be—a lioness, though tame,
Her father's blood before her father's face
Boil'd up, and proved her truly of his race.
I said they were alike, their features and
Their stature, differing but in sex and years;
Even to the delicacy of their hand
There was resemblance, such as true blood wears;
And now to see them, thus divided, stand
In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears,
And sweet sensations, should have welcomed both,
Show what the passions are in their full growth.
The father paused a moment, then withdrew
His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still,
And looking on her, as to look her through,
'Not I,' he said, 'have sought this stranger's ill;
Not I have made this desolation: few
Would bear such outrage, and forbear to kill;
But I must do my duty—how thou hast
Done thine, the present vouches for the past.
'Let him disarm; or, by my father's head,
His own shall roll before you like a ball!'
He raised his whistle, as the word he said,
And blew, another answer'd to the call,
And rushing in disorderly, though led,
And arm'd from boot to turban, one and all,
Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank;
He gave the word,—'Arrest or slay the Frank.'
Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew
His daughter; while compress'd within his clasp,
'Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew;
In vain she struggled in her father's grasp—
His arms were like a serpent's coil: then flew
Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp,
The file of pirates; save the foremost, who
Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through.
The second had his cheek laid open; but
The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took
The blows upon his cutlass, and then put
His own well in; so well, ere you could look,
His man was floor'd, and helpless at his foot,
With the blood running like a little brook
From two smart sabre gashes, deep and red—
One on the arm, the other on the head.
And then they bound him where he fell, and bore
Juan from the apartment: with a sign
Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore,
Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine.
They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar
Until they reach'd some galliots, placed in line;
On board of one of these, and under hatches,
They stow'd him, with strict orders to the watches.
The world is full of strange vicissitudes,
And here was one exceedingly unpleasant:
A gentleman so rich in the world's goods,
Handsome and young, enjoying all the present,
Just at the very time when he least broods
On such a thing is suddenly to sea sent,
Wounded and chain'd, so that he cannot move,
And all because a lady fell in love.
……
I leave Don Juan for the present, safe—
Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded;
Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half
Of those with which his Haidée's bosom bounded!
She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe,
And then give way, subdued because surrounded;
Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez,
Where all is Eden, or a wilderness.
There the large olive rains its amber store
In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit,
Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er;
But there, too, many a poison-tree has root,
And midnight listens to the lion's roar,
And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot,
Or heaving, whelm the helpless caravan;
And as the soil is, so the heart of man.
Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth
Her human clay is kindled; full of power
For good or evil, burning from its birth,
The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour,
And like the soil beneath it will bring forth:
Beauty and love were Haidée's mother's dower;
But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force,
Though sleeping like a lion near a source.
Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,
Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair,
Till slowly charged with thunder they display
Terror to earth, and tempest to the air,
Had held till now her soft and milky way;
But overwrought with passion and despair,
The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,
Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains.
The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down;
His blood was running on the very floor
Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own;
Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,—
Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan;
On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held
Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.
A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes
Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er;
And her head droop'd as when the lily lies
O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids bore
Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes;
Of herbs and cordials they produced their store,
But she defied all means they could employ,
Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy.
Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill—
With nothing livid, still her lips were red;
She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still;
No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead;
Corruption came not in each mind to kill
All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul—
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.
The ruling passion, such as marble shows
When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there,
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws
O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair;
O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes,
And ever-dying Gladiator's air,
Their energy like life forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.
She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,
Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,
A strange sensation which she must partake
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache
Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true
Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,
For, for a while, the furies made a pause.
She look'd on many a face with vacant eye,
On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why,
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;
Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh
Reliev'd her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.
Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not;
Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away;
She recognised no being, and no spot
However dear or cherish'd in their day;
They changed from room to room, but all forgot,
Gentle, but without memory she lay;
At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning
Back to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful meaning.
And then a slave bethought her of a harp;
The harper came, and tuned his instrument;
At the first notes, irregular and sharp,
On him her flashing eyes a moment bent,
Then to the wall she turn'd as if to warp
Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent;
And he began a long low island song
Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.
Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall
In time to his old tune; he changed the theme,
And sung of love; the fierce name struck through all
Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream
Of what she was, and is, if ye could call
To be so being; in a gushing stream
The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain,
Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.
Short solace, vain relief!—thought came too quick,
And whirl'd her brain to madness; she arose
As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,
And flew at all she met, as on her foes;
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,
Although her paroxysm drew towards its close;—
Hers was a phrensy which disdain'd to rave,
Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.
Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense;
Nothing could make her meet her father's face,
Though on all other things with looks intense
She gazed, but none she ever could retrace;
Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence
Avail'd for either; neither change of place,
Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her
Senses to sleep—the power seem'd gone for ever.
Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last,
Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show
A parting pang, the spirit from her pass'd:
And they who watch'd her nearest could not know
The very instant, till the change that cast
Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow,
Glaz'd o'er her eyes—the beautiful, the black—
Oh! to possess such lustre—and then lack!
She died, but not alone; she held within
A second principle of life, which might
Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin;
But closed its little being without light,
And went down to the grave unborn, wherein
Blossom and bough lie wither'd with one blight;
In vain the dews of Heaven descend above
The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love.
Thus lived—thus died she; never more on her
Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made
Through years or moons the inner weight to bear,
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid
By age in earth: her days and pleasures were
Brief, but delightful—such as had not staid
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.
That isle is now all desolate and bare,
Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away;
None but her own and father's grave is there,
And nothing outward tells of human clay;
Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair,
No stone is there to show, no tongue to say
What was; no dirge, except the hollow sea's,
Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.
But many a Greek maid in a loving song
Sighs o'er her name; and many an islander
With her sire's story makes the night less long;
Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her:
If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong—
A heavy price must all pay who thus err,
In some shape; let none think to fly the danger,
For soon or late Love is his own avenger.

堂璜与海蒂

他们的小艇渐渐靠近陆地,
已经望得见各处不同的地形;
感觉到浓密绿阴的清新气息
飘拂在林梢,使空气柔和平静;
那绿阴映入他们呆滞的眼里,
像帘幕,挡住了波光和赤热天穹——
不论什么都可爱,只要能抛开
那浩渺、咸涩、恐怖、永恒的大海。
这海岸一片荒凉,杳无人影,
只有险恶狂澜环绕在周遭;
但他们急于登陆,便奋力前行,
顾不得惊涛在前方汹汹吼叫,
顾不得拢岸的途中浪花怒涌,
飞沫腾空,隐隐有一座暗礁;
他们找不到更好的登陆地点,
便强行拢岸——翻了个船底朝天 。
…………
尽管他枯瘦僵硬,衰弱疲乏,
却浮起年轻的肢体,冲击波澜,
竭尽全力,想在天黑前到达
那横亘前方、高亢干爽的海滩;
最大的危险是附近一条巨鲨,
它咬住大腿,拖走他一个伙伴;
另外两个呢,因不识水性而沉溺,
除了他,再没有什么人到达陆地。
没有那片桨,他同样休想登岸:
当他虚弱的两臂已无力挥动,
一头恶浪将他一下子打翻,
天缘凑巧,那片桨冲到手中;
他两手只管狠命将它紧攥,
水势凶猛,他被那浪涛驱送;
又游,又蹚,又爬,到后来总算
半死不活地被海水卷上了沙滩。
从悻悻咆哮的骇浪中,把性命夺还,
他气息如丝,身躯紧贴着沙土,
手指甲抠进去,唯恐倒退的波澜
又把他吸走,送回那贪馋的坟墓;
被抛在岸上,直挺挺僵卧沙滩,
就在他对面,峭壁下有个石窟;
剩下的知觉刚刚够感到痛楚,
小命算是得救了,还怕靠不住。
他摇摇晃晃,慢慢挣扎着起身,
又跌跪,膝头流血,两手颤抖;
随后,他用眼光四下里搜寻
这些日子里海上同舟的难友;
没找到什么人来分尝他的苦辛,
只一个——那三个饿鬼之一的尸首:
他死后两天,总算找了块地方——
这陌生的荒寂海滩——作他的坟场。
他望了一阵,只觉得头昏脑胀,
眼前的沙滩仿佛在回旋起舞;
他失去知觉,颓然跌倒在地上,
侧卧着,手儿伸出,滴着水珠,
挨着那片桨(他们应急的桅樯);
像一朵凋零的百合,委身尘土;
躯体修长,面容苍白,却很美,
可以同任何血肉之身来比配。
湿漉漉,昏睡了多久,他也弄不清,
对他说来,这世界已经消失,
他那凝滞的血液、迟钝的官能
已无法感受时间——黑夜或白日;
他也不记得怎样从昏迷中苏醒,
只觉得疼痛的筋骨、脉络和四肢
又渐渐有了生气,开始动弹:
死神败退了,但仍然且退且战。
他两眼睁了又闭,闭了又睁,
晕头转向,什么都迷迷糊糊,
以为还是在船上,打瞌睡刚醒,
不由得再次感到绝望的恐怖,
但愿一睡便死去,永享安宁,
可是不一会,知觉又渐渐恢复:
昏沉沉,慢悠悠,他两眼恍惚看到
一个十七岁少女可爱的容貌。
那张脸挨近他的脸,那张小嘴
贴近他嘴边,试探他有气没气;
为了把他的魂灵从死路唤回,
温软的手儿不住搓揉他肌体;
想使他血脉活跃,她又用清水
把他冰冷的太阳穴轻轻浇洗;
在这样温柔的抚摩、焦急的护理下,
他叹了一口气——对这番好意的回答。
一领斗篷盖好他裸露的肢体,
一杯提神的甜酒给他灌下;
他灰白如死的脑门颓然凭倚
她那温馨、澄净、透明的脸颊;
娇美臂膊把疲弱头颅扶起,
巧手拧干被风浪打湿的鬈发;
他心胸起伏悸动,她提心吊胆,
他不时呻吟叹息,她跟着轻叹。
小心翼翼地,这位仁慈的小姐
和侍女一道,把他抬进了石洞;
那侍女虽也年轻,却比她大些,
体格更健壮,仪态不及她庄重;
她们生了火,那遮护他们的岩穴
没见过天日,如今被火焰映红;
这少女(谁知是什么人)在火光影里
更显得轮廓分明,颀长端丽。
额前有一排黄金圆片首饰,
傍着那褐色鬓发闪闪发光;
她鬈发成串,那些更长的发丝
编成一根根辫子纷披在背上;
在妇女中间,她是最高的个子,
这些发辫却几乎垂到脚旁;
她的风度透露着尊贵的身份,
仿佛她是这块土地的女主人。
她头发,我说过,是褐色;而她的眼珠
却黑得出奇,和睫毛颜色一样;
睫毛略长而下垂,像丝绒流苏,
诱人的魅力在那暗影里深藏;
当一道强烈目光从那儿飞出,
最快的羽箭也没有这股子力量;
像盘绕的长蛇猛然伸直了躯体,
同时投射出它的毒液和威力。
她额头又白又低,脸上的红颜
像傍晚时辰夕阳染就的红晕;
甜美的小小朱唇叫我们惊叹,
庆幸有眼福观赏这样的奇珍;
她给雕塑家充当模特儿是上选;
(说穿了,雕塑家不过是骗子一群——
我见过一些美人儿,真正完美,
比他们的石头样板高明百倍。)
…………
我们这一位少女却不像这般:
她衣着斑斓多彩,纺绩精良;
一绺绺秀发漫卷在脸颊旁边,
其间有金饰和宝石吐射光芒;
腰肢上一根束带荧煌耀眼,
华贵的丝绦在面纱里面飘扬,
手指上珠玉亮晶晶;雪白的脚丫子
却古里古怪:穿拖鞋,不穿袜子。
…………
这两个送衣送食,将他侍奉,
嘘寒问暖,那样的温存和好意
(我必须承认)确是女性的特征,
竟有上万种体贴入微的把戏;
她们做出了一份精美肉羹——
诗歌里很少加以吟咏的东西,
自荷马 咏阿喀琉斯的盛宴以来,
这是诗歌里出现的最佳饭菜。
这一双女子是谁,我告诉你们,
免得把她们猜作乔装的公主;
我讨厌卖弄玄虚,和晚近诗人
得意的绝招——哗众取宠的态度;
一句话:这两个少女的真实身份
现在向你们好奇的眼睛亮出——
她们是小姐和使女;小姐家中
只一个老父,干的是水上营生。
年轻的时候,他乃是渔夫一名,
现在和渔夫还可算同一类别;
只是如今他在海上的行径
加上了一点别样的投机事业;
说穿了,也许会叫人难以为情:
运一点私货,搞一点海上劫掠;
生意兴隆,发横财不下百万,
头领就剩他一个——他一人独占。
这样,他还是一名渔夫,不过
是捉人的渔夫,和使徒彼得一样;
他经常追捕过往客商的船舶,
往往能一网打尽,如愿以偿;
船上的货物他没收,人员他掳获,
然后,把他们押送到奴隶市场,
为这种土耳其买卖提供货品,
无疑,这 买卖能赚来大笔金银。
他是希腊人,在基克拉泽斯群岛
一座方圆不广的荒僻岛屿,
靠不义之财,把豪华府第建造,
生活得自由自在,随心所欲;
天晓得他杀人若干,发财多少,
这老汉(信不信由你)性格却忧郁;
我知道,他那座府第堂皇宏伟,
处处是粗俗的雕刻、金饰和彩绘。
这老汉单生一女,名叫海蒂,
是东方海岛最大财富的继承人;
她容华出众,和她的笑颜相比,
丰厚的嫁妆简直就不值分文;
正是女孩儿长大成人的年纪——
十几岁,像一株绿树妩媚温存;
拒绝了几个求婚者,正想要学会
从众人中间挑选中意的一位。
那一天,太阳快要落水的辰光,
她到海边沙滩上溜达了一次,
峭壁下,发现了昏迷不醒的堂璜——
没死也差不多——几乎饿死和淹死;
瞧见他赤身露体,她好不惊惶,
又想到怜惜救助是义不容辞,
免不得尽力而为,把他救过来——
这性命垂危的外乡人,皮肉这么白。
可是,把他送进父亲的宅院,
只怕未必是救他的最好主意:
那好比把耗子送到馋猫跟前,
好比把昏迷的活人埋到土里;
因为这好心老头儿心计多端,
可不像阿拉伯好汉那般侠义;
他会好好给这外乡人治疗,
等他一脱险,马上就把他卖掉。
因此,她和她使女转念一想,
(小姐办事情不靠使女可不成),
最好让他先在石洞里休养;
等到他清醒过来,睁开眼睛,
她们对客人的善心也愈益增长:
精诚所至,天国关卡也放行——
(圣保罗说过:行善才能进天国,善心便是通行税,非交纳不可。)
她们在那儿生起了一堆旺火,
用的是她们当时在海湾近旁
四处拾得的乱七八糟的家伙——
海里冲来的破烂船板和断桨,
晒久了,一碰,就跟火绒差不多,
断裂的桅樯变得像一根拐杖;
上帝慈悲,破玩意儿真还不少,
二十个烧火的也不愁没有柴烧。
他的卧榻是毛皮,和一件女大衣——
海蒂用她的貂裘给他垫床;
想到他也许会偶尔醒来,在这里
要使他更加温暖,更加舒畅,
她们两个——海蒂和她的侍婢
又各自拿一条裙子给他盖上;
她们说好了天一亮便再来探视,
送早饭(咖啡、面包、蛋和鱼)给他吃。
她们离开他,让他一个人睡觉,
他睡得像一枚陀螺,像一具死尸;
是长眠还是短睡,只上帝知道,
他那昏沉的头脑一无所知;
往日忧患的魅影不曾来袭扰,
不曾幻化为可憎的噩梦;而有时
我们会梦见酸楚的前尘旧影,
信梦境为真,醒来还泪眼荧荧。
小璜睡得好,没做一个梦;那女郎
给他垫平了枕头,正举步离开,
又停留片刻,回头又向他张望,
以为听见他呼唤,忙转过身来。
心头会出错,像舌头笔头一样:
他睡了;她嘴里念叨,心里胡猜,
说他叫了她名字——她竟没想到
她名字叫啥,这时他还不知道。
她一路沉思,走向父亲的第宅,
吩咐左伊对此事不得声张;
这话的含意,左伊比她更明白——
比她早生一两年,多懂点名堂;
一两年,抓得紧,就等于一个时代;
左伊这两年,像多数女子一样,
是从“自然”那高明的古老学校
学到了种种有用的生活奥妙。
天亮了,山洞里,璜依然睡得很熟,
没有什么来惊扰他的酣寐;
不论是近处潺潺奔泻的溪流,
还是被挡在洞外那乍露的朝晖,
都不曾打搅他,他可以尽情睡够;
饱尝忧患的人儿睡了还想睡——
可怜他受苦 受难比谁都要多,
赛似我爷爷《自述》中记载的奇祸。
海蒂可不同:她翻来覆去睡不好,
刚从梦寐中惊醒,翻个身,又梦见
千百件残桅断桨老把她绊倒,
溺死的美少年横陈竖卧在海边。
天不亮就唤醒侍女,惹得她唠叨,
又唤起父亲的奴仆们,他们不免
用亚美尼亚、希腊、土耳其腔调
把小姐咒骂一番,抱怨她胡闹。
就这样,她起身,也叫他们都起身,
借口是太阳快要出来了,等等;
日出和日落使天空霞彩缤纷,朝阳乍吐无疑是奇观异景,
那时,群山还在潮雾中浸润,
巢中鸟雀 同黎明一道觉醒,
黑夜被甩掉——像寡妇把丧服甩掉,
不再为丈夫(或别的坏家伙)戴孝。
…………
这时,海蒂与晨光迎面相逢;
她的面容比晨光更为鲜艳——
心血升腾到脸颊,再无路可通,
便恣意点 染,放散成一片羞颜:
像阿尔卑斯的川流,水急浪猛,
奔泻到山崖脚下,遭到阻拦,
汇成一片湖 ,波纹一圈圈涌动;
又像是红海——然而红海并不红。
这岛上少女来到了峭壁下边,
迈着轻快脚步向石窟走近;
初升的旭日向她露出了笑颜,
妙龄奥罗拉以露水亲她的唇吻,
把她错认成姐妹——这实在难免,
谁瞧见她们两个也都会错认;
人间的这个,同样光鲜而清丽,
却更胜一筹:不是空灵的大气。
又惧怯,又急切,海蒂走进了石窟,
看见小璜像婴儿一样甜睡;
她停下脚步,站着,那神情仿佛
有几分敬畏(睡眠常令人敬畏);
又踮脚近前,把他严严地裹住,
唯恐阴冷的湿气侵入他血内;
然后,她弯下身子,死一般沉寂,
缄默的双唇摄取他微微的气息。
…………
他还是躺着,消瘦枯槁的面颊
浮现着一抹深浓的病态潮红,
像远处雪山顶上的夕照残霞;
额上皱纹表述了历经的苦痛,
青筋也显得暗淡、萎悴而虚乏;
乌黑鬈发因沾濡海水而沉重,
经受了波涛浸洗,咸涩,潮润,
而又混染了石窟的阴湿气氛。
她俯身向他,他在她下方熟睡,
像母亲怀里的婴儿那样安稳,
像无风时节的柳丝那样低垂,
像沉沉入梦的海洋那样温顺,
像艳冠群芳的玫瑰那样娇美,
像巢里初生的天鹅那样柔嫩;
尽管祸患使肤色略显焦黄,
他毕竟是个十分俊俏的儿郎。
他醒了,望了望,本来又会睡着——
又困乏,又疼痛,渴想更多的睡眠;
可是,他眼前浮现的娇媚容貌
却使他无法重新合上眼帘;
女子的容颜上帝决没有白造,
甚至祷告的时候,小璜的两眼
也会从圣徒、殉道者可怕的形象
转向圣母马利亚美妙的画像。
于是,他撑着胳膊肘子坐起,
痴痴望着那少女——她的脸颊上
红白二色的玫瑰在争妍斗丽,
费了不少劲,她才缓缓开了腔;
眼神流露了情意,说活却忸怩;一口
现代希腊语,纯熟流畅,
带伊奥尼亚口音,轻柔动听,
对他说,他还虚弱,只管吃,别做声。
璜不是希腊人,听了也茫然不晓;
不过,好在他还有耳朵和听觉,
她的嗓音宛如鸣禽的啼叫,
娇柔,悦耳,温婉而又清越,
再没有比这更美更纯的曲调,
是使人热泪应声而落的仙乐——
这悠扬宛转、魅力无穷的乐章
仿佛从天廷帝座翩然而降。
…………
让我接着讲下去。疲弱的堂璜
撑着胳膊,抬起头来,于是
见到了一种业已久违的景象——
三四样饭菜—
—感谢上帝的仁慈!
这些天,他净吃生的,填塞饥肠,
到如今腹内空空,绞痛不止;
他便向端来的食物猛扑过去,
活像是牧师,郡长,巨鲨,或狗鱼。
…………
他身上只一条破裤子,不大体面,
她们两个又不免忙碌一场,
一把火打发了他那些布条碎片,
且把他装扮得像个土耳其儿郎,
更像希腊人——因为免了这几件:
穆斯林头巾、拖鞋、短剑、手枪;
给了他全套装束(除了些零碎),
衬衫挺干净,长裤子又宽又肥。
于是,美丽的海蒂又开口做声,
堂璜却连一个字也不明了;
这希腊少女看见他正在聆听,
便更加来劲,竟说个没完没了;
对她的新朋友、她所保护的病人
一个劲说下去——好在他不来打搅;
最后,停下来换口气,她才发现
他压根儿不懂现代希腊语言。
她便借助于点头和举手投足,
借助于微笑和传情达意的眼光;
她读着她能够读懂的唯一图书——
他清秀面容上显现的句句行行;
通过交感,获致了真情的答复,
一瞥虽短暂,心灵的答案却绵长;
就这样,每看一眼,她都能读到
千言万语,和她猜想的那一套。
这时,他也靠着手势和眼神,
靠着一字一句地跟她学舌,
来学习她的语言;而毫无疑问,
主要不是猜话语,而是猜脸色:
正如一个人热心研究天文,
主要靠观察星象,不是靠书册;
堂璜向海蒂的眼睛学希腊语言,
比攻读什么课本都更为灵验。
让女子的嘴和眼传授外国腔调
是一种愉快的经历(我意思是指
当那教的人、学的人都青春年少),
至少在我到过的异邦是如此;
你若说对了,她们就欣然微笑,
你若说错了,她们更微笑不止,
会捏捏你的手,甚至会吻你一下:——
就靠这么着,我学了一点外国话。
…………
再回头来说堂璜。如今,一听到
陌生的词语,他便照样跟着讲;
可是有一种情感,像阳光普照,
却无法长久幽闭在他的心房
(正如尼姑的心房里也幽闭不了):
他已经堕入情网,而她也同样,
走的是我们早已见惯的路子——
有少女对你施恩,你也会如此。
每天在破晓时分(对小璜来说
是早了一点,因为他喜欢睡觉),
她到洞里来,也不为别的什么,
只是来看看巢中安歇的小鸟;
她会轻轻把他鬈发来抚摸,
小心在意,不把他睡梦打搅;
俯向他脸颊和嘴唇,她气息轻吐,
像清爽南风吹拂着玫瑰花圃。
一朝又一朝,他容光更加焕发,
一日又一日,他精力愈益恢复;
身强力壮就痛快,着实不差,
再说,那也是帮衬爱情的要素:
激情的火焰加上健康和闲暇,
就等于火上浇油,把火药投入;
还得靠谷物神、酒神来传经送宝,
没有他们,爱神的攻势长不了。
…………
两个都年轻,一个又这样单纯,
像没事一般,在海里浮游洗沐;
她觉得,璜就像天上送来的妙人,
正是两年来她眠思梦想的人物,
是让她来爱的,能使她幸福的神品,
而她也自信能使他同样幸福;
不论谁,欢乐必得与对方分享——
“幸福”一出世就是孪生一双。
她只消看他一眼,就满心欢畅,
同享天然的乐趣,被爱抚而颤栗,
他睡去醒来,她总守望在身旁,
生命仿佛在扩大,有增无已;
一辈子相依相守是过高的奢望,
一想到同他分离就难免惊悸;
他是她的,是海里得来的奇珍,
是她的头一个也是末一个恋人。
时光流驶,匆匆又是一个月,
美人儿海蒂天天来探望情郎;
她多方防范,让他神不知鬼不觉
悄悄在怪石嶙峋的角落里潜藏;
终于,她父亲的船队又出海营业,
去搜寻海上 那些来往的客商,——
和古代不同,要抢的不是伊娥,
是驶往开俄斯的三艘拉古萨船舶。
她这就自由了,因为她没有母亲,
当她父亲出海远航的时候,
她无拘无束就像已嫁的妇人,
像随心所欲东跑西颠的女流,
又没有一个兄弟来碍事分心,
在照过镜子的女人里,就数她自由;
我这样打比 ,说的是基督教国度,
那里,还不兴对老婆严加禁锢。
她便延长了每次访问和交谈,(
哪能不交谈!)他学话学了这么多,
已经能提议到外边散步一番,
——自从那一天,他像初开的花朵,
掐断,萎垂,湿透,僵卧在海滩,
直到如今,还很少出去走动过,——
于是,晚半晌他们就外出游逛,
看红日西沉,对面是东升的月亮。
这海岸荒无人影,激浪翻飞,
上面是峭壁,下面是辽阔滩头;
四处有纵横流泻的港汊溪水
向遭遇风暴的客人温存迎候;
沙丘和巨石像卫队在周遭拱卫,
骄恣的狂涛日夜咆哮不休;
到了冗长的夏日却风恬浪静,
大海变得像湖泊一样晶莹。
…………
海滨——我想,刚才我是在这里
描述海滨吧?不错,正是海滨——
此刻偃卧着,像天穹一样静谧,
碧波不卷,沙岸也毫无动静,
四下里悄然无哗,一片沉寂,
只有海豚的跃动,海鸟的啼鸣;
细浪被低处岩石或沙洲阻截,
暗自恼恨着它未能沾湿的地界。
…………
黄昏已近,一刻比一刻更凉,
火红的夕阳沉入淡蓝的山脉;
苍茫大地环抱着森罗万象,
全都静止了,沉默了,消褪了光彩;
一边是月牙形弯弯萦绕的山冈,
一边是幽静的、冷气森森的大海;
天上,从那片玫瑰色晚霞背后
亮出一 颗星,宛若炯炯的明眸。
他们俩信步漫游,手儿相携,
在闪闪发光的卵石贝壳上踯躅,
踏过平滑坚实的滩头沙砾,
到石顶遮护、石室幽深的洞府,
这久经剥蚀的荒凉的容身之地
由风雨形成,却俨如匠心构筑;
他们俩进来歇息,互挽着臂膊,
顺从了绛紫暝色撩人的魅惑。
他们仰望天穹,那飘游的霞彩
有如玫瑰色海洋,浩瀚而明艳;
他们俯眺那波光粼粼的大海,
一轮圆月正盈盈升上海面;
听得见浪花飞洒,轻风徐来,
看得见对方黑眸里射来的热焰——
觉察到四目交窥,他们的双唇
便互相凑近,黏接,合成了一吻。
这是长长的一吻,在这一吻间
凝聚着他们的青春、爱情和美丽,
像红日明辉凝聚在一个焦点;
这样的一吻只属于人生早期;
那时,热血像熔岩,脉搏像火焰,
灵魂、心智和感官和谐如一,
每一吻使心灵一震;——一吻的强度
我想一定是取决于它的长度。
长度,我意思是指持续的时间;
天晓得他们那一吻持续了多久——
他们不曾估算过;即使去估算,也无法算出每分每秒的感受;
两人没说一句话,但情意萦牵,
彼此的灵魂和嘴唇相呼相逗,
一会合,便像采蜜的蜂儿般黏上——
他们心房像花朵,分泌着蜜浆。
他们是孤寂的,却又不同于那班
蛰居室内的幽人所感到的孤寂;
这沉静的大海,这星光映照的海湾,
这每时每刻消褪着的嫣红霞绮,
这滴水的岩洞,这悄然无语的沙滩,
在周遭环绕,——他们俩紧紧偎依,
仿佛天底下除他们再没有生命,
他们的生命将永在,永不凋零。
荒滩上别无耳目,无需惧怯,
对阴森暗夜他们也毫不害怕;
他们彼此就是一切的一切;
吐字不连贯,却想象自己在说话,
热情如火的言词来得简洁——
只一声轻叹,就能传神地表达
天性的神圣谕旨——青春的初恋——
夏娃留给她后代女儿的遗范。
海蒂从未吐露过犹疑顾虑,
不要求对方立誓,也不曾许愿;
她从未听说凭誓约以身相许,
也不懂热恋的少女面临的风险;
像年轻鸟儿飞向年轻爱侣,
纯洁无知主宰着她那片心田;
负心薄幸她做梦也没想过,
坚贞不渝在她也不消一说。
她爱,也被爱;她钦慕,也被人钦慕;
于是,按照天性的本来模样,
他们炽烈的灵魂互相倾注,——
灵魂若会死,早就被热情烧光!
随后,他们的神智慢悠悠恢复,
再次被激情压倒,任激情冲撞;
海蒂心儿狂跳着——贴着他心胸,
仿佛两颗心再不会分开来跳动。
…………
像深渊像烈火的时刻已经过去,
堂璜在她怀抱里静静酣眠;
海蒂没有睡,她胸部迷人的柔躯
温存地,牢靠地,将小璜头颈稳垫;
她时而仰望天空,时而又细觑
那被她胸怀烘暖的苍白俏脸;
脸儿枕着她心儿,心儿在腾跃——
为了它已经和正在赐予的一切。
当一个婴孩瞥见一道亮光,
一个乳儿刚刚喝足了奶水,
一个信徒望见天使在飞翔,
一个阿拉伯人接到贵宾一位,
一个水兵因战功获得奖赏,
一个守财奴装满了秘藏的钱柜,
他们的兴高采烈全都比不上
向沉沉睡去的恋人痴痴凝望。
他躺着,那样可爱,那样从容,
他生命与我们同在,与我们会合;
那样温良,柔弱,寂然不动,
全未意识到他此刻给人的欢乐;
他感觉、经受、施予、判明的种种
都默默深藏,叫旁人无从探索;他躺着,带着一身的魅力和缺陷,
就像那没有死之恐怖的长眠。
少女守望着情郎,在幽寂的时辰——
这幽寂来自爱情、黑夜和大海,
三者凝成了合力,注满她灵魂;
傍着荒僻的沙滩,粗犷的石块,
海蒂和她那饱经风浪的情人
避开了纷扰,把香巢秘窟安排;
苍空里密密繁星从来没见到
有谁像海蒂这样喜溢眉梢。
…………
海蒂是“自然”的伴侣,不懂得这个;
海蒂是“热情 ”的女儿,她生长的地方
骄阳倾洒着三倍的热焰光波,
把明眸少女的亲吻也烤成火烫;
她生来就要爱,要与意中人遇合,
除了这,什么话、什么事都不在心上;
除了这,她不爱,不怕,不指望,不关切,
她的那颗心只守着这一处跳跃。
…………
如今是大礼告成,永结同心:
僻静海岸上,婚礼的花烛——星光
向美妙人儿投洒下美妙光影,
大海是他们证婚人,石窟是洞房;
“幽寂”是慈蔼的神父,给他们缔姻,
“真情”使这段良缘神圣吉祥;
一对幸运儿!照他们稚气的肉眼
看来,他们是天使,尘世是乐园。
…………
他们是一对幸运儿,——哪怕不合法,
也沉入无辜的欲望尽情享受;
欢会频繁,胆量也越来越大,
海蒂竟忘了这岛子是父亲所有;
得到了心爱的东西,就丢它不下——
至少在开头,还未曾厌倦的时候;
就这样,她频频前来,不错过一分钟,
趁她的海盗爸爸巡游在海中。
莫怪他敛财的方式有些异样,
哪怕他打劫了各国的船舶多艘,
只消他换个头衔,唤作首相,
这些钱就不是别的,只是税收;
皆因他秉性谦恭,心存礼让,

才选了这诚实行业,屈居下流;
他在公海上航行,干的不过是
一位海上检察官的例行公事。
…………
他料理好了他那些海上事务,
四处都派了小艇巡逻游弋,
他那条大船已需要修修补补,
于是,他把船开回他女儿那里
(她正在那里把娇客殷勤照顾),
但那边海岸水浅,又没有荫蔽,
几里外还藏着暗礁,——他的港口
不设在那里,设在岛子另一头。
…………
到一座小山顶上,他歇脚停留,
望见他那些白墙掩映的屋宇;
在这些飘泊归来的游子心头
丛集着多少古怪离奇的思绪!
心神不定,揣想着吉凶休咎——情百感越过已逝的流年,
把我们心境带回当初的起点。
…………
他看见自己家园里林木苍翠,
看见阳光下雪亮的白色墙垣;
他听见溪水淙淙,远方犬吠;
他发现凉爽幽暗的树荫下面
人影在晃动,刀剑在闪射银辉
(东方国土上,人人都佩刀仗剑);
还望见人们五光十色的衣裳,
浓艳鲜明,像翩翩彩蝶一样。
当他走近了众人所在的地界,
为这种少见的闲荡而惊诧莫名,
他听见——唉!不是上界的仙乐,
却是亵渎神明的世俗琴声!
那调子真叫他怀疑自己的听觉,
这缘故他猜它不透,弄它不清;
又是一阵笛,一阵鼓,过不了一会,
又一阵笑闹,全不是东方风味。
他继续前行,更加靠近了那里,
快步流星走下了一片斜坡;
透过摇曳的树枝,瞥视那草地,
种种景象 都显示节日的欢乐:
像僧人一样舞踊的,是一群仆役,
仿佛绕着一根轴,团团旋转着;
他看出那 是威武的皮瑞克舞蹈——
利凡特居民对它有特殊爱好。
再往前,是一队跳舞的希腊女娃,
排头最高的,挥动着白色头巾,
她们连成了一串,像珍珠一挂,
手儿牵挽着手儿,正跳个不停;
雪白脖颈上飘下褐色长发
(一根就够使十个诗人发神经);
那个领队的唱着,这一群女郎
用齐一的舞步歌喉,配合她欢唱。
这边,盘腿围坐在杯盘四周,
几人一席的宴会刚刚开始;
长颈瓶装着萨摩斯、开俄斯美酒,
眼前摆满了烩饭和各种肉食,
甜果汁装在有孔的瓶子里凉透,
饭后的果品悬垂于头上的藤枝——
在枝上点头晃脑的石榴、柑橘,
不消采摘,熟了就落人衣裾。
…………
他禀性素来沉静,不爱多言,
很乐意突然归来,吓女儿一跳
(通常他吓人一跳用的是刀剑),
这次他回家,事先没派人关照,
他来了,谁也没惊动,谁也没发现;
好一阵,他疑心瞧错了,瞧了又瞧;
他瞧见这么多嘉宾应邀前来,
高兴倒不多,满肚子惊疑奇怪。
他还不知道(人们爱炮制谣言),
谣言传播着(希腊人对此道精通),
说是他死了(造谣的永远死不完),
因此,这几周 ,他全家服丧悲恸;
如今呢,眼睛干了,嘴唇也发干,
海蒂的双颊又重新泛出桃红,
泪水返回了它们的源头所在,她为了给自己办事而管起家来。
这才有这许多酒肉、歌舞和管弦,
把这座岛子变成了行乐之乡;
仆人们醺醺大醉,游手好闲,
这日子使他们个个心花怒放。
比照着海蒂这般花费金钱,
她父亲的好客就显得小家子气象;
她正专注于爱情,难得分身,
可也怪,事情却办得有条不紊。
…………
他走向最近一席的最近一人,
拍拍他肩膀,露出古怪的微笑——
顺便说一句:只要他这样笑吟吟,
不管意味着什么,总不是吉兆;
他问这喜庆场面是什么原因,
那被他问话的、酒气熏人的希腊佬
正喝得痛快,哪管问话的是谁,
只把葡萄酒满满斟上一杯,
也没把那颗蠢脑袋转过来看看,
这酒鬼神气活现,醉态十足,
从肩膀上边,递过来盈溢的杯盏,
回一句:“说话口干,我没有工夫。”
“老主人死啦,”第二个,打着嗝插言,
“你最好去问他闺女——我们的主妇。”
第三个:“主妇!呸!说主公才对,
主公——不是老的,是新的那位。”
这几个家伙是新来的,不知道自己
在跟谁说话;兰勃若脸色沉下来,
刹那间,他眼中闪过一丝阴翳,
但随即消失,依然是温文和蔼,
尽力恢复了脸上原来的笑意,
请他们中间一位说个明白:
新主公姓甚名谁,是何身份,——
看来,他已把海蒂变成了夫人。
“我可不知道,我也管不着,他是谁,”
那人说,“他是干啥的,他从哪儿来;
可是我知道:这只烤阉鸡挺肥,
谁也没吃过这等下酒的好莱;
要是你觉得我说的不怎么够味,
就去找旁边那汉子问个明白;
是好是歹,他都能对答如流,
没有谁比他更爱听自己吹牛。”
…………
不再问什么,他走向那座府第,
不过走的是一条幽僻小径,
没有谁碰见他,碰见也不曾注意,
那一天谁也没想到他会来临;
对女儿的疼爱怜惜,在他的心底
会不会为海蒂求告,我可说不清;
家人认定他死了,却狂欢饮宴,
这样的丧礼可真是别开生面。
…………
他走进房子——已不是他的家屋,
人类的感情中,这一种最难隐忍;
死到临头时内心的剧烈痛楚
只怕也不像这般难受难禁;
眼看温暖的家庭变成了坟墓,
冰冷的炉边残留着“希望”的灰烬:
这 是一种深沉酷烈的悲怆,
对此,单身汉简直无法想象。
他走进房子——已不是他的家屋
(没有了情意,也就没有了家庭);
他感到还家而无人迎候的孤苦:
这里,他多年居住,他曾享安宁
(可惜安宁的日子又少又急促);
这里,他疲惫的心胸、敏锐的眼睛
溶于他女儿那片赤子的心田——
那是他仅有真情的唯一圣殿。
…………
他全部钟爱倾注在女儿身上;
干过了、见过了那么多惨毒暴行,
他心扉没完全闭紧,透一线光亮,
原不为别的,只为对她的柔情;
这情感独一而真纯,不容违抗,
若是失落了,就会使他的心灵
与人 间的温情善意彻底绝缘,
犹如那圆眼巨人戳瞎了独眼。
母虎失去了幼虎,暴跳如雷,
使牧人和他的羊群魂飞魄散;
怒海翻滚着狂涛,白沫横飞,
使靠近礁石的船员心惊胆战;
凶猛的家伙,疯狂发作了一回,
怒气不久就耗尽,趋于和缓;
远远比不上这铁石心肠的严父
狞厉、专一、深切、无言的震怒。
…………
傍晚,兰勃若穿过一道便门,
没让人看见,进入了他的厅堂;
这时,那窈窕淑女和她的情人,
华贵雍容,端坐在盛筵之上;
象牙镶嵌的餐桌居中放稳,
头干脸净的奴婢环侍四旁;
餐具多半是金银宝石器皿,
珠贝珊瑚制成的便算是次品。
席上约莫有上百种佳肴异味;
羔羊肉,各种肉食——不必细叙,
胡榛子果仁,番红花羹汤,牛膵,
入网的
众多鱼类里最美的鲜鱼,
烹调考究和绪巴里斯人比美,
饮料是各色果汁——葡萄,柑橘,
还有石榴汁,从果皮里面榨出来,
这样,饮用的时候格外爽快。
饮料罗列着,都装在水晶罐内;
宴会结束 时,有鲜果、甜枣面包块;
阿拉伯运来的地道穆哈咖啡
盛在小巧茶盅里,最后端进来,
再用精雕细镂的特制金杯
垫在那底下,免得把手儿烫坏;
咖啡加丁香、肉桂、番红花煎熬——
我担心这会把咖啡味道弄糟。
室内,壁上的帷幔是天鹅绒挂毯,
分许多长方格子,色彩各异;
丝织的粉红花朵密缀其间,
花朵四周镶一道黄边围起;
挂毯上端,用豪华绮丽的丝线,
在深蓝底子上绣出淡紫色字体,
那是波斯文警句:有诗人的诗行,
还有道德家的说教——比诗人高尚。
…………
海蒂和堂璜脚儿轻轻践踏他走进房子——已不是他的家屋
(没有了情意,也就没有了家庭);
他感到还家而无人迎候的孤苦:
这里,他多年居住,他曾享安宁
(可惜安宁的日子又少又急促);
这里,他疲惫的心胸、敏锐的眼睛
溶于他女儿那片赤子的心田——
那是他仅有真情的唯一圣殿。
…………
他全部钟爱倾注在女儿身上;
干过了、见过了那么多惨毒暴行,
他心扉没完全闭紧,透一线光亮,
原不为别的,只为对她的柔情;
这情感独一而真纯,不容违抗,
若是失落了,就会使他的心灵
与人
间的温情善意彻底绝缘,
犹如那圆眼巨人戳瞎了独眼。
母虎失去了幼虎,暴跳如雷,
使牧人和他的羊群魂飞魄散;
怒海翻滚着狂涛,白沫横飞,
使靠近礁石的船员心惊胆战;
凶猛的家伙,疯狂发作了一回,
怒气不久就耗尽,趋于和缓;
远远比不上这铁石心肠的严父
狞厉、专一、深切、无言的震怒。
…………
傍晚,兰勃若穿过一道便门,
没让人看见,进入了他的厅堂;
这时,那窈窕淑女和她的情人,
华贵雍容,端坐在盛筵之上;
象牙镶嵌的餐桌居中放稳,
头干脸净的奴婢环侍四旁;
餐具多半是金银宝石器皿,
珠贝珊瑚制成的便算是次品。
席上约莫有上百种佳肴异味;
羔羊肉,各种肉食——不必细叙,
胡榛子果仁,番红花羹汤,牛膵,
入网的 众多鱼类里最美的鲜鱼,
烹调考究和绪巴里斯人比美,
饮料是各色果汁——葡萄,柑橘,
还有石榴汁,从果皮里面榨出来,
这样,饮用的时候格外爽快。
饮料罗列着,都装在水晶罐内;
宴会结束
时,有鲜果、甜枣面包块;
阿拉伯运来的地道穆哈咖啡
盛在小巧茶盅里,最后端进来,
再用精雕细镂的特制金杯
垫在那底下,免得把手儿烫坏;
咖啡加丁香、肉桂、番红花煎熬——
我担心这会把咖啡味道弄糟。
室内,壁上的帷幔是天鹅绒挂毯,
分许多长方格子,色彩各异;
丝织的粉红花朵密缀其间,
花朵四周镶一道黄边围起;
挂毯上端,用豪华绮丽的丝线,
在深蓝底子上绣出淡紫色字体,
那是波斯文警句:有诗人的诗行,
还有道德家的说教——比诗人高尚。
…………
海蒂和堂璜脚儿轻轻践踏那镶着淡蓝花边的绯红锦缎;
他们那一张簇簇新新的软榻
足足占了新房的四分之三;
天鹅绒靠垫(配得上国王陛下)
色泽猩红,正中央光焰闪闪,
簇拥着一轮赤日——用金箔浮雕,
似亭午登临绝顶,明辉普照。
…………
所有服饰里,我最爱海蒂的衣衫;
她穿着两件胸衣—— 一件是淡黄;
衬衫交织着桃红、雪白和天蓝,
那里面,胸脯起伏,似柔波轻浪;
另一件胸衣晃耀着金光赤焰,
纽扣是珍珠——大小如豌豆一样;
条纹白罗纱斗篷围裹着周身,
飘动着,像月亮周围的白净浮云。
黄金镯子环抱着娇婉手臂,
不用锁——是纯金制成,十分柔韧,
伸缩自如,放松收紧都随意,
形状跟着手臂走,百依百顺;
它这样精美,谁见了都会入迷;
紧箍着,生怕手臂不跟它亲近;
最 纯的真金偎着最白的肌肤,
金银首饰何曾有这等艳福!
类似的金环套在她脚腕上方,
表明着身份——她是岛上的公主;
鬓发间宝石争辉,似群星朗朗;
手戴十二枚戒指;用一串珍珠
把垂到胸前的面纱轻轻束上,
那珍珠价值多少,谁能说出!
她那条土耳其绸裤,橘红色,挺宽,
围护着人间最美的一双脚腕。
长发的褐色波涛奔流到脚边,
像阿尔卑斯的湍流染上阳光;
这秀发若无拘无束,尽情披散,
能把她丰盈的躯体全部掩藏;
什么时候只要有清风出现,
拍动羽翎,为海蒂扇凉送爽,
秀发便嗔怪那绾住它们的丝带,
只想挣脱那羁缚,更自由自在。
她使周遭的气氛生机洋溢,
空气流过她眼前也变轻灵;
她两眼澄波荡漾,柔情旖旎,
比 得上我们遐想的天国仙境;
莹洁有如普绪刻少女时期,
比人间纯而又纯的还要纯净;
威临一切的魅力与她同在,
向她下跪也不算盲目崇拜。
她的眼睫本如夜一般浓黑,
却按照习俗染了色——徒劳无益:
乌亮的眼眸早有了乌亮的绒穗,
不免嗤笑这手工涂染的墨迹;
眼眸固守着原有的天然之美,
算是进行了抗争,争了一口气;
而她的指甲也证明人工无用:
抹上了指甲花汁,却难胜天工。
指甲花本当染得又深又浓,
才能衬托出肌肤皓白如雪;
她无需如此:群山顶上的黎明
也不曾像她这样光辉皎洁;望着她,会疑心自己可曾睡醒:
太美了,多么像梦境,多么像幻觉!
我也许说错,
可莎士比亚也说:
给纯金镀金,给百合上色,是蠢货。
堂璜披一条黑底金纹的肩巾,
罩一领白色斗篷,透明如冰纱,
看得见里面宝石的煜煜光影,
像银河点点星辰吐射光华;
头巾围拢,显出优雅的褶印,
翠玉冠饰藏有海蒂的鬈发,
别住冠饰的簪子,似眉月一弯,
幽光闪烁明灭,却延续不断。
…………
言归正传吧。——到这时,酒阑人散,
侏儒和舞女离场,奴仆也退下;
诗人不唱了,阿拉伯故事讲完,
再也听不到酒酣耳热的喧哗;
只留下女主人和她心爱的侣伴
共赏天边那艳如玫瑰的流霞;——
祝福马利亚!在 茫茫大地和海洋,
最与你相称的,是这最美妙的辰光!
祝福马利亚!祝福这神圣时辰!
就在这样的时间、地点、场合里,
我常常感觉到黄昏威力无垠,
俯临着如此奇丽温馨的大地;
微弱的白昼颂歌已高飞远遁,
深沉的晚钟在远处钟楼响起,
没一丝风影掠过绯红的天穹,
幽林的枝叶仿佛被晚祷惊动。
…………
甜美的黄昏!松林和海岸都寂寞,
岸上是拉文纳远古洪荒的林莽,
亚得里亚海曾经把这儿淹没,
残存的恺撒故垒耸立在近旁;
常绿的森林!你那迷人的传说,
薄伽丘讲过,德莱顿也曾吟唱,
使你成了我情牵梦绕的胜地,
我多么爱黄昏时刻!我多么爱你!
尖脆的鸣蝉,栖息在松林之中,
以一曲长歌度过夏日的流光;
除了我,除了马蹄声,除了晚钟,
这蝉声便是林问唯一的清响。
奥涅斯蒂家猎人和猎犬的幽灵,
被猎逐的少女,警醒了人间的女郎,
从此,她们见情人不再躲闪,——
都在我心 头眼底宛然浮现。
黄昏星!你带来一切称心的美事——
疲倦的,你给他家宅;饿了的,酒饭;
让雏鸟钻入母鸟温存的翼翅,
劳累的耕牛回到可意的牛栏;
家族神灵所呵护的家门福祉,
炉火周围洋溢着的和睦平安,
都被你召来,在我们身边聚拢;
是你让孩童投向慈母的柔胸。
温婉的时刻!扬帆浮海的游子
第一天抛离亲友,辞别家园,
你唤醒他们的心愿,惹动情思;
巡礼的旅人忽听得晚钟悠远,
一声声,仿佛在哀悼白昼的飘逝,
不由得怦然心动,柔肠百转;这些难道是想入非非的幻梦?
既有消亡,又怎能没有悲恸!
…………
小璜和他的爱侣相依相伴,
沉迷于两颗心儿的甜蜜交流;
严酷的“时间”挥动蛮横的长镰
把他们劈开的
时候,也不免内疚;
他虽是爱情的夙敌,如今也感叹,
叹他们韶光流失,良辰难久;
他们不会老,——会死在快乐的春朝,
趁魅力和希望还不曾振翮飞逃。
他们的脸孔不是为了起皱纹,
血液不是为停滞,心不为衰竭;
秋霜休想来点染他们的发鬓,
他们永远是夏天,不知道冰雪;
雷电可以把他们殛为灰烬,
但是,在阴沉衰惫的长途上蹀躞,
蛇一样爬行,他们委实做不来——
他们身上少了点俗骨凡胎。
如今又只剩他们默然相守——
伊甸乐园也不过这般欢快;
他们永不会厌倦——只要不分手;
绿树虽然被砍倒,与根柢分开,
河川虽然被水坝截断了源流,
孩儿虽然失去了慈母的抚爱,
也不像他们:一拆开迅即凋殒;
唉!人还有什么比心更根本!
…………
对死亡,海蒂和堂璜未曾思考;
天地和空气仿佛为他们造设;
挑不出“时间”的过错,只怪他飞跑;
他们对自己更觉得无可指责;
相互像镜子,在对方眼底看到
“欢乐”如璀璨玉石,明辉四射;
知道这明辉无非是一片光影——
反映了他们眼底的脉脉深情。
温柔的偎抱,令人震颤的爱抚;
轻轻的一瞥,比言语更能达意——
照样表白了一切,决不会噜苏;
说起话来呢,像鸟语那样神秘,
只他们自己听得懂,至少是似乎
只肯向恋人显示真实的含义;
儿女的情谈趣语,有人会鄙薄——
只因他再难听到,或从未听过。
他们如此,因为他们是孩童,
而且永远要像孩童般纯洁;
他们生来决不是要在俗世中
给沉闷戏文扮演匆忙的配角;
却像溪水里出生的一双情种——
仙女和她的仙郎,不让人察觉,
优游于泉水之间,花丛之上,
从来不晓得人世时光的分量。
…………
他们凝望着落日;这美妙时间
人人都喜爱,他们更赏心悦目;
是这个时辰使他们有了今天;
夕照里,爱神第一次把他们征服;
那时,“幸福”是他们唯一的妆奁,
暮色曾瞥见他们被激情拴住;
互相迷醉着,只要是能够唤回前欢旧梦的,
都同样使他们迷醉。
不知为什么,在今夕此时此刻,
他们正凝望,一阵奇突的震颤
仿佛掠过了他们欢乐的心窝,
像一阵疾风掠过琴弦或火焰,
使得那弦音战栗,火苗闪烁:
不祥的异兆闪过各自的心田;
他胸中逸出一声轻微的低喟,
她眼底涌出一滴新来的眼泪。
俨如有先见之明,她乌黑大眼
圆睁着,好像要追逐天边落日;
仿佛他们佳期的最后一天
正跟那巨大火球一同消逝;
他内心凄楚,又不知所为哪般;
像叩问自己的命运,他向她注视——
用目光向她探询,求她谅解
这平白无端、玄虚莫测的感觉。
她向他微笑一下,忙转向一边,
她那种笑容使别人无法微笑;
这震撼心灵的预感历时短暂,
很快被她的神智或高傲压倒;
当小璜向她说起(也许是说着玩)
这种不约而同的感觉,她答道:
“要是当真会那样——决没有那种事——
我反正见不着,我也活不到那一日。”
璜还想再问,她便把他的嘴唇
压在自己嘴唇上,来使他静默;
她不信预兆,用这深情的一吻
把那不祥的念头赶出了心窝;
这是最好的办法,毫无疑问;
有人说喝酒更好,那也没错。
我两样都试 过;谁要想受用受用,
就请他任择其一:头痛或心痛。
…………
堂璜和海蒂互相注目凝眸,
不说话,泪光闪闪,柔情脉脉;
是恋人,兄妹,母子,也是朋友——
种种最美的情愫混糅交错;
纯真的心意彼此相注相投,
相爱得过分深浓,无法减弱;
永恒的心愿,还有赐福的神力,
首肯了这种过度的痴情爱意。
他们的四臂交缠,两心密合,
为什么他们不在这时候死去?
为什么要活到横遭拆散的时刻?
未来的岁月只有残害和委屈!
这世界不是为了他们而造设,

也不为萨福所唱的痴男怨女;
炽烈的爱情与他们同生同存,
那不是情感,那是他们的精魂。
他们的岁月本该在深林里消磨,
像歌喉宛转的夜莺,形踪不露;
不该混迹于“社会”这昏霾荒漠——
罪孽、仇恨和忧患盘踞的巢窟;
自由的生灵是何等孤高落寞!
悦耳的鸣禽也只肯双栖双宿;
鹰隼独自凌空;群鸦和群鸥
像世人一样,围啄腥臭的腐肉。
腮颊凭倚着腮颊,他们在午睡,
这是恬适的小憩,并不沉酣;
不时有什么惊扰堂璜的梦寐,
这时,他身上就会起一阵寒战;
海蒂的红唇仿佛在翕动微微,
吐露无言的乐曲,如溪水潺潺;
她那娇柔的脸颊让梦境牵动,
好一似玫瑰花瓣让清风掀动;
又好似阿尔卑斯山谷的河川,
深湛澄澈,风一吹,碧波起伏:
她正像这般,悸动于扰人的梦幻——
那窃踞我们心府的神秘怪物,
它趁着我们对灵魂无力拘管,
依灵魂的喜好,将我们任意摆布;
生命的怪现象(做梦时生命完好):
不用感官,能感觉;闭了眼,能看到。
她梦见自己孤零零留在海岸,
拴在岩石上,不知是怎么回事;
她寸步难移,只听得咆哮声喧,
巨浪腾涌,好一派雄威猛势,
向她威吓着,倾洒到她的唇边,
逼得她透不过气来,抽噎不止;
随后,更迎头喷泻,又凶狠又高,
冲荡着,想要淹死她,她却死不了。
接着,又梦见从那里挣脱跑掉,
两脚流血,在尖利砂石上彷徨,
几乎每跨出一步她都要绊倒;
瞥见了一个怪影在前方摇晃,
这怪影一片苍白,朦胧幽渺:
她向前追逐,心里却不免惊慌;
它不肯停下来,不让她看清、抓住,
她上前将它攥紧,它却又逃出。
梦境又变了:她仿佛站在岩洞里,
倾斜的岩壁悬垂着一柱柱石乳;
是岁月的留痕,经受过海波冲洗,
海豹也会来,为了产仔而潜伏;
她那纷披的长发水雾淋漓,
她的黑眼珠仿佛也化为泪珠;
水珠滴沥着,峭岩更昏暗阴湿,
她猜想:水珠一落地便凝成砾石。
她脚下,透湿、冰冷、失却生命,
堂璜苍白得像他额上的白沫;
她想把白沫揩掉,总是揩不净
(她种种温存体贴已毫无效果);
他那冷却的心儿再不会跃动,
大海涛声奏着低咽的挽歌,
像鲛人哀曲,老在她耳边回响:
这匆匆一梦比一生还要悠长!
定睛注视着死者,她觉得,似乎
堂璜的面貌模糊了,变成了别个——
有点像她的父亲——渐渐,每一处
都变得越来越像——活像兰勃若:
那疲惫而敏锐的神情,那希腊风度;
她吃惊,醒来,哦!瞧见了什么?
这双黑眼睛是谁的?天上的神明!
眈眈凝视的,正是她父亲的眼睛!
她失声尖叫,跳起来,又跌倒在地,
悲喜交集,希望和恐惧齐萌;
原以为这老人早已葬身海底,
谁料想今朝又见他起死回生;
她最爱的人儿性命却有些危急:
像往年的父亲,他与她相依为命;
这样的时刻实在有几分可怕——
我见过这种事——千万别再去想它。
堂璜听到了海蒂尖声惊叫,
一下子跳起来,扶住她,不让她倒下;
赶忙从墙上夺过他那把马刀,
便要对害人的家伙施加惩罚;
一言未发的兰勃若微微冷笑,
说道:“我有偃月刀不下千把,
只消我一声令下,随喊随应;
小伙子,收起马刀,它一点没用。”
海蒂箍住他:“璜,别介,这一位
就是兰勃若——我父亲!快跟我跪下!
他会饶了我们的,——是啊,一定会;
亲爱的爸爸,这真是悲喜交加!
当女儿吻您的衣襟,满心快慰,
怎容得半点猜疑在中间混杂?
听凭您发落我吧,按您的意旨;
只是求您饶了他——饶了这孩子。”
那老人昂然站着,神情莫测,
他说话语调安详,眼光也沉静
(这些可未必表明他心平气和);
他望望海蒂,没答复她的恳请;
又望望堂璜,只见他义形于色,
激情汹涌,正打算豁出性命;
他横刀雄立,只要兰勃若一声唤,
有一个坏家伙进来,便决一死战。
兰勃若又说:“小伙子,把马刀放下!”
堂璜:“只要手听我使唤,休想!”
老头儿脸色发白——可不是害怕,
便从腰带里拔出他那把手枪:
“好吧,就让你的血溅满你脑瓜!”
说完,便把打火石细细端详,
看它好用不好用(枪最近开过),
接着便扳上扳机,从容不迫。
…………
兰勃若的手枪瞄准了,只消一眨眼,
堂璜和我的诗章就同归于尽;
海蒂却纵身挡在她情郎身前,
厉声呼叫着,严厉一如她父亲:
“要杀就杀我!我的错!这要命的海岸
他是碰上的,又不是成心找上门。
我爱他,是他的,死也要死在一块;
你是个响当当铁汉子,你女儿也不赖!”
一分钟以前,她还是满腔柔情,
满脸泪水,再加上满身稚气;
此刻却成了消灾免祸的救星,
雕像般威严,铁了心来挨枪击;
她身材高过一般女性和男性,
像个醒目的活靶子,挺身耸立;
两眼牢牢盯在她父亲脸上,
丝毫不想阻拦他动手开枪。
他向她注视,她同样向他注视;
两人相像得出奇,表情也一样;
都暴怒,都故作镇定,却无法掩饰
又大又黑的眼眸里互射的火光;
她平素温顺,可也像一头母狮,
被谁逼狠了,反扑时也够凶狂;
父亲给的血在父亲面前滚沸,
是他的血统真传——她当之无愧。
他们很相像——不论身材或相貌,
彼此不同的只是性别和年纪;
就连手儿也同样纤柔灵巧,
显示着血脉相传的亲子关系;
骨肉重逢,本应该眉开眼笑,
喜泪交流,一家子欢天喜地;
如今却横眉相对,凶相满脸——
怒气冲了顶,就会有这种场面。
那父亲踌躇了片刻,便把手枪
放回了原处;他还是那样站着,
注视她,仿佛要看透她心肝五脏;
说道:“对这个外乡人,我不曾招惹;
不是我,把家里糟践成这般模样;
谁能受这种窝囊气,不动家伙?
我得尽我的本分——而你的本分
你尽得怎样?眼前明摆着,还用问?
“叫他放下那把刀;不然,我起誓:
当着你,他脑袋就会像皮球打滚!”
说完,他拿起哨子一吹,于是,
另一声哨子响应,脚步纷纷,
冲进来一伙,人数约莫有二十,
全身披挂——从头顶直到脚跟;
小头目带队,乱糟糟,听老头下令:
“拿下这西方佬,不然,就要他的命。”
老头冷不防把女儿往后一拉,
这帮人便插到她和堂璜中间;
她被她父亲抓住,枉自挣扎,
他那双胳臂像恶蟒一样紧缠;
众海盗扑向堂璜,猛冲猛打,
像毒蛇被人激怒,朝前猛窜;
冲在头里的第一名蓦然倒地——
右肩被砍去一半,掉肉飞皮。
第二名脸上被砍出一条深槽;
第三名却是个老剑客,沉着机警,
用短剑连连挡住堂璜的马刀,
反攻得又快又准:没等你看清,
堂璜便倒在他脚下,无依无靠,
赤血像小溪流淌,汩汩不停;
他脑袋、胳臂都被那利剑砍中,
挂花两处,血口子又深又红。
七手八脚把堂璜就地捆紧,
正抬出屋子,兰勃若打了个手势,
示意他们快把他送到海滨,
那儿有几艘九点钟起碇的船只。
他们先到小艇上,划桨前行,
直划到一字排开的货船为止;
登上一条船,把堂璜关入舱底,
吩咐看守人:务必要小心在意。
人世间常有不测的风云变幻,
眼前这一桩尤其是大杀风景:
这公子年少翩翩,拥资巨万,
尽情受用着现世的种种欢情,
此时此刻,做梦也想不到祸患,
突如其来,被捉到海上远行,
受了伤,还不让动弹,连拴带捆,——
都只为爱河起浪,少女怀春。
…………
暂且把堂璜搁下——他总算平安,
虽则是身体不适——伤势不轻;
他那皮肉的苦楚怎抵得一半
海蒂的心胸此刻熬受的苦刑!
她不是那种女人:哭几次,闹几番,
发几回脾气 ,便幽幽俯首听命;
她母亲是个摩尔人,非斯是老家,
那里要么是乐土,要么是荒沙。
那里,橄榄树丰饶的琥珀色果实
像雨点、像流泉一样源源倾吐,
花果和谷粒喷涌,遍地皆是;
却也有盘根错节的丛丛毒树,
半夜里听到喑呜吼叫的雄狮,
沙漠长途炙烤着骆驼的四足,
有时候狂沙怒卷,把商队埋葬;
那里土地是这般,人心也同样。
非洲是太阳的领地,居民和土壤
同样都炽热如焚;从生命之初
摩尔人血液便受到骄阳烙烫,
不论是做好做歹,都精力十足;
这血液有如土地,能孳育哺养,
“爱”与“美”便是海蒂母亲的天赋;
她那双乌黑大眼蕴蓄深情,
像狮子隐伏 林泉,沉睡未醒。
她女儿,在较为柔和的阳光抚育下,
像夏日浮云,银白柔滑而秀丽;
然而也孕育着雷电,迟早会爆发——
用暴雨扫荡长空,震恐大地;
她有生以来一直是娇柔温雅;
如今, 受不了悲愤绝望的凌逼,
烈火便爆出这努米底亚血管,
像热带狂飙横扫大漠荒原。
她最后看到的,是堂璜殷红的血川,
是他在刀光剑影里猝然倒下;
看到他——她心上人儿,俊秀少年——
鲜血在方才立足的地面上流洒;
这景象,她看了一眼,便没法再看,——
痉挛地呻唤一声,停止了挣扎;
老父亲一直也没能把女儿抓牢,
这时,像砍倒的杉树,她颓然倾倒。
一根血管爆裂了,她嘴唇的色泽
被那鲜浓的赤血浸湿染透;
头颈低垂,像雨中低垂的百合;
侍女们闻讯而至,涕泪交流,
把小姐扶到床上,服侍她安卧,
又拿出她们收藏的药草和药酒;
可是对种种疗救,她一概拒绝,——
“生”已难于留住她,“死”也难毁灭。
好几天,她恹恹僵卧,情况未变,
冰凉,却不曾发青,嘴唇还红润;
脉息已难寻,但死神尚未出现,
没什么恶象宣告她确实的凶讯;
身躯未腐蚀,希望还残存一线;
望着她脸庞,又使人深思细忖:
那脸上满溢着灵魂——她拥有的太多,
地府怎能一下子全都攫夺!
那主宰身心的激情依然如故,
正如雕塑得精妙入微的石像:
娇美维纳斯虽被大理石凝固,
姿容不变,却永远神采飞扬;
拉奥孔万古常新的挣扎和痛楚;
罗马角斗士永驻的临终情状:
都因为酷似活人而驰名天下,
却不似活人——固定了,永无变化。
她醒了——不像睡醒,像死而复苏:
对她,生命仿佛是陌生的东西,
仿佛是被迫接受的身外异物;
看到的一切都不能勾起回忆;
酷烈创痛仍然铭刻于肺腑,
心房的搏动还真挚,还带来哀戚,
只是哀戚的根由已经不记得,
悲愤和冤苦仿佛歇息了片刻。
她木然望着晃来晃去的脸庞,
望着熟悉的旧物而全不认识;
她从不留心谁坐在她的枕旁,
也不问众人为什么簇拥环侍;
她并非喑不能言,却一声不响,
也不靠叹息来排解郁结的心事;
侍女们沉默或交谈,她毫无反应,
除了呼吸,她不像还有生命。
侍女们殷勤护理,她置之不顾;
她父亲前来看望,她眼光掉开;
任何人、任何地点,她都认不出,
不管往日她何等珍视和喜爱;
他们给她换房问,她全记不住,
只茫然躺着,记忆像一片空白;
他们想使她心念再回到当初,
终于,她圆睁两眼,眼神可怖。
有个家奴出主意:为小姐弹琴;
唤来了乐师,开始把丝弦拨响;
最初的音符又尖利,又纷杂不纯,
她目光闪闪,朝乐师望了一望,
便转身面壁,仿佛避开那琴音,
仿佛避开那重返心头的悲怆;
乐师唱起了岛上的一曲长歌,
唱的是往古——还没有暴政严苛。
合着歌手这古老歌调的节拍,
她苍白枯瘦的手指轻叩墙壁;
歌手变换了题目,歌唱恋爱,
这火热字眼点燃了她的回忆;
梦影纷呈:她的过去和现在
(如果这“现在”也算是活人的经历);
从浓云密布的心坎,她泪涌如泉,
似山间濛雾化作纷飞的雨点。
唉!短暂的宽慰,虚幻的解脱!
心思旋转得太急速,使她发了狂;
她霍然站起,好像从来没病过,
见人就要打,像见了仇人一样;
可是她不叫不嚷,话也不说,
这样的发作正是临死的迹象;
她这种疯癫并不狂喊乱骂,
想让她清醒,撞她,她也不说话。
有时,她神志似乎稍稍清醒;
任凭怎样,也不看父亲一眼;
对各样东西,她都用两眼紧盯,
可是认不出其中任何一件;
她拒绝吃饭穿衣,再怎么求情
也无济于事;她也拒绝睡眠:
换地方,磨时间,耍手段,喂药物,都白费,
睡眠的本能仿佛已一去不回。
十二个昼夜,她日益萎悴;终于,
不曾有呻吟、叹息或目光显示
临终的痛苦,芳魂便悄然离去:
那确切时刻,守在她身边的也不知;
直到阴影遮没了她颜面眉宇,
她那双明眸也已经凝固呆滞——
哦!那乌黑的大眼,那娇媚的眼神,
那炯炯照人的光彩,都一去难寻!
她终于死了;死的不止她一个:
在她身上,怀着生命的第二代——
是罪孽之子,却清白,并无罪过,
没见过天日,便了却小小的存在;
是未到阳世、先到阴间的过客,
娇花嫩蕊和枝叶同归凋败;
尽管有天国仙露淋漓浇洒,
救不活这霜摧枯果,血染残花!
她一生就这样度过,又这样结束;
从此再没有烦恼,再不会蒙羞。
她天性原不像那些冷血动物
能长年忍辱负重,至死方休;
她的日月虽短暂,却心欢意足,
气运一尽,便不在世上淹留;
在这清幽的海岸,她静静长眠,
对这片土地,她生前那么依恋。
这一座岛屿如今已空空荡荡,
屋舍倾颓,屋中人早已亡故;
海蒂和她的父亲葬在岛上,
四下里不见人踪,荒凉满目;
谁也弄不清美人埋骨何方,
没有墓碑,也没有活人讲述;
没 有挽歌,只有悲嚎的大海
为基克拉泽斯名花洒泪致哀。
有多少希腊少女以一曲恋歌
咏叹海蒂的爱情,夸她的美艳;
有多少岛民为了把长夜消磨,
讲她父亲的故事,夸他的勇敢。
她付出生命,抵偿她轻率的过错,——
谁犯这过错,都得把孽债偿还;
冤头债主,任何人休想逃掉,
爱神迟早会处治,决不轻饶。

1792-Percy Bysshe Shelley

对于诗人雪莱,《不列颠百科全书》是这样评价的:“在一个伟大的诗的时代,

写出了最伟大的抒情诗剧、最伟大的悲剧、最伟大的爱情诗、最伟大的牧歌式挽诗,

以及一整批许多人认为就其形式、风格、意象和象征性而论,都是无与伦比的长诗和短诗。”

A Summer Evening Churchyard

Lechlade, Gloucestershire
The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray;
And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair
In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day:
Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men,
Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.
They breathe their spells towards the departing day,
Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea;
Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway,
Responding to the charm with its own mystery.
The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass
Knows not their gentle motions as they pass.
Thou too, aëreal Pile! whose pinnacles
Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire,
Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells,
Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire,
Around whose lessening and invisible height
Gather among the stars the clouds of night.
The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres:
And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound,
Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs,
Breathed from their wormy beds all living things around,
And mingling with the still night and mute sky
Its awful hush is felt inaudibly.
Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild
And terrorless as this serenest night:
Here could I hope, like some inquiring child
Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human sight
Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep
That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep.
September, 1815

夏日黄昏墓园

——格洛斯特郡里奇莱德
遮掩那落日余晖的雾霭已被风
从浩瀚无垠的辽阔天空中吹散,
失血的黄昏围绕着白昼的惺忪
倦眼把金发编成越来越暗的发辫;
寂静和晦暝,虽不为人们喜爱,
正从远方的幽谷悄悄携手而来;
向离去的一天施展它们的魔法,
震摄着大地、空气、海和星辰;
声、光和运动都承认威力强大,
并且以自身的神秘力相与呼应。
风住了,否则就是钟楼上的草
对风过时的轻柔运动未能知晓。
空中的堆积云,你,也一样啊!
塔似的顶端像火焰升起在神殿,
默默地服从那甜美庄严的魔法,
天上色彩渲染着你高远的塔尖,
愈高愈小以至不见的尖顶四周,
星空里的夜色已愈来愈见浓稠。
死去的人们熟睡在他们的墓穴,
熟睡着腐朽;一种悦耳的音响,
若有若无,从他们生蛆的床位
散发到四周一切有生的物体上,
并且混入了沉默的天、寂静的夜,
令人敬畏的安谧无声却可感觉。
被赋予庄严和安宁的死亡也像
这恬静的夜,温柔而毫不恐怖;
我可否也像嬉戏坟头的儿童那样
好奇地期望,死神向人的耳目
确实隐瞒了神秘的好事,不然,
定有最美的梦永伴沉寂的长眠。
1815年9月

To William Shelley

雪莱和玛丽所生的男孩,1819年死在罗马。

I
The billows on the beach are leaping around it,
The bark is weak and frail,
The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it
Darkly strew the gale.
Come with me, thou delightful child,
Come with me, though the wave is wild,
And the winds are loose, we must not stay,
Or the slaves of the law may rend thee away.
II
They have taken thy brother and sister dear,
They have made them unfit for thee;
They have withered the smile and dried the tear
Which should have been sacred to me.
To a blighting faith and a cause of crime
They have bound them slaves in youthly prime,
And they will curse my name and thee
Because we fearless are and free.
III
Come thou, belovèd as thou art;
Another sleepeth still
Near thy sweet mother's anxious heart,
Which thou with joy shalt fill,
With fairest smiles of wonder thrown
On that which is indeed our own,
And which in distant lands will be
The dearest playmate unto thee.
IV
Fear not the tyrants will rule for ever,
Or the priests of the evil faith;
They stand on the brink of that raging river,
Whose waves they have tainted with death.
It is fed from the depth of a thousand dells,
Around them it foams and rages and swells;
And their swords and their sceptres I floating see,
Like wrecks on the surge of eternity.
V
Rest, rest, and shriek not, thou gentle child!
The rocking of the boat thou fearest,
And the cold spray and the clamour wild?—
There, sit between us two, thou dearest—
Me and thy mother—well we know
The storm at which thou tremblest so,
With all its dark and hungry graves,
Less cruel than the savage slaves
Who hunt us o'er these sheltering waves.
VI
This hour will in thy memory
Be a dream of days forgotten long.
We soon shall dwell by the azure sea
Of serene and golden Italy,
Or Greece, the Mother of the free;
And I will teach thine infant tongue
To call upon those heroes old
In their own language, and will mould
Thy growing spirit in the flame
Of Grecian lore, that by such name
A patriot's birthright thou mayst claim!
1817

给威廉•雪莱

沙滩上的波涛在四周围跳动,
我们的小船脆弱、单薄,
暴风在暗黑的上空抛撒乌云,
把那大海阴森森地笼罩。
随我来,招人疼爱的孩子!
随我来吧,虽然风高浪急,
但是我们绝不能够停留过久,
否则法律的鹰犬会把你夺走。

他们已夺去了你的哥哥姐姐,
使他们俩不再和你相亲,
使他俩笑容凋落、泪水枯竭,
这些对我曾是多么神圣;
而且使他俩从小沦落为奴隶,
同恶毒的宗教、罪恶的事业
联结,他们将诅咒我也诅咒你,
因为我们无拘无束无所畏惧。

快来啊,我所钟爱的小宝贝,
另一个,正静悄悄地在你
亲爱的妈妈不安的心旁酣睡,
你定会使那颗心充满喜悦——
以你最美的笑,以你对真正是
我们的那一个所感到的惊喜,
那一个,将在那遥远的异域,
成为你嬉戏时最亲密的伴侣。

不必害怕邪恶宗教的教士们
和暴君的统治会地久天长,
他们正立足在那愤怒的河滨,
面对他们用死亡染污的波浪。
那条河得到千山万壑的哺育,
正围绕他们咆哮猛涨,泡沫飞溅,
他们的刀剑和权杖将飘浮而去,
恰似永恒之流的怒涛席卷沉船。

安静些,温柔的孩子不要哭叫,
是惧怕这船身的颠簸飘摇,
寒冷的浪花,还是狂野的喧嚣?
宝贝,快在我们中间坐好,
偎着我和妈妈,我们深知道,
吓得你瑟缩发抖的急浪怒涛,
那阴暗饥饿的墓穴,都不如
野蛮鹰犬残酷:浪涛给予庇护,
他们却跨越浪涛苦把我们追逐。

这时刻终究会在你的记忆里
化成为久被忘却的梦境,
我们就要住在恬静的意大利
蔚蓝色的海边、金色的土地,
或是去希腊,那自由的故居;
我将教会你幼稚的嘴唇
用古代的英雄们自己的语言,
访问他们,用希腊古训的火焰
把你正在成长的灵魂冶炼,
使你能以一个爱国者的名义
去索取与生俱有的神圣权利。
1817年

The Past

I
Wilt thou forget the happy hours
Which we buried in Love's sweet bowers,
Heaping over their corpses cold
Blossoms and leaves, instead of mould?
Blossoms which were the joys that fell,
And leaves, the hopes that yet remain.
II
Forget the dead, the past? Oh, yet
There are ghosts that may take revenge for it,
Memories that make the heart a tomb,
Regrets which glide through the spirit's gloom,
And with ghastly whispers tell
That joy, once lost, is pain.
1818

你难道会忘却那些幸福的时光?
我们已在爱的林苑把他们埋葬,
堆在他们僵冷的尸体上的,
不是泥土,而是鲜花和绿叶,
鲜花,是那失去了的欢乐,
绿叶是至今犹存的希望。

忘却那些死去的、失去的?哦,
还有他们的阴魂会来寻求报复:
记忆,将使心灵化为坟墓,
悔恨,会在精神抑郁时潜入,
用阴森的耳语向你诉说:
欢乐,一旦失去便是痛苦。
1818年

Stanzas written in Dejection, near Naples

I
The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might,
The breath of the moist earth is light,
Around its unexpanded buds;
Like many a voice of one delight,
The winds, the birds, the ocean floods,
The City's voice itself, is soft like Solitude's.
II
I see the Deep's untrampled floor
With green and purple seaweeds strown;
I see the waves upon the shore,
Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
I sit upon the sands alone,—
The lightning of the noontide ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone

Arises from its measured motion,
How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.
III
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that content surpassing wealth
The sage in meditation found,
And walked with inward glory crowned—
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure.
Others I see whom these surround—
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;—
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
IV
Yet now despair itself is mild,
Even as the winds and waters are;
I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear,
Till death like sleep might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
V
Some might lament that I were cold,
As I, when this sweet day is gone,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan;
They might lament—for I am one
Whom men love not,—and yet regret,
Unlike this day, which, when the sun
Shall on its stainless glory set,
Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet.
December, 1818

无题

太阳温暖,天空明净无云,
波光粼粼的大海舞踊不息,
蓝色的小岛,积雪的山岭,
承受着庄严中午透明的威力,
湿润的大地,轻轻呼吸,
吹嘘着她含苞待放的群英;
仿佛万籁一声,充满欢喜,
清风,飞鸟,海流,市廛的喧声,
全都像世外的音响一样轻柔温馨。

二 我看见那未经践踏过的海床,
到处是绿色紫色的海藻;
我看见扑岸而来的层层波浪
像星星的阵雨体解形消。
我独自一人在沙滩坐着——
中午时分海洋上的强烈波光
仿佛电火在我四周闪耀,
从它的律动中升起一种乐音,
多么美!谁来分享我此刻的心情。

三 我,既没有希望也没有健康,
内心不安宁周围不平静,
没有哲人冥想中发现的那样
比财富可贵的满足心境,
沐浴着内在的荣光行进——
没有荣名、权力、爱和闲逸;
我见享有这一切的人们
欢度人生,把生活称作欢悦,
我的生活之杯却斟满另一种滋味。

四 而绝望,在此刻也显得柔和,
甚至像那流水和那清风,
我可以像困倦的孩子般躺卧,
可以在哭泣中消磨尽净
不得不承受的忧患人生
直到那死亡像睡眠悄悄降落,
直等到在温馨的空气中,
觉着面颊发冷,听海洋在我
渐死的头颅上送来最单调的音波。

五 有人会叹我冷却就像我叹惜
被我这苍老得太快的心
用这种不适时宜的呻吟加以
亵渎的美好一天失去踪影;
他们会叹惜,由于我这人
不为世人爱重,又会遗憾,
和这一天不同,这一天,
当太阳在无瑕的荣光中落山,
还会像享尝过的欢乐在记忆中盘桓。
1818年12月

Ode to the West Wind

这首诗构思在佛罗伦萨附近阿诺河畔的一片树林里,主要部分也在那里写成。

那一天,孕育着一场暴风雨的暖和而令人振奋的大风集合着常常倾泻下滂沱秋雨的云霭。

不出我所料,雨从日落下起,狂风暴雨里夹带着冰雹,

并且伴有阿尔卑斯山南地区所特有的气势宏伟的电闪雷鸣。第三节结尾处所提到的那种现象,

博物学家是十分熟悉的。海洋、河流和湖泊底部的水生植物,和陆地的植物一样,

对季节的交换有相同的反应,因而也受宣告这种变换的风的影响。——雪莱原注

I

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!

II

Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread

On the blue surface of thine aëry surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear!

III

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystàlline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear!

IV

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

V

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O, Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Autumn 1819

西风颂

哦,犷野的西风哦,你哦秋的气息!
由于你无形无影的出现,万木萧疏,
似鬼魅逃避驱魔巫师,蔫黄,黢黑,
苍白,潮红,疫疠摧残的落叶无数,
四散飘舞;哦,你又把有翅的种子
凌空运送到他们黑暗的越冬床圃;
仿佛是一具具僵卧在坟墓里的尸体,
他们将分别蛰伏,冷落,而又凄凉,
直到阳春你蔚蓝的姐妹向梦中的大地
吹响她嘹亮的号角(如同牧放群羊,
驱送香甜的花蕾到空气中觅食就饮)
给高山平原注满生命的色彩和芬芳。
不羁的精灵,你啊,你到处运行;
你破坏,你也保存,听,哦,听!

在你的川流之上,在骚动的高空,
纷乱的乌云,那雨和电的天使,
正像大地凋零枯败的落叶无穷,
挣脱天空和海洋交错缠接的柯枝,
漂流奔泻;在你清虚的波涛表面,
似酒神女祭司头上扬起的蓬勃青丝,
从那茫茫地平线阴暗的边缘
直到苍穹的绝顶,到处散布着
迫近的暴风雨飘摇翻腾的发卷。
你啊,垂死残年的挽歌,四合的夜幕
在你聚集的全部水汽威力的支撑下,
将构成他那庞大墓穴的拱形顶部。
从你那雄浑磅礴的氛围,将迸发
黑色的雨、火、冰雹;哦,听啊!

你,哦,是你把蓝色的地中海
从梦中唤醒,他在一整个夏天
都酣睡在巴亚湾一座浮石岛外,
被澄澈的流水喧哗声催送入眠,
梦见了古代的楼台、塔堡和宫闱,
在强烈汹涌的波光里不住地抖颤,
全都长满了蔚蓝色苔藓和花卉,
馨香馥郁,如醉的知觉难以描摹。
全都长满了蔚蓝色苔藓和花卉,
馨香馥郁,如醉的知觉难以描摹。
哦,为了给你让路,大西洋水
豁然开裂,而在浩渺波澜深处,
海底花藻和枝叶无汁的淤泥丛林,
哦,由于把你的呼啸声辨认出,
一时都惨然变色,胆怵而心惊,
战栗着自行凋落;听,哦,听!

我若是一朵轻捷的浮云,能和你同飞,
我若是一片落叶,你所能提携,
我若是一头波浪,能喘息于你的神威,
分享你雄强的脉搏,自由不羁,
仅次于,哦,仅次于不可控制的你;
我若能像在少年时,作为伴侣,
随你同游天际,因为在那时节,
似乎超越你天界的神速也不为奇迹;
我也就不至于像现在这样急切,
向你苦苦祈求。哦,快把我飏起,
就像你起波浪、浮云、落叶!
我倾覆于人生的荆棘!我在流血!
岁月的重负压制着的这一个太像你,
像你一样,骄傲,不驯,而且敏捷。

像你以森林演奏,请也以我为琴,
哪怕我的叶片也像森林的一样凋谢!
你那非凡和谐的慷慨激越之情,
定能从森林和我同奏出深沉的秋乐,
悲怆却又甘冽。但愿你勇猛的精神
竟是我的魂魄,我能成为剽悍的你!
请把我枯萎的思绪向全宇宙播送,
就像你驱遣落叶催促新的生命,
请凭借我这单调有如咒语的韵文,
就像从未灭的余烬出炉灰和火星,
把我的话语传遍天地间万户千家,
通过我的嘴唇,向沉睡未醒的人境,
让预言的号角奏鸣!哦,风啊,
如果冬天来了,春天还会远吗?
1819年秋

Love’s Philosophy

I
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?—
II
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
1819

爱的哲学

一 出山的泉水与江河汇流,
江河又与海洋相通,
天空里风与风互相渗透,
融洽于甜蜜的深情。
万物遵循同一神圣法则,
在同一精神中会合;
世上一切都无独而有偶,
为什么你与我却否?
二 看高高的山峰亲吻蓝空,
浪和浪也相抱相拥,
姐妹花朵绝不会被宽容,
如果轻视她的弟兄;
灿烂的阳光抚抱着大地,
明丽月华亲吻海波,
那甜蜜的作为有何价值,
如果你,不亲吻我?
1819年

Time

Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality,
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea?
1821

时间

深不可测的海啊!岁月是你的波浪,
时间的大洋,充满深沉的辛酸,
人类眼泪的盐分已使得你咸涩难尝!
你浩淼苍茫的海水啊无边无沿,
起伏涨落的潮汐把握着人生的极限,
虽已腻于捕猎,却仍呼号求索无餍。
不断把沉船的残骸喷吐在它荒凉的岸上,
平静时胸怀叵测,风暴中恐怖猖狂。
啊,深不可测的海洋,
谁该在你的水面出航?
1821年

Song

I
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.
II
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free

Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
III
As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed;
Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.
IV
Let me set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure;
Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure;
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
V
I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.
VI
I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.
VII
I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good
Between thee and me
What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.
VIII
I love Love—though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee—
Thou art love and life! Oh, come,
Make once more my heart thy home.
1821

难啊,难得见到你的踪迹,
你欢乐的精灵!
你离开我已经是多少昼夜,
究竟是何原因?
已是多少令人厌倦的晨昏,
自你不辞而别,展翅远行?

像我这样的人该怎样才能
使你转意回心?
你但愿和逍遥欢快的人们
同把痛苦嘲讽;

你忘怀了一切人,却仅仅
把并不需要你的惦记在心。

像蜥蜴会受惊,由于看见
一片颤动的叶影,
见到烦恼,你会惶恐万端;
忧伤的叹息呻吟
谴责你,你却不会接近,
也听不见它谴责的声音。

且把我哀伤的歌曲转换上
欢乐的旋律音调;
你永远不会因怜悯而赏光,
却会为欢乐来到;
再让怜悯割去你残酷的双翼,
于是你将长留,无法离去。

我也热爱你所爱的一切,
你欢乐的精灵!
嫩叶乍吐时清新的大地,
星光下的夜景,
金色迷雾升起时的清晨,
和那秋日里的夕照黄昏。

我爱白雪,爱霜的一切
闪光的形态,
我爱天风、海浪和暴雨
我几乎热爱
自然的一切为人的不幸
未能玷污的事物和情景。

我爱恬静的幽居和隐遁,
我也爱结交些
文雅、明智、善良的人,
你我是否有别?
你却拥有我追求的一切,
虽然我爱他们不亚于爱你。

我爱爱情,尽管她有翅膀,
像光一样会逃遁;
但是,远在这一切之上,
我对你热爱最深——
你就是爱和生命!哦精灵,
请再一次,居留在我的内心。
1821年

Mutability

I

The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world's delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.

II

Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!

But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.

III

Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou—and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.
1821

无常

今天,花儿喜笑欢悦,
明天,就会凋谢;
我们希望长驻的一切,
诱惑,然后飞逸
什么是人世间的欢乐?
那是戏弄黑夜的电火,
像闪光一样短促。

美德,是多么脆弱!
友谊,何等难遇!
爱情以多么可怜的幸福
把骄傲的绝望换取!
它们和伴随它们的欢愉,
所谓“我们的”,转瞬逝去,
而生活还得继续。

趁此刻天光明媚湛蓝,
趁鲜花娇艳芳菲
趁眼前景色犹自变换,
白昼尚未向黑夜让位,
趁宁静时光缓缓流动:
你且入梦,再从梦中
醒来,醒来哭泣。
1821年

Remembrance


I

Swifter far than summer's flight—
Swifter far than youth's delight—
Swifter far than happy night,
Art thou come and gone—
As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.

II

The swallow summer comes again—
The owlet night resumes her reign—
But the wild-swan youth is fain
To fly with thee, false as thou.—
My heart each day desires the morrow;
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;
Vainly would my winter borrow
Sunny leaves from any bough.

III

Lilies for a bridal bed—
Roses for a matron's head—
Violets for a maiden dead—
Pansies let my
 flowers be:
On the living grave I bear
Scatter them without a tear—
Let no friend, however dear,
Waste one hope, one fear for me.
1821

远比青春的欢乐急促,
远比盛夏的行程迅速,
远比幸福的夜晚仓猝,
你来了,你又离去;
像木叶摇落后的大地,
像睡眠消逝后的黑夜,
像心灵被欢愉所遗弃,
我被留下独尝孤寂。

莺燕的夏会重复来归,
鸱枭的夜会再度逞威,
野天鹅的青春已远飞,
像你一样背信虚伪。
我的心日日盼望明天,
睡眠总是转化成忧烦,
借来阳光的枝叶装点
我的冬,终归徒然。

玫瑰为妇人额头开放——
百合献给新娘的喜榻——
紫罗兰哀悼少女夭亡——
三色堇就归于我吧,
把我生活的墓圹点缀,
不必洒一滴泪也无须
至爱的挚友为我浪费
一线希望,一丝忧虑。
1821年

To Jane: The Recollection

I

Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,
The loveliest and the last, is dead,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise!
Up,—to thy wonted work! come, trace
The epitaph of glory fled,—
For now the Earth has changed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

II

We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep
The smile of Heaven lay;
It seemed as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun
A light of Paradise.

III

We paused amid the pines that stood
The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude
As serpents interlaced;
And soothed by every azure breath,
That under Heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,
As tender as its own,
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep,
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be.

IV

How calm it was!—the silence there
By such a chain was bound
That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound
The inviolable quietness;
The breath of peace we drew
With its soft motion made not less
The calm that round us grew.
There seemed from the remotest seat
Of the white mountain waste,
To the soft flower beneath our feet,
A magic circle traced,—
A spirit interfused around,
A thrilling, silent life,—
To momentary peace it bound
Our mortal nature's strife;
And still I felt the centre of
The magic circle there
Was one fair form that filled with love
The lifeless atmosphere.

V

We paused beside the pools that lie
Under the forest bough,—
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky
Gulfed in a world below;
A firmament of purple light
Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,
And purer than the day—
In which the lovely forests grew,
As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue
Than any spreading there.
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,
And through the dark green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn
Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above
Can never well be seen,
Were imaged by the water's love
Of that fair forest green.
And all was interfused beneath
With an Elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,
A softer day below.
Like one beloved the scene had lent
To the dark water's breast,
Its every leaf and lineament
With more than truth expressed;
Until an envious wind crept by,
Like an unwelcome thought,
Which from the mind's too faithful eye
Blots one dear image out.
Though thou art ever fair and kind,
The forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind,
Than calm in waters, seen.
1822

致珍妮:回忆

现在多少个像你一样明媚
而俏丽的日子的最后一天,
最美最后的一天已经死亡,
起来,记忆,写下那赞美,
起来,做你惯做的工作去
撰写悼念已逝欢乐的文章,——
因为大地的脸色现已改变,
苍天的额头也是双眉紧蹙。

我们曾漫游到青松大森林,
松林外边的海面泡沫飞溅,
最轻的清风留在它的巢中,
暴风雨休息在自己的家园,
悄声絮语的波浪半睡半醒,
空中的浮云全都嬉戏去了,
而在大海深沉的宽阔胸襟
安详地躺卧着苍天的微笑;
这样的时刻仿佛来自天外,
被从遥远的天外派遣了来
从太阳之上的上空向世界
传播一种神圣乐园的光彩。

我们曾经停歇在松树之间,
苍松似巨人耸立荒原,
树身由于狂暴风雨的摧残
竟仿佛大蟒互相纠缠,
却得到蔚蓝色气息的抚慰,
那气息在蓝天下飘流,
吹拂着下界和谐的声与色,
像对自己的一样温柔;
这时所有的树梢都己睡熟,
像海面上绿色的波浪,
寂静无声就像在海洋深处
生长的海洋丛林一样。

有多么安详!那里的寂静
被这样一种魔力封住,
甚至啄木鸟忙碌的啄木声
也只能使神圣的静穆
显现得更加悠远更加深沉;
我们吸取轻悄移动的
平和气息,也并不曾减损
四周围一丝一毫安谧;
似乎,从那最遥远的积雪
白色高山的荒凉峰巅
直到我们脚下的鲜花绿叶,
有谁画了一个魔法圈;——
到处全都渗透着一种精神,
一种美妙的无声生命,——
它使我们人类本性的纷争
暂时封存、实现和平;
我还能感觉得到在那里的
那个魔法圈的正中心,
有一个美好的形体在用爱
充满周围沉闷的气氛。

我们曾停歇在一些池塘边,
池塘上都有枝干掩盖,——
一片池塘仿佛一小片蓝天
陷落在一个下部世界;
一片黑色土地里的另一种
苍穹,充满紫色光明,
比那无边的黑夜更加深沉,
比纯净的白昼更纯净;——
美丽的森林就生长在其内,
像生长在上方半空中,
颜色更悦目,形状更完美,
胜过那里的任何一种。
有林中甬道和邻近的草地,
阳光透过墨绿的树林
闪闪烁烁就像黎明的晨曦
透射出斑斑点点乌云。
在我们上部世界绝不可能
见到的那样一类美景
都被池塘中水对绿色森林
深情的爱所描绘成形。
一种理想世界的光辉,
那下面的一切全都浸透了
一种理想世界的光辉,
那里的氛围没有一丝轻风,
下面的日光更加妩媚。
仿佛被爱恋的一方把景色
给了池水幽暗的胸怀,
每一张叶片、每一种轮廓
都显得比真实更可爱;
直到一阵忌妒的轻风吹过,
就像一种可恶的思想,
从心灵最忠实准确的眼前
抹掉一个可爱的形象。
虽然你永远美好而且温柔,
那些森林也永世常青,
但是雪莱的心中难得会有
水中见到的那种宁静。
1822年

1795-John Keats

英国18世纪至19世纪的浪漫主义诗歌是以莎士比亚为代表的英国文艺复兴之后的又一文学高潮,是世界诗歌史上突出的亮点。文学史家认定英国浪漫主义诗歌以五大诗人为代表,他们是:华兹华斯(William Wordsworth, 1770—1850)、柯尔律治(Samuel T. Coleridge, 1772—1834)、拜伦(George G. Byron, 1788—1824)、雪莱(Percy B. Shelley, 1792—1822)、济慈(John Keats, 1795—1821)。20世纪后期,英国文学史家认为英国浪漫主义诗歌的主要成员还应加上布莱克(William Blake, 1757—1827),因此,这六人被称为英国浪漫主义诗歌之六巨擘,这已成为英诗界和读者广泛的共识。如果把被称为浪漫主义先驱的彭斯(Robert Burns, 1759—1796)也予以加盟,那么在世界诗歌的天空中,英国浪漫主义就是辉煌的“七姊妹星团”(Pleiades)。在这七颗亮星中,济慈出生最晚,生命最短,只活了25岁。但他的光越来越强,到今天,已超过了其他六颗星。

To a Friend who Sent Me Some Roses

朋友:指恰尔斯·韦尔斯(Charles Jeremiah Wells, 1800—1879),英国作家,

笔名叫 H. L. 霍华德(H. L. Howard),是济慈的弟弟托姆的同学。

他写过小说《仿照自然的故事》(1822),诗剧《约瑟和他的兄弟们:圣经故事剧本》

(1824),后者曾受到诗人罗塞蒂的称赞。

As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert, when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,5
A fresh-blown musk-rose. 'Twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer; graceful it grew
As is the wand that queen Titania wields.
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excelled.10
But when, O Wells! Thy roses came to me,
My sense with their deliciousness was spelled;
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled.
29th June 1816

给一位赠我以玫瑰的朋友

最近我在欢快的田野上漫步,
正逢云雀从葱翠的翘摇丛薮里
掀落颤动的露珠;冒险的骑士
把凹痕累累的盾牌重新高举;
我看到大自然把最美的野花献出:5
新开的麝香蔷薇,它迎着夏季
吐出最 早的甜香;它亭亭玉立,
像仙杖在提泰妮娅手中挥舞。
当我饱餐着它的芳馨的时刻,
我想它远远胜过园中的玫瑰:10
可是,韦尔斯!你的玫瑰给了我,
我的感官就迷醉于它们的甜美:
它们有亲切的嗓音,柔声地求索
平和,不渝的友谊,真理的光辉。

Sonnet—The Human Seasons

Four seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his summer, when luxuriously5
Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming nigh
His nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its autumn, when his wings
He furleth close, contented so to look10
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook;
He has his winter, too, of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
Mar. 1818

人的季节

一年之中,有四季来而复往;
人的心灵中,也有春夏秋冬:
他有蓬勃的春天,让天真的幻想
把天下美好的事物全抓到手中;
到了夏天,他喜欢对那初春5
年华的甜蜜思维仔细地追念,
沉湎在其中,这种梦使他紧紧
靠近了天国:他的灵魂在秋天
有宁静的小湾,这时候他把翅膀
收拢了起来;他十分满足、自在,10
醉眼蒙眬,尽让美丽的景象
像门前小河般流过,不去理睬。
他也有冬天,苍白,变了面形;
不然,他就超越了人的本性。

On Death

I

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.

II

How strange it is that man on earth should roam,5
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nor dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.
1814

I 生,若是梦,那么死,可是睡眠?
幸福的场景可是如幻影逝去?
瞬间的欢乐消失如烟云过眼,
我们却认为死是最大的痛苦。
II
多么奇怪呀,人在世上要流浪,5
要度过悲惨的一生,却不能抛开
一路的坎坷;也不敢大胆想一想
将来的死呵,只是从梦中醒来!

1806-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

伊丽莎白·巴雷特(Elizabeth Barrett)是19世纪英国著名女诗人,从小就显现了好学的天性和文学上的才能。蒲柏的荷马译本是她童年时代最好的伴侣。她读着希腊的史诗,有时候甚至忘了吃,忘了喝,晚上睡熟了,还在睡梦中和她崇拜的希腊英雄在一起。8岁的时候,就学着写诗了;14岁,“发表”四卷史诗(父亲特地给她印了50册私印本),模仿蒲柏译诗的格调,咏叹希腊的“马拉松战役”。

勃朗宁夫人十四行诗

XXI

Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem a "cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Belovèd, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, "Speak once more—thou lovest!" Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me—toll
The silver iterance!—only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.

21
请说了一遍,再向我说一遍,
说“我爱你!”即使那样一遍遍重复,
你会把它看成一支“布谷鸟的歌曲”;
可是记着,在那青山和绿林间,
那山谷和田野中,纵使清新的春天
披着全身绿装降临,也不算完美无缺,
要是她缺少了那串布谷鸟的音节。
爱,四周那么黑暗,耳边只听见
惊悸的心声,处于那痛苦的不安中,
我嚷道:“再说一遍:我爱你!”谁嫌
太多的星,即使每颗都在太空转动;
太多的花,即使每朵洋溢着春意?
说你爱我,你爱我,一声声敲着银钟!
只是记住,还得用灵魂爱我,在默默里。

XLIII

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

43
我是怎样地爱你?让我逐一细算。
我爱你尽我的心灵所能及到的
深邃、宽广和高度——正像我探求
玄冥中上帝的存在和深厚的神恩。
我爱你的程度,就像日光和烛焰下
那每天不用说得的需要。我不加思虑地
爱你,就像男子们为正义而斗争;
我纯洁地爱你,像他们在赞美前低头。
我爱你以我童年的信仰;我爱你
以满怀热情,就像往日满腔的辛酸;
我爱你,抵得上那似乎随着消失的圣者
而消逝的爱慕。我爱你以我终生的
呼吸、微笑和泪珠——假使是上帝的
意旨,那么,我死了我还要更加爱你!

XLIV

Belovèd, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through,
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!—take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.

44
亲爱的,你从一整个夏天到冬天,
都是从园子里采集了那么多花
送给我;而在这幽闭的小室里,它们
继续生长,仿佛并不缺少阳光和
雨水的滋养。那么同样地凭着
这爱的名义——那爱是属于我俩的,
也请收下了我的回敬;那在热天,
在冷天,发自我心田的情思的花朵。
不错,在我那园圃里确是长满着
野草和苦艾,有待于你来耘除;
可这儿也有白玫瑰,也有常春藤!
请收下吧,就像我惯常接受你的花。
好生地护养着,别让它褪落了颜色,
向你自己说,它们的根都埋在我的深心。

1809-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

1809年8月6日,阿尔弗雷德·丁尼生出生于英格兰林肯郡萨默斯比的教区长家庭,是十二个孩子中的老四,8到12岁在寄宿学校的经历不很愉快,此后的教育来自剑桥大学毕业并有藏书的父亲。据说父亲要他每晨诵读罗马诗人贺拉斯作品,直到四卷诗歌都背出。在此熏陶下,他自小爱好学习,敏于观察并有精细的韵律感。另一方面,他性情比较忧郁、腼腆、常怀戒心。

丁尼生时代的英国正经历剧变,在取代法国成为欧洲权力中心后大力向海外扩张,但人民灾难深重。在维多利亚时代早期(1837—1848),受苦的平民为实现“人民宪章”和争取选举权,爆发了宪章运动(1838—1848)。这形势让人想到内战和法国大革命,文学中较多社会抗议。但1848年到1870年经济较繁荣,劳苦大众处境有所改善,社会较稳定,人们转向精神方面,作家在科学与基督教信仰的冲突中寻求解答。到维多利亚后期(1870—1901),稳定又被打破,崛起的德国与美国对英国形成挑战。而英国1873—1874年经济危机,使人们在社会问题前退却,或转向艺术追求,或沉湎于拜伦式的寻欢作乐。人们之间的经济关系空前复杂,原有的道德观越来越没有市场。

Claribel

A Melody

Where Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die,
Letting the rose-leaves fall;
But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
With an ancient melody
Of an inward agony,
Where Claribel low-lieth.

At eve the beetle boometh
Athwart the thicket lone;
At noon the wild bee hummeth
About the moss'd headstone;
At midnight the moon cometh,
And looketh down alone.
Her song the lintwhite swelleth,
The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,
The callow throstle lispeth,
The slumbrous wave outwelleth,
The babbling runnel crispeth,
The hollow grot replieth
Where Claribel low-lieth.

克拉丽

一支曲调

在克拉丽的长眠地,
停息的微风已死亡,
玫瑰花飘落了花瓣;
芬芳的橡树枝叶密,
庄严肃穆地在悲叹;
这悲叹是古老歌唱,
唱出它内心的哀伤——
在克拉丽的长眠地。

傍晚时嗡嗡的甲虫
飞过了僻静矮树丛;
中午时野蜂营营飞,
傍着长青苔的墓碑;
夜半时月亮升天上,
孤零零朝下界凝望。
这里有红雀在啭鸣,
有歌鸫频频发清音,
有小小画眉学啼叫,
有阵阵昏沉波浪声;
而深深的孔穴洞窖
应答着汩汩的小溪——
在克拉丽的长眠地。

Leonine Elegiacs

Low-flowing breezes are roaming the broad valley dimm'd in the gloaming;
Thoro' the black-stemm'd pines only the far river shines.
Creeping thro' blossomy rushes and bowers of rose-blowing bushes,
Down by the poplar tall rivulets babble and fall.
Barketh the shepherd-dog cheerly; the grasshopper carolleth clearly;
Deeply the wood-dove coos; shrilly the owlet halloos;
Winds creep; dews fall chilly: in her first sleep earth breathes stilly:
Over the pools in the burn water-gnats murmur and mourn.
Sadly the far kine loweth; the glimmering water outfloweth;
Twin peaks shadow'd with pine slope to the dark hyaline.
Low-throned Hesper is stayed between the two peaks; but the Naiad
Throbbing in mild unrest holds him beneath in her breast.
The ancient poetess singeth that Hesperus all things bringeth,
Smoothing the wearied mind: bring me my love, Rosalind.
Thou comest morning or even; she cometh not morning or even.
False-eyed Hesper, unkind, where is my sweet Rosalind?

利奥体挽歌

暗去的宽阔山谷中,微风低低地在吹动;
枝干黑苍苍的松树间,只见远处波光闪。
小河淌过高高的白杨,潺潺地朝下流淌,
漫过灯心草花丛,漫进蔷薇花的花荫中。
牧羊狗的吠声欢愉,蝈蝈儿啼唱着清曲,
野鸽子低声在咕咕,小猫头鹰尖声号呼。
柔风吹落凉露滴,初眠中大地轻轻呼吸;
溪水淌过的小潭上,飞虫群嗡嗡嗡哀唱。
哞哞牛叫声悲而远,盈盈的水波多潋滟,
被松林遮暗的双峰,耸向黯淡了的碧空。
金星低回在双峰间君临一切,但女河仙
凭微微忐忑的激动,搂他在水下的怀中。
那古代女诗家爱唱:他把万物带到世上,
来安慰疲惫的心;请带来我爱人罗莎琳。
你清晨黄昏总出现,但她晨昏时总不见。
有眼无珠的凶金星,哪里是我的罗莎琳?

The Poet

The poet in a golden clime was born,
With golden stars above;
Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
The love of love.

He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill,
He saw thro' his own soul.
The marvel of the everlasting will,
An open scroll,

Before him lay; with echoing feet he threaded
The secretest walks of fame:
The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed
And wing'd with flame,

Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue,
And of so fierce a flight,
From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung,
Filling with light

And vagrant melodies the winds which bore
Them earthward till they lit;
Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower,
The fruitful wit

Cleaving took root, and springing forth anew
Where'er they fell, behold,
Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew
A flower all gold,

And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling
The winged shafts of truth,
To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring
Of Hope and Youth.

So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
Tho' one did fling the fire;
Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams
Of high desire.

Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world
Like one great garden show'd,
And thro' the wreaths of floating dark up-curl'd,
Rare sunrise flow'd.

And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise
Her beautiful bold brow,
When rites and forms before his burning eyes
Melted like snow.

There was no blood upon her maiden robes
Sunn'd by those orient skies;
But round about the circles of the globes
Of her keen eyes

And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame
Wisdom, a name to shake
All evil dreams of power — a sacred name.
And when she spake,

Her words did gather thunder as they ran,
And as the lightning to the thunder
Which follows it, riving the spirit of man,
Making earth wonder,

So was their meaning to her words. No sword
Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,
But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word
She shook the world.

诗人
诗人在一片金色的地方诞生,
天上是金色的星星;
他天生有对爱的爱、对恨的恨、
对嘲弄的嘲弄。

他已看穿了善恶,看穿了生死,
自己的灵魂也看穿。
那种永世长存的奇妙的意志
像展开的文卷

摊在他面前:他发回声的脚步
穿行在声誉的秘径,
他的思想有火的翅膀和箭镞,
这种箭虽无形,

一从他的银舌芦笛般地射出,
便迅猛异常地飞去,
挟着歌声从卡尔琵飞到高加索,
把飘忽的乐曲

和光明注满了运载它们的风,
一直到它们着了地;
随后,像田间野葩的四飞花种,
这丰硕的才智

穿空而行并在落地处扎下根,
又重新爆出了嫩芽,
你看,长得就像是原先的母本,
又开出金色花,

然后向四周提供那真理之箭,
让它们凭箭羽飞翔,
又让充满希望和生机的春天
把繁花开个畅。

多少种头脑能够使眼睛有神,
有一种使之带火光。
苍天对他的灵魂注入多少梦——
哦崇高的理想。

这样,真理就成倍成倍地繁茂,
世界便像个大花圃,
而透过浮荡夜色的团团笼罩,
是罕见的日出。

庄严的日出中,自由女神竖起
美丽又无畏的双眉,
这时诗人的火眼前,惯例虚礼
都像雪化为水。

东方曙光照耀那童贞的女神,
她袍上没一点血污;
但是瞧她那一双犀利的眼睛,
围绕着她眼珠,

还有她裙子边也带智慧之火——
智慧是神圣的名字,
能够把梦想权力的恶念攻破。
而当她说话时,

她那滔滔的话语积聚起风雷;
像闪电同雷的关系,
总先闪后劈,撕扯开人的思维,
叫大地也惊奇;

同样,她的话也有这样的意义,
她不挥愤怒的刀剑,
只拿可怜诗人的诗卷,凭这诗
她震撼这人间。

Mine Be the Strength of Spirit

Mine be the strength of spirit, full and free,
Like some broad river rushing down alone,
With the selfsame impulse wherewith he was thrown
From his loud fount upon the echoing lea; —
Which with increasing might doth forward flee
By town, and tower, and hill, and cape, and isle,
And in the middle of the green salt sea
Keeps his blue waters fresh for many a mile.
Mine be the power which ever to its sway
Will win the wise at once, and by degrees
May into uncongenial spirits flow;
Even as the warm gulf-stream of Florida
Floats far away into the Northern seas
The lavish growths of southern Mexico.

愿我精神的力量

愿我精神的力量充沛而自由,
像一条大江独自奔腾向前方;
凭着自始至终推动它的力量,
从响着喧嚣回声的草地源头
越来越浩荡地流过城堡塔楼,
流过城镇和山丘、海角和岛屿,
最后,它蓝蓝的水方圆好多里
仍在碧绿的咸水中清冽可口。
愿我永远能够有一种影响力,
能立即赢得智者,能逐步逐步
进入志趣相异者的思维之中;
就像是佛罗里达温暖的湾流
挟着墨西哥南部丰饶的天物,
往北方诸海的遥远深处漂送。

Choric Song


There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep,
And thro' the moss the ivies creep,
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.



Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness,
And utterly consumed with sharp distress,
While all things else have rest from weariness?
All things have rest: why should we toil alone,
We only toil, who are the first of things,
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown;
Nor ever fold our wings,
And cease from wanderings,
Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm;
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,
'There is no joy but calm!' —
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?



Lo! in the middle of the wood,
The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow
Falls, and floats adown the air.
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light,
The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,
Drops in a silent autumn night.
All its allotted length of days
The flower ripens in its place,
Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,
Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.



Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labor be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence — ripen, fall and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.



How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,
With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream!
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light,
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;
To hear each other's whisper'd speech;
Eating the Lotos day by day,
To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
And tender curving lines of creamy spray;
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory,
With those old faces of our infancy
Heap'd over with a mound of grass,
Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!

Dear is the memory of our wedded lives,
And dear the last embraces of our wives
And their warm tears; but all hath suffer'd change;
For surely now our household hearths are cold,
Our sons inherit us, our looks are strange,
And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy.
Or else the island princes over-bold
Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings
Before them of the ten years' war in Troy,
And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things.
Is there confusion in the little isle?
Let what is broken so remain.
The Gods are hard to reconcile;
'T is hard to settle order once again.
There is confusion worse than death,
Trouble on trouble, pain on pain,
Long labor unto aged breath,
Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars
And eyes grow dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.

But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly,
How sweet — while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly —
With half-dropt eyelid still,
Beneath a heaven dark and holy,
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly
His waters from the purple hill —
To hear the dewy echoes calling
From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine —
To watch the emerald-color'd water falling
Thro' many a woven acanthus-wreath divine!
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine,
Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine.

The Lotos blooms below the barren peak,
The Lotos blows by every winding creek;
All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone;
Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone
Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown.
We have had enough of action, and of motion we,
Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free,
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea.
Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world;
Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands,
Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,
Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships and praying hands.
But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song
Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong,
Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong;
Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil,
Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil,
Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil;
Till they perish and they suffer — some, 't is whisper'd — down in hell
Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell,
Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel.
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

合唱

这里有甜美的音乐轻轻飘降,
轻过玫瑰花花瓣飘落在草地,
轻过在峭壁间的静静水面上、
在隐隐闪烁岩石上降下露滴,
这种音乐轻柔地抚慰着心灵,
轻过困倦的眼睑盖上困倦的眼睛;
它从极乐的天堂带来甜美的睡梦。
这里有凉滋滋厚厚苔藓,
有常春藤在苔藓上爬遍,
有叶瓣长长的花滴泪在溪涧,
还有酣睡的罂粟花在巉岩上倒悬。

为什么我们得一直压着重负,
把自己完全消耗于千辛万苦——
而其他万物困了可休息恢复?
万物有休息,为何单是我们干?
单是我们干!我们是万物之灵,
却落得永远都在哀叹,
在悲愁困苦中被抛弄个没完;
永远都不能收拢翅膀,
都不能停止漂泊流浪,
眉头得不到酣睡的圣洁抚慰;
也永远不听自己内心的歌声,
“唯有安宁是欢乐!”
辛苦的为何单单是万物之首的我们?

看哪!轻风吹拂在林中树枝上,
逗引闭着的叶瓣,催嫩芽绽放;
这嫩芽自在沐浴着午间阳光,
在月华之下蒙受夜露的滋养,
直长到色泽碧绿、叶面宽阔;
随后它变得枯黄而渐渐凋落,
飘飘荡荡地从空中落到地上。
看哪!被夏日阳光催甜的苹果
饱含甘汁,长得滚圆熟透,
然后在寂静的秋夜坠落。
在天赐的全部时日里,
花把根扎往肥沃的泥,
在那里开放、枯萎、凋落,
全不受漂泊之苦。

天穹笼罩着深蓝色海洋,
可恨的是这深蓝色天穹。
生命的终点既然是死亡,
为何生活中忙不停?
让我们自在些!时光在向前奔流,
没多久,我们的嘴便喑哑无声。
让我们自在些!世上什么能久留?
我们的一切都会被取走,会变成
可怕“往昔”中零零星星的部分。
让我们自在些!我们对邪恶斗争
有什么乐趣?到翻腾的波涛上
去翻腾个不停,能有什么安宁?
万物有休息,成熟后默默死亡:
成熟、凋落、结束;但愿给我们
长久的安息,那种昏黑的死亡或悠悠闲梦。

能听着河水流淌将有多甜美。
半合着双眼,蒙眬中入睡,
睡在半醒半梦的境界内!
流连在梦中,像那琥珀色夕照
不愿离开高处的那一丛没药;
还听着彼此间细语轻言;
一天又一天享受着莲子,
凝望着漫上沙滩的涟波漪澜
和一带弯弯的浪沫有如凝脂;
我们整个的心灵全将奉献于
淡淡萦绕在心头的一缕愁绪;
再一次生活在沉思默想的回忆中,
而我们童年时代相熟的面容
成了铜瓮里的一捧白灰——
上面还压着一个青草萋萋的土堆!

回忆中,我们婚姻生活多亲切,
妻子的临别拥抱和温暖泪滴
多亲切;但是这一切都已改变。
因为家庭的炉灶准已经冷却,
儿辈接替了面目全非的我们,
我们一去就会像扫兴的鬼魂。
要不,就是些放肆的岛国之君
吞没了我们家财,而行吟诗人
为他们唱着特洛伊十年战争
和我们半被遗忘的伟大功业。
小小的岛上如今有没有纷乱?
已经破灭的就任其破灭。
天神们的旨意难以改变;
也难以重建原先的秩序。
有一些纷乱比死还不如:
磨难接磨难,痛苦叠痛苦;
长期的劳累已年老气促,
盯视导航星的眼睛已经昏花,
征战使心灵疲乏;重负怎还担得下!

但是,躺卧在奇花异草的床上,
让暖风轻轻把我们送入梦乡,
这时,静静地半合上眼睛多美——
在一片神圣幽暗的天空下方,
凝望明晃晃的长河缓缓流淌,
淌着的是紫莹莹山麓来的水;
听着密密野藤后的岩洞之间
沾水带露的回声在荡漾——
望着被映成翡翠一般的清泉
穿过爵床的繁茂叶瓣而飞降!
只要听听和看看远处的海波闪闪——
摊睡在松树下,光是听听该有多舒坦。

枣莲在光秃秃的山峰下绽放,
枣莲开放在条条蜿蜒溪流旁,
风的声息整天里越吹越柔润;
在冷清的小路和空荡荡岩洞,
在香喷喷丘原,黄澄澄枣莲花粉随风飘送。
我们已经受够了操劳和漂泊的熬煎,
被恣意汹涌的浪涛掀到右舷又掀到左舷,
而在那海水里翻滚的怪兽噀着泡沫喷泉。
让我们一同起誓,今后要始终不渝:
要住在这个处处是枣莲的山谷里,
就像天神躺在山上不操心人间事。
因为他们在琼浆边躺着,却把雷电
抛向下界的山谷,他们那金色宫殿
有云彩缭绕,围着星光闪熠的长天。
他们在那里俯视着荒原,暗自发笑;
只见灾荒饥馑、瘟疫地震、沙漠火热、海洋咆哮,
只见刀兵相击、城镇火起、深海沉船、合手祈祷。
但他们微笑,他们听出哀歌裹着音乐升腾而起,
这悲啼哀号,是诉说人类冤屈的古老故事,
这故事虽情真辞切,他们听来却毫无意义;
唱歌的是受虐待的人类,他们犁田开沟,
撒下种子,凭坚持不懈的辛劳换来丰收,
每年收小小一份麦子、葡萄酒、橄榄油;
直到去世,有些人据说还得下地狱受苦,
受无尽的苦,而另一些人住埃律西昂谷;
终于在常春花床上歇歇累透的手和足。
错不了,错不了,酣睡远比劳作甜美,在岸上
远远胜过在深海大洋凭着木桨斗风浪;
休息吧,水手兄弟们,我们不愿再漂泊四方。

You Ask Me

You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,
Whose spirits falter in the mist,
And languish for the purple seas.

It is the land that freemen till,
That sober-suited Freedom chose,
The land, where girt with friends or foes
A man may speak the thing he will;

A land of settled government,
A land of just and old renown,
Where Freedom slowly broadens down
From precedent to precedent;

Where faction seldom gathers head,
But, by degrees to fullness wrought,
The strength of some diffusive thought
Hath time and space to work and spread.

Should banded unions persecute
Opinion, and induce a time
When single thought is civil crime,
And individual freedom mute,

Tho' power should make from land to land
The name of Britain trebly great —
Tho' every channel of the State
Should fill and choke with golden sand —

Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die
The palms and temples of the South.

你问我

你问我,既然感到不自在,
为什么继续生活在这里,
精神上既感到犹豫迷离,
又苦苦想望紫莹莹的海。

这是自由人耕作的土地,
为冷静的自由女神选中,
这里的人虽在敌友之中,
要说话却可按自己心意;

这里自古有公正和美名,
有个稳定的政府在治理,
凭着一个又一个的先例,
自由慢慢地扩展到下层;

在这里内讧难得能溃发,
而易为普遍接受的思想
能渐渐改进并获得力量,
有时间空间去发扬光大。

抱团的帮派倘压制舆论,
要造成一种时代的格局——
有独特思想便违禁犯律,
而个人的自由不得出声,

那么,权势纵能在普天下
把不列颠之名扩大三倍——
任这国家的每一条血脉
全都充满了塞满了金沙——

那就快把我吹离这港口,
狂风!我要寻较暖的天气,
要看到南方的寺院、棕榈,
在我还没有死去的时候。

Tithonus

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapors weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality
Consumes; I wither slowly in thine arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,
A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream
The ever-silent spaces of the East,
Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.

Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man —
So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,
Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd
To his great heart none other than a God!
I ask'd thee, 'Give me immortality.'
Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,
Like wealthy men who care not how they give.
But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills,

And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me,
And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd
To dwell in presence of immortal youth,
Immortal age beside immortal youth,
And all I was in ashes. Can thy love,
Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now,
Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,
Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears
To hear me? Let me go; take back thy gift.
Why should a man desire in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men,
Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance
Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?

A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes
A glimpse of that dark world where I was born.
Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals
From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,
And bosom beating with a heart renew'd.
Thy cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom,
Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,
Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team
Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,
And shake the darkness from their loosen'd manes,
And beat the twilight into flakes of fire.
Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful
In silence, then before thine answer given
Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek.

Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,
And make me tremble lest a saying learnt,
In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true?
'The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.'

Ay me! ay me! with what another heart
In days far-off, and with what other eyes
I used to watch — if I be he that watch'd —
The lucid outline forming round thee; saw
The dim curls kindle into sunny rings;
Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood
Glow with the glow that slowly crimson'd all
Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay,
Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm
With kisses balmier than half-opening buds
Of April, and could hear the lips that kiss'd
Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet,
Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing,
While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.

Yet hold me not for ever in thine East;
How can my nature longer mix with thine?
Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold
Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet
Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam
Floats up from those dim fields about the homes
Of happy men that have the power to die,
And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
Release me, and restore me to the ground.
Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave;
Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn,
I earth in earth forget these empty courts,
And thee returning on thy silver wheels.

提托诺斯

树木会凋零,树木凋零了会倒下,
水汽会哭泣,把重负卸落到大地;
人会来耕地,然后会躺在了地下;
活过了许多个春秋,天鹅会死去。
只有我,却得受永生的残酷折磨:
在你的怀抱中,我慢慢干枯凋萎;
在这里,在这个世界的寂静边沿,
我成了白发的幽灵,梦幻一般地
徘徊在这永远宁静的东方太虚,
在远远层雾与晨曦的穹隆之中。

唉!这个白发幽灵啊,一度是个人——
曾因他的美和你的倾心而荣耀,
你选中了他,这使他满心地自豪,
竟然把自己也看做是一位天神!
我曾经向你央求过,“请给我永生。”
于是,你微笑着成全了我的请求,
像个富豪,毫不在乎地给予施舍。
但是这激怒了坚定的时序女神,

便一意作法,把我损害、糟蹋、弄垮;
她们虽不能置我于死地,却让我
以残弱之躯陪伴你永恒的青春,
使永恒的衰老衬托永恒的青春,
我过去的一切已经成灰。你的爱、
你的美,能不能作补偿?尽管此刻,
为你开道的银星在我们的头上
照亮着你眼睛,那因为听我说话
而颤动着泪光的眼睛。让我去吧,
收回你厚赠。既然是凡人,为什么
偏要和一样是人的同类不一样?
在那个命定的终点,人人得止步,
因为这最为合适;为什么要超越?

轻柔的风拂开云,我瞥到了一眼
我出生的那个世界正在夜色中。
那古老玄妙的微光,再一次从你
纯洁的额头、双肩和胸膛幽幽地
洒出,那胸中跳动着休憩后的心。
你的面颊已开始在幽暗中泛红,
你的柔眼在我眼前慢慢地明亮,
这将使众星黯淡;而你的那几匹
恋主的烈马,早盼着套上你车驾,
一腾身,把夜色甩落披散的鬃毛,
把熹微的曙色踏碎成点点火光。
看哪!你每天就这样默默地变美,
随后,你没有给我个回答便出发,
把你的泪水留在了我的面颊上。

为什么你总是让泪水使我害怕,
使我颤抖?怕的是遥远的往日里
在黢黑大地上听到的话是事实:
“即便是神,也收不回他们的馈赠。”

我呀,在那遥远的往日里,我曾以
怎样的心情、怎样的眼光注视你——
倘若,我真就是当年那凝眸的人——
注视你光辉的轮廓渐渐地清晰;
看朦胧的卷云点燃成日晖光环;
随你神妙的变化而变化,随着你
和你那门庭被热焰慢慢地染红,
而躺着的我感觉到血渐渐沸腾,
我的嘴、额头、眼睑感到露的温润,
因为那些吻比半开的四月蓓蕾
还芬芳,我还能听见吻我的双唇
轻吐出不知为何的炽烈和甜蜜,
就像听见了阿波罗的神奇歌声——
歌声中,伊利昂城堡雾一般升起。
可不要永远地留我在你的东方:
以你我的天性怎能再长相厮守?
你玫瑰色的暗影冷冷地浸着我,
你的光也一片凉意,我枯皱的脚
踏着你蒙蒙亮的门槛只觉得冷,
而这时,从那些隐约的家园,那些
有幸能死亡之人的家园,从更加
幸运的死亡者青冢,飘浮起雾气。
请放我走吧,就把我归还给大地!
你看得见一切,也将看见我的墓。
每一个早晨,你都将更新你的美;
我化为尘土,将忘却这空荡天宫,
也忘却驾银灰色轻车回程的你。

The Eagle

(Fragment)

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

(断片)
他拳曲的爪子抓着巉岩;
荒原上的太阳在他身边,
他站在蔚蓝世界的中间。
蠕动的皱海面就在下方;
他在那山崖绝壁上凝望,
霎时像一道霹雳自天降。

From In Memoriam A. H. H.

II

Old yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the underlying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.

The seasons bring the flower again,
And bring the firstling to the flock;
And in the dusk of thee the clock
Beats out the little lives of men.

O, not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale,
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom;

And gazing on thee, sullen tree,
Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,
I seem to fail from out my blood
And grow incorporate into thee.

广袤的土地令我们惬意,
我们俩走着那里的小路,
美好的四年里起起伏伏,
历经了多少回花时雪季;

一路上我们喜洋洋唱歌,
享受着时令提供的一切,
从四月前往另一个四月,
从五月到五月满心欢乐。

但在第五个秋日坡道上,
我们走的路已开始倾斜,
当我们随希望之神走下,
可怕的死神却坐在前方;

他拆散我们真挚的友情,
把他冷冰冰黑大氅一摊,
把你在其中裹成了一团,
闷得你咕哝声变低变轻。

他带你去看不见的地方,
我虽走得急也跟不上他,
心里在想,他也许已坐下——
等待着我,在某处荒原上。

XCI

When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush,
Or underneath the barren bush
Flits by the sea-blue bird of March;

Come, wear the form by which I know
Thy spirit in time among thy peers;
The hope of unaccomplish'd years
Be large and lucid round thy brow.

When summer's hourly-mellowing change
May breathe, with many roses sweet,
Upon the thousand waves of wheat
That ripple round the lonely grange,

Come; not in watches of the night,
But where the sunbeam broodeth warm,
Come, beauteous in thine after form,
And like a finer light in light.

九一

趁落叶松长出红红针叶,
高飞的画眉啼啭得奇妙;
趁这种三月的海蓝之鸟
在光秃的灌木丛间飞掠;

来吧,让你的外貌能使我
从你同类中认出你灵魂;
让你对未竟之年的憧憬
在额头的四周又亮又阔。

当夏日正时刻变得丰美,
把多少玫瑰的郁郁馨香
送往微风中的千重麦浪——
起伏在孤零零田庄周围,

来吧;别在上更的夜间来,
挑日光暖洋洋普照之时
来吧,就凭你身后的英姿,
在光明之中更显出光彩。

XCIX

Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,
So loud with voices of the birds,
So thick with lowings of the herds,
Day, when I lost the flower of men;

Who tremblest thro' thy darkling red
On yon swollen brook that bubbles fast
By meadows breathing of the past,
And woodlands holy to the dead;

Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves
A song that slights the coming care,
And Autumn laying here and there
A fiery finger on the leaves;

Who wakenest with thy balmy breath
To myriads on the genial earth,
Memories of bridal, or of birth,
And unto myriads more, of death.

九九

鸟啼得高亢,牛叫得低哑,
朦胧的曙色,你呀又一次
就这样引进了这个日子——
在这天,我失去人间之花;

你透过幽幽的红光颤动,
映在湍急的涨水小河上——
它流过吐露往事的草场,
流过死者曾赞赏的树林;

你不顾将会到来的忧虑,
不顾秋日火焰般的手指
点上一处又一处的叶子,
却在繁枝密叶中哼小曲;

你温馨的气息勾醒往事,
叫温暖大地上万千居民
回忆起婚礼或人的诞生,

但也使更多的人想到死。

在昏昏沉睡的两极之间,
那些不认识我的人无论
在哪里,今天也算我亲人,
因为都同我一起在悼念。

CVI

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

一○六

敲吧,骤急的钟,敲向骤雪,
敲向飞云和亮闪闪的霜;
旧岁正在这夜色中消亡,
敲吧,骤急的钟,让其殒灭。

敲吧,敲走旧的,敲来新的,
让欢乐的钟声穿霜度雪;
旧岁在离去,就让它离去,
敲吧,敲走假的,敲来真的。

敲吧,敲走为逝者而悲愁,
敲走使心灵枯皱的酸辛;
敲走贫富间的新仇旧恨,
敲吧,为全人类敲来补救。

敲吧,敲走快死亡的宗旨
和古来的种种党同伐异;
敲来更好的法律和风习,
敲来较高尚的生活方式。

敲走匮乏和焦虑和罪恶,
敲走旧时代的冷酷不义;
敲吧,敲走我的哀诗悲词,
但要敲来较全面的歌者。

敲走权位和血统的虚荣,
市井的恶意中伤和奸狯;
敲来对真理和正义的爱,
敲来普天下对善的尊奉。

敲走旧日的恶疾与弊病,
敲走对黄金的一意追求;
敲走往昔的千百次战斗,
敲来一千年的人间和平。

敲来勇敢而豪爽的人物,
心胸更博大,手下较温存;
敲走大地上夜色黑沉沉,
敲来将重临世界的基督。

CXV

Now fades the last long streak of snow,
Now burgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen roots the violets blow.

Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drown'd in yonder living blue
The lark becomes a sightless song.

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail
On winding stream or distant sea;

Where now the seamew pipes, or dives
In yonder greening gleam, and fly
The happy birds, that change their sky
To build and brood, that live their lives

From land to land; and in my breast
Spring wakens too, and my regret
Becomes an April violet,
And buds and blossoms like the rest.

一一五

现在最后的积雪已融化,
一道道山楂树篱像幽径
傍着田野爆嫩芽,紫香堇
在梣树的根边密密开花。

现在林地里终日在鸣响,
远景添上了秀美的色泽,
云雀在盈盈蓝天中隐没,
成了视界外的一曲歌唱。

现在阳光舞动在牧草上,
山谷里羊群更显得洁白,
一张张白帆白得胜牛奶——
扬在远海和蜿蜒江河上;

现在海上的飞鸥在尖叫,
在绿闪闪的波光中扎下;
有些幸福的鸟四海为家,
就飞往另一方天下筑巢

和繁衍;于是我的心坎上
春天也苏醒,而我的抱恨
变成了一株四月紫香堇,
同万物一样爆芽和绽放。

CXXIII

There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars hath been
The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho' my lips may breathe adieu,
I cannot think the thing farewell.

一二三

如今的深海从前是树林。
大地呀,你见过多少变迁!
如今这喧闹长街,在从前
曾经是寂静大海的中心。

山丘无非是影子,其形态
变了又变,没什么能永恒;
坚实的大地雾一般消融,
就像云变幻一番又飘开。

但我愿沉浸在我心绪里,
任自己梦想,把梦当现实;
因为我虽能吐出告别辞,
却不能认为这便是分离。

CXXX

Thy voice is on the rolling air;
I hear thee where the waters run;
Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.

What art thou then? I cannot guess;
But tho' I seem in star and flower
To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less.

My love involves the love before;
My love is vaster passion now;
Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou,
I seem to love thee more and more.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh;
I have thee still, and I rejoice;
I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho' I die.

一三○

你的嗓音在滚滚空气中,
在流水声里我也听到你;
你在升起的太阳中屹立,
落日里有你美好的姿容。

如今你是什么我猜不到;
我虽仿佛在花和星星上
感到你散播的某种力量,
对你的爱不因此而减少。

我的爱包含了往日之恋,
如今更变成博大的深情;
你虽同上帝和自然相混,
我对你的爱像有增无减。

你虽远去却同我在一起;
仍能拥有你让我很高兴,
又因你话音缭绕而昌盛,
即便死去再不会失去你。

From The Brook


I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

* * * * *

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

* * * * *

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silver water-break
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

* * * * *

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars,
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

小溪(选段)

我来自鹬和鹭的栖息地,
忽然间就奔突而出;
就淌出了蕨丛,闪闪熠熠,
潺潺地淌下了山谷。

我匆匆流经三十座山包,
悄悄在山梁间溜过,
经过一个小镇、五十座桥,
还有二十来个村落。

最后我流经腓利的农庄,
去汇入涨水的河流;
尽管人们既有来又有往,
我永远向前不回头。

* * * * *

我在岩石上决决地淌过,
轻轻的声音尖又颤;
我汩汩流入湾中的旋涡,
淙淙在块块卵石间。

我曲曲折折流过了田野
和突在河中的耕地,
任它种着锦葵和千屈菜,
我却冲刷着岸边泥。

我咕咕噜噜一路上流淌,
去汇入涨水的河流;
尽管人们既能来又能往,
我永远向前不回头。

* * * * *

我绕进绕出,弯来又穹去,
有时载着花缓缓流,
时不时见到活灵的鳟鱼,
而茴鱼也在到处游。

有时在这儿,有时在那里,
我带着水花和水沫,
托住了一片银色的涟漪,
在金色沙砾上流过。

我携带着它们一起流淌,
去汇入涨水的河流;
尽管人们既能来又能往,
我永远向前不回头。

* * * * *

我在萋萋的草地边溜过,
滑过密密的榛树丛;
为有情人而生的勿忘我,
我经过时把它推动。

滑行在掠水飞的燕子间,
我忽明忽暗在流淌;
我叫筛落的日光舞蹁跹——
舞在我清浅河床上。

我咕哝在月亮和星星下,
在荆棘丛生野地间;
挡路的大石让我歇一霎,
水芹的周围我流连。

但我拐个弯又往前流淌,
去汇入涨水的河流;
尽管人们既能来又能往,
我永远向前不回头。

The Flower

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
Thro' my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night;

Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
'Splendid is the flower.'

Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now
For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.

我曾在金玉般时刻
朝地上把种子撒下。
人说长的是草一棵,
然而那却是一株花。

在我茂盛的花园里,
他们来回走来回走,
嘴里咕哝着不满意,
既把我又把花诅咒。

以后这株花就长高,
开出的花朵好光彩;
但夜里来了贼强盗——
偷种子翻出了墙外。

这种子流传到四方,
在处处城镇里播下,
赢得了人们的赞扬:
“多么绚丽的花朵呀!”

人若能跑动和吟诵,
就念念我这小寓言。
这花多数人已能种,
因为它种子遍人间。

可花儿有些开得美,
有些却开得并不妙;
到如今人们又改嘴,
说它只不过是野草。

The Oak

Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;

Summer-rich
Then; and then
Autumn-changed,
Soberer-hued
Gold again.

All his leaves
Fallen at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough,
Naked strength.

橡树

少年和老汉,
让你们一生
学学那橡树:
入春它焕发,
活像一树金;

接着是夏日,
它郁郁苍苍;
秋来它就变,
色泽转沉静,
又变成金黄。

满树枯焦叶,
终于都落地;
瞧它兀立着:
树干和树枝
是裸露的力。

Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

过沙洲,见领航

夕阳坠,晚星出,
一个呼声唤我多清楚!
当我出海去,
河口沙洲莫悲哭。

海深邃,洋空阔,
潮来海洋总须回头流;
满潮水悠悠,
流水似睡静无皱。

暮色降,晓钟起,
钟声之后便是幽幽夜!
当我登船去,
别离时分莫哽咽。

尘世小,人生短,
这潮却能载我去远方;
过了沙洲后,
但愿当面见领航。

1809-Edgar Allan Poe

爱伦·坡(Edgar Allan Poe, 1809—1849)被世人尊为侦探小说的鼻祖、科幻小说的先驱和恐怖小说大师,但他的文学生涯却是始于诗歌并终于诗歌,而且他也首先把自己视为一名诗人。他一生共出版了4本诗集,它们是《帖木儿及其他诗》(1827)、《阿尔阿拉夫、帖木儿及小诗》(1829)、《诗集》(1831)和《乌鸦及其他诗》(1845)。

“To Octavia”

When wit, and wine, and friends have met
And laughter crowns the festive hour
In vain I struggle to forget
Still does my heart confess thy power
And fondly turn to thee!

But Octavia, do not strive to rob
My heart, of all that soothes its pain
The mournful hope that every throb
Will make it break for thee!
(1827)

“致奥克塔维娅”

当智慧、美酒、朋友们相逢
当朗朗笑声把欢乐时光充溢
我的试图忘却仍徒然落空
我的心仍在坦露你的魅力
依然深情地把你追随!

但奥克塔维娅,千万别夺光
能减轻我心儿痛苦的一切
每一次搏动的悲哀的希望
都会使我心为你而破碎!
(1827)

Evening Star

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gaz'd awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold—too cold for me—
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turn'd away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heav'n at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
(1827)

金 星

那是在仲夏之夜,
是在夜半的时分;
星星闪烁着淡光,
各自在轨道运行;
冷月比星星灿烂,
星星是她的奴仆,
她高高挂在天上,
月光在海面飘忽。
我举头凝望片刻
望她冰凉的月色;
寒气袭人——于我太清凄——
一朵白云飘去,
好像一件寿衣,
于是我把目光转向了你,
高贵的金星哟,
你远在天河,
你的光会令我更加珍惜;
因快乐在我心中
就是你在夜空
所具有的那分端庄高贵,
令我更加赞赏
是你遥远的星光,
而不是冷月卑微的清辉。
(1827)

To The River ——

Fair river! in thy bright clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty—the unhidden heart—
The playful maziness of art
In old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks—
Which glistens, then, and trembles—
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies—
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.
(1828)

致河——
美丽的河!在你水晶般清净
的水中,流淌的水
是美之光辉的一种象征
那毫无遮掩的心胸——
那顽皮的艺术迷宫
在老阿尔伯托女儿心内;

但当她凝视你的碧波——
当碧波粼粼,涟漪阵阵——
那为什么,最美丽的河
像是崇拜她的那人
因为在他心里,如在你水上
深深印着她的倩影——
他的心对着她穿透灵魂的目光
也会泛起涟漪阵阵。
(1828)

Fairy Land

Sit down beside me, Isabel,
Here, dearest, where the moonbeam fell
Just now so fairy-like and well.
Now thou art dress'd for paradise!
I am star-stricken with thine eyes!
My soul is lolling on thy sighs!
Thy hair is lifted by the moon
Like flowers by the low breath of June!
Sit down, sit down—how came we here?
Or is it all but a dream, my dear?

You know that most enormous flower—
That rose—that what d'ye call it—that hung
Up like a dog-star in this bower—
To-day (the wind blew, and) it swung
So impudently in my face,
So like a thing alive you know,
I tore it from its pride of place
And shook it into pieces—so
Be all ingratitude requited.
The winds ran off with it delighted,
And, thro' the opening left, as soon
As she threw off her cloak, yon moon
Has sent a ray down with a tune.

And this ray is a fairy ray—
Did you not say so, Isabel?
How fantastically it fell
With a spiral twist and a swell,
And over the wet grass rippled away
With a tinkling like a bell!
In my own country all the way
We can discover a moon ray
Which thro' some tatter'd curtain pries
Into the darkness of a room,
Is by (the very source of gloom)
The motes, and dust, and flies,
On which it trembles and lies
Like joy upon sorrow!
O, when will come the morrow?
Isabel! do you not fear
The night and the wonders here?
Dim vales! and shadowy floods!
And cloudy-looking woods
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!

Huge moons—see! wax and wane
Again—again—again—
Every moment of the night—
Forever changing places!
How they put out the starlight
With the breath from their pale faces!

Lo! one is coming down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain's eminence!
Down—still down—and down—
Now deep shall be—O deep!
The passion of our sleep!
For that wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Drowsily over halls—
Over ruin'd walls—
Over waterfalls,
(Silent waterfalls!)
O'er the strange woods—o'er the sea—
Alas! over the sea!
(1831)

仙 境

在我身边坐下吧,伊莎贝尔,
这儿,亲爱的,刚才有月光如水
那么空灵美妙,那么婵娟娇媚。
现在你穿戴好去仙乡乐土!
我被你星星般的眼睛迷住!
我的心慵懒地把你的叹息依附!
月亮正在剽窃你的秀发
就像六月的微风剽窃鲜花!
坐下吧,坐下吧——我们如何来到这里?
或许这不过是一场梦,我亲爱的?

你知道最最硕大的那朵花——
那朵玫瑰——你总是那么称呼——
它曾像颗天狼星在这凉亭悬挂——
今天(风儿吹,而)它轻浮,
那么轻浮地在我脸上摇晃,
就像你所知道的有生命的东西,
我把它扯下,从它高高的地方,
一阵猛摇使花瓣片片落地——
忘恩负义就这样得到报酬。
风儿快活地把它卷走,
而从左边空地,当那轮月亮
匆匆脱下披在她身上的衣裳,
便投下一片伴着韵调的月光。

那光是一种仙境的光——
你说不会那样,伊莎贝尔?
可它倾泻时是多么奇妙,
以一种螺旋形的光波
像涟漪从湿漉漉的草地掠过,
还伴着一阵铃声,
铮铮!
在我家乡的任何地方
只能够见到一种月光,
那月光穿透褴褛的窗帘,
偷偷窥视黑洞洞的房间,
照亮(产生忧郁的原因)
尘埃、污垢,还有苍蝇,
它躺在那原因上浑身哆嗦,
就像是忧伤之上的欢乐!
哦,黎明何时到来?
伊莎贝尔!你难道不骇然
这夜和这儿的异景奇观?
冥蒙的溪谷!缥缈的长河!
烟云如织的平林漠漠,
我们不识其真正的面目
因为漫天滴下茫茫雾珠!

看呵——那么多巨大的月亮!
亏亏盈盈——消消长长——
在每一夜的每一时刻——
永远变更着它们的位置!
它们如何使星光黯然失色
用它们苍白脸上的气息!

瞧!一个月亮正在下降
它那银盘玉轮的中央
在一座高山之顶!
下降——下降——下降——
现在会很强——哦,很强!
我们睡眠的欲望!
因为那中央的四边
像巨大的帷幔下落
昏昏然罩住厅堂——
罩住残壁断墙——
罩住飞流瀑布
(无声的飞流瀑布!)
罩住奇异的森林——罩住海洋——
天啦!罩住海洋!
(1831)

Fairy-Land

Dim vales—and shadowy floods—
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over
Huge moons there wax and wane—
Again—again—again—
Every moment of the night—
Forever changing places—
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down—still down—and down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain's eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be—
O'er the strange woods—o'er the sea—
Over spirits on the wing—
Over every drowsy thing—
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light—
And then, how deep!—O, deep!
Is the passion of their sleep.
In the morning they arise,
And their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like —— almost any thing—
Or a yellow Albatross.
They use that moon no more
For the same end as before—
Videlicet a tent—
Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Of which those butterflies,
Of Earth, who seek the skies,
And so come down again
(Never-contented things!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.

仙 乡

冥蒙的溪谷——缥缈的长河——
烟云如织的平林漠漠,
我们不识其真正的面目,
因为漫天滴下茫茫雾珠,
那儿有许多巨大的月亮!
亏亏盈盈——消消长长——
在每一夜的每一时刻——
永远变更着它们的位置——
它们如何使星光黯然失色
用它们苍白脸上的气息。
在大约十二个月盘当中
有一个比其他都更朦胧,
(这种月亮,经过试验,
他们已发现它最为完善)
下降——下降——下降——
它那银盘玉轮的中央
在一座高山之巅,
而那金盆的四边
像巨大的帷幔落下
罩住村舍,罩住山崖,
无论穷乡僻壤、边城绝塞——
罩住奇异的森林——罩住大海——
罩住正在飞荡的幽魂——
罩住昏昏欲睡的生灵——
把世间万物,芸芸众生
静静地掩入光的迷宫——
于是,多么强!——哦,多强!
是它们想要安睡的欲望。
当它们清晨一觉醒来,
它们那床月光的被盖
正在高高的天空翱翔,
当它随着风暴摇晃
就像——几乎任何东西——
或一只黄色的信天翁。
他们不再像从前那样
为那个目的使用月光——
作为一顶帐篷——
我认为这是一种奢侈:
不过,它的原子
裂变成了一场阵雨,
从中,这世上的那些蝴蝶,
那些寻觅天空,而又
跌回地面的蝴蝶
(永远不满足的东西)
已经带回了一种标本
在它们哆嗦的翅翼上。

Serenade

So sweet the hour—so calm the time,
I feel it more than half a crime
When Nature sleeps and stars are mute,
To mar the silence ev'n with lute.
At rest on ocean's brilliant dies
An image of Elysium lies:
Seven Pleiades entranced in Heaven,
Form in the deep another seven:
Endymion nodding from above
Sees in the sea a second love:
Within the valleys dim and brown,
And on the spectral mountains' crown
The wearied light is lying down:
And earth, and stars, and sea, and sky
Are redolent of sleep, as I
Am redolent of thee and thine
Enthralling love, my Adeline.
But list, O list!—so soft and low
Thy lover's voice to night shall flow
That, scarce awake, thy soul shall deem
My words the music of a dream.
Thus, while no single sound too rude,
Upon thy slumber shall intrude,
Our thoughts, our souls—O God above!
In every deed shall mingle, love.
(1833)

小夜曲

这时分多静——这时辰多美,
我觉得这几乎是一种犯罪:
当大自然安眠,星星无声
竟用琵琶来打破夜的宁静。
安眠在无限的灿烂之日
极乐世界的一个影子:
在天上出神的普勒阿得斯姐妹
呈七星在深远处排列定位:
在高处打盹儿的恩底弥翁
梦见另一个爱人在海中:
在幽暗昏黄的溪谷深涧,
在鬼影朦胧的高山之巅
那困乏的光正躺下安眠:
星星、天空、海洋、大地
全都弥漫着睡眠的气息,
正如你正弥漫于我的心,
迷人的艾德琳,我的爱人。
但听哟,听哟!——这般轻柔
你爱人的歌声将在今宵漂流,
不会把你唤醒,你会以为
我的歌是你梦中的音乐飘飞。
这样,没有一个音符太重,
不会惊扰你安稳的睡梦,
我们的思绪,我们的灵魂——啊,上帝!
将真正地相爱,将融合在一起。
(1833)

To F——

Beloved! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path—
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)—
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea—
Some ocean throbbing far and free
With storms—but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.
(1835)

致F——

心爱的!被充满我人生路上
的最真实的悲哀包围——
(凄凉的路,天啦!在路旁
甚至没有一朵玫瑰花开放)——
我的心终于有了安慰
在梦见你时,在梦中我知详
一个被叫做伊甸的温柔之乡。

于是你在我的记忆中
犹如远方的一座魔岛
屹立在大海的澎湃汹涌——
那大海处处被暴风雨掀动——
可就在那里,当风急浪高,
却有最最晴朗的天空
依然在那美丽的小岛上微笑。
(1835)

Dream-Land

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule —
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE—out of TIME.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the tears that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters—lone and dead,—
Their still waters—still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.

By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,—
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,—
By the mountains—near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—
By the grey woods,—by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp,—
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,—
By each spot the most unholy—
In each nook most melancholy,—
There the traveller meets, aghast,
Sheeted Memories of the Past—
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by—
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven.

For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region—
For the spirit that walks in shadow
'Tis—oh 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not—dare not openly view it;
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringéd lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.
(1844)

梦 境

在一条阴暗孤寂的路旁,
只有坏天使常去常住,
那儿有个名叫夜晚的幽灵,
在黑色的王位上发号施令,
我已经到家,但我刚刚
去过一个最最混沌的地方——
那里荒凉萧瑟,充满惊人的怪诞,
超越了空间——超越了时间。

无底的山谷,无边的洪波,
巨大的森林,岩洞和沟壑,
它们的形状无人能发现,
因为到处有雾珠弥漫;
群山始终是摇摇欲坠,
坠进没有海岸的海水;
海水永远在上升涌动,
涌向火焰一般的天空;
大湖浩渺,无边无际,
湖水凄清——凄清而死寂,——
忧伤的水——平静而冰凉,
百合花懒洋洋地依在湖旁。

在那些湖畔,湖无边无际,
湖水凄清,凄清而死寂,——
忧伤的水,忧伤而冰凉,
百合花懒洋洋地依在湖旁,——
在群山脚下——那条河附近,
河水汩汩淙淙,潺潺有声,——
在森林之旁——在沼泽之滨,
那儿有蟾蜍和蝾螈扎营,——
在阴惨的池塘和山中小湖,
那儿常有食尸鬼居住,——
在每一个最不圣洁的场所
在每一个最最阴郁的角落,——
旅行者会吃惊地不期而遇
裹着尸衣的过去的记忆——
裹尸衣的身影惊诧,喟叹
当他们走过流浪者身边
白袍朋友的身影早已被托付,
在痛苦中,给了天堂——给了黄土。

对于那充满悲哀的心
那地方有一种安慰和宁静——
对于走在阴影中的灵魂
那是——哦,那是个理想的仙境!
但对于旅行者,当穿行其间,
不可——也不敢直眼相看;
它的神秘永远也不会展露
给软弱的世人尚未闭的眼目;
它的国王希望如此,他已禁止
有睫毛的眼睑高高抬起;
所以,这悲伤的灵魂虽曾涉足,
但所见到的都隔着一层浓雾。
在一条阴暗孤寂的路旁,
只有坏天使常去常住,
那儿有个名叫夜晚的幽灵,
在黑色的王位上发号施令,
我已漂泊回家,但我刚刚
去过一个最最混沌的地方。

(1844)

“Deep in Earth”

Deep in earth my love is lying
And I must weep alone.

(1847)

A Dream within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if Hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
(1849)

梦中之梦

请你的眉间接受这一吻!
在这我与你分手的时分,
到此为止让我向你承认——
你并没有错,当你认定
我这一生一直是一场梦;
但若是希望已付诸东流
在一个夜晚,或在白昼,
在幻想之中,或在虚渺,
它难道因此失去得更少?
我们所见或似见的一切
都不过是一场梦中之梦。
我站在咆哮轰鸣的海边,
我站在波涛汹涌的海岸,
我紧紧地握在我的手里
一粒粒金光灿灿的沙粒——
真少!可它们仍然溜走,
从我指间溜向大海深处,
而我常哭问——我常哭求!
上帝啊!我难道不能够
把这些沙粒儿抓得更紧?
上帝哟!我难道不可以
从无情波涛留黄沙一粒?
我们所见或似见的一切
难道只是一场梦中之梦?

(1849)

1812-Robert Browning

罗伯特·勃朗宁(1812—1889)是英国维多利亚时代的主要代表诗人,他在浪漫主义之后以戏剧独白诗独步于世,开创一代诗风,属于世界诗歌史上有重要影响的诗人之列。

席卷欧洲的浪漫主义诗歌在十九世纪三十年代耗竭了能量,走向了退潮。这时,正是勃朗宁率先改弦易辙,从“主观化”转向“客观化”的方向,为现代诗开启了一条新的道路。勃朗宁不再像浪漫派那样直接抒写诗人自我的主观情感,转而用诗笔去探索男男女女的内心活动,揭露心理奥秘,一层层地穿透人间百态,直达灵魂深处。同时他的主题也从浪漫主义的单纯化转向复杂化,他书写的不仅是善良和爱,也包括怀疑、失败、心理扭曲和恶。

You’ll Love Me Yet

You'll love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry,
From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like.

You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave's one violet:
Your look? —that pays a thousand pains.
What's death? You'll love me yet!

你总有一天将爱我

你总有一天将爱我,我能等
你的爱情慢慢地生长;
像你手里的这把花,经历了
四月的播种和六月的滋养。

今天我播下满怀的种子,
至少有几颗会扎下根;
结出的果尽管你不肯采摘,
尽管不是爱,也不会差几分。

你至少会看一眼爱的遗迹——
我坟前的一朵紫罗兰;
你的一眼就补偿了千般苦恋,
死有何妨?你总有爱我的一天。

The Lost Mistress

All's over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, 'tis the sparrows'good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that, to-day;
One day more bursts them open fully
—You know the red turns grey.

To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?
May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we,—well, friends the merest
Keep much that I resign:

For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart's endeavour,—
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops
 back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever!—

Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
Or so very little longer!

失去的恋人

那么,一切都过去了。难道实情的滋味
真有预想的那么难咽?
听,麻雀在你家村居的屋檐周围
唧唧喳喳地道着晚安。

今天我发现葡萄藤上的芽苞
毛茸茸地,鼓了起来;
再一天时光就会把嫩叶催开,瞧:
暗红正渐渐转为灰白。

最亲爱的,明天我们能否照样相遇?
我能否仍旧握住你的手?
“仅仅是朋友”,好吧,我失去的许多东西,
最一般的朋友倒还能保留:

你乌黑澄澈的眼睛每一次闪烁
我都永远铭刻在心;
我心底也永远保留着你说
“愿白雪花回来”的声音!

但是,我将只说一般朋友的语言,
或许再稍微强烈一丝;
我握你的手,将只握礼节允许的时间,
或许再稍微长一霎时!

Love in a Life

Escape me?
Never—
Beloved!
While I am I, and you are you,
So long as the world contains us both,
Me the loving and you the loth,
While the one eludes, must the other pursue.
My life is a fault at last, I fear:
It seems too much like a fate, indeed!
Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed.
But what if I fail of my purpose here?
It is but to keep the nerves at strain,
To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall,
And, baffled, get up and begin again,—
So the chace takes up one's life, that's all.
While, look but once from your farthest bound
At me so deep in the dust and dark,
No sooner the old hope goes to ground
Than a new one, straight to the self-same mark,
I shape me—
Ever
Removed!

爱中的一生

逃避我吗?
不成。
我的爱人!
只要我是我,你是你,
只要世界包容着你我,
我一往情深而你却要躲,
我就必然要追寻不已。
我怕我的一生全是个错,
它看来简直太像命运,
哪怕我竭尽全力也难成。
但达不到目的也不算什么!
只不过是保持紧张的神经,
受了挫折,也就一笑置之,
摔了一跤,爬起来重新开始,
就让这追求占去我的一生。
只要你从远方回顾
望一眼黑暗中的我,
每当旧的希望失落,
新的希望立即把它填补,
但我注定
永远
难以接近!

A Grammarian’s Funeral

Shortly after the Revival of learning in Europe

Let us begin and carry up this corpse,
Singing together.
Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes
Each in its tether
Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain,
Cared-for till cock-crow:
Look out if yonder be not day again
Rimming the rock-row!
That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought,
Rarer, intenser,
Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought,
Chafes in the censer.
Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop;
Seek we sepulture
On a tall mountain, citied to the top,
Crowded with culture!
All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels;
Clouds overcome it;
No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's
Circling its summit.
Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights:
Wait ye the warning?
Our low life was the level's and the night's;
He's for the morning.
Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head,
'Ware the beholders!
This is our master, famous calm and dead,
Borne on our shoulders.

Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft,
Safe from the weather!
He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft,
Singing together,
He was a man born with thy face and throat,
Lyric Apollo!
Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note
Winter would follow?
Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone!
Cramped and diminished,
Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon!
My dance is finished?"
No, that's the world's way: (keep the mountain-side,
Make for the city!)
He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride
Over men's pity;
Left play for work, and grappled with the world
Bent on escaping:
"What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepst furled?
Show me their shaping,
Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,—
Give!" —So, he gowned him,
Straight got by heart that book to its last page:
Learned, we found him.
Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead,
Accents uncertain:
"Time to taste life," another would have said,
"Up with the curtain!"

This man said rather, "Actual life comes next?
Patience a moment!
Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text,
Still there's the comment.
Let me know all! Prate not of most or least,
Painful or easy!
Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast,
Ay, nor feel queasy."
Oh, such a life as he resolved to live,
When he had learned it,
When he had gathered all books had to give!
Sooner, he spurned it.
Image the whole, then execute the parts—
Fancy the fabric
Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz,
Ere mortar dab brick!

(Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place
Gaping before us.)
Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace
(Hearten our chorus!)
That before living he'd learn how to live—
No end to learning:
Earn the means first—God surely will contrive
Use for our earning.
Others mistrust and say, "But time escapes:
Live now or never!”
He said, "What's time? Leave Now for dogs and apes!
Man has Forever.”
Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head:
Calculus racked him:
Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead:
Tussis attacked him.
"Now, master, take a little rest!"—not he!
(Caution redoubled,
Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!)
Not a whit troubled
Back to his studies, fresher than at first,
Fierce as a dragon
He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst)
Sucked at the flagon.
Oh, if we draw a circle premature,
Heedless of far gain,
Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure
Bad is our bargain!
Was it not great? did not he throw on God,
(He loves the burthen)—
God's task to make the heavenly period
Perfect the earthen?
Did not he magnify the mind, show clear
Just what it all meant?
He would not discount life, as fools do here,
Paid by instalment.
He ventured neck or nothing—heaven's success
Found, or earth's failure:
"Wilt thou trust death or not?" He answered "Yes:
Hence with life's pale lure!"
That low man seeks a little thing to do,
Sees it and does it:
This high man, with a great thing to pursue,
Dies ere he knows it.
That low man goes on adding one to one,
His hundred's soon hit:
This high man, aiming at a million,
Misses an unit.
That, has the world here—should he need the next,
Let the world mind him!
This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed
Seeking shall find him.
So, with the throttling hands of death at strife,
Ground he at grammar;
Still, thro'the rattle, parts of speech were rife:
While he could stammer
He settled Hoti's business—let it be!—
Properly based Oun—
Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De,
Dead from the waist down.
Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place:
Hail to your purlieus,
All ye highfliers of the feathered race,
Swallows and curlews!
Here's the top-peak; the multitude below
Live, for they can, there:
This man decided not to Live but Know—
Bury this man there?
Here—here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form,
Lightnings are loosened,
Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm,
Peace let the dew send!
Lofty designs must close in like effects:
Loftily lying,
Leave him—still loftier than the world suspects,
Living and dying.

语法学家的葬礼

欧洲学术复兴开始后不久

让我们齐唱一曲送葬的号子,
抬起他的遗体,
离开这些粗俗的、篱笆围困的
村庄和园子地,——
雄鸡未打鸣,在平原怀抱中
村庄正睡得安心;
注意望远方的昼光,是否已经
给石山山脊镀金!
那儿是合适之乡,那儿人的思想
更奇妙也更浓,
像在香炉里翻腾,积蓄着力量,
准备爆发迸涌。
让我们把牲畜和庄稼留给这片
没文化的平原,
在山巅找墓地!那是文化之城——
高处文化烂漫。
群峰耸立,而一峰在群峰之上,
云霞为其冠冕;
呵,不!这是那城堡发出霞光,
围绕它的峰巅。
我们走向那儿,盘绕层层山岳,
起步了,伙伴们!
我们的低级生活属于平地和黑夜,
而他追求着早晨。
当心那些旁观者!昂起头,挺起胸,
步子要迈整齐!
我们抬的是导师,他天下闻名,
而如今他已安息。

牲畜和庄稼,村庄和园子,睡吧,
不愁风雨天气。
而他,我们齐声合唱护送的他——
(送往他的墓地)
他是一个人,容貌和嗓音堪比
阿波罗——诗之神!
可他多年默默无闻,没注意
冬天取代了春!
轻轻一触,而青春已经逝去,
换来老态龙钟,
他长叹道:“难道就此换了旋律?
我的舞已告终?”
不!那只是常规世道,(沿山边绕,
向那座城前进!)
而他察觉衰老,却更傲然前行,
越过人们的怜悯;
放弃休闲,埋头苦学,拼全力对付
逃逸而去的世界;
“你的卷轴里藏着什么?让我读读
大手笔的描写,
把知人最深的吟游诗人和圣贤
都给我!”他说。
待到他整卷谙熟于心,我们发现:
他已成了学者。
但同时他也已秃顶,目光如铅,
吐字已不清爽。
换了别人就会说:“该享受生活了,
赶紧推开寒窗!”
这位却说:“轮到现实生活了么?
耐心再稍等片时!
纵然我已把艰涩难辨的本文掌握,
但是还剩下注释。
让我知道一切!无须谈多少、得失、
轻松或是痛苦!
我愿吃完这筵席,直到每粒残屑,
而不感到餍足。”
呵!他决定:在开始生活前必须
把一切先学过!
先汇集书本的一切精华!这等于
决心弃绝生活。
先要把握全盘,才能把局部实行;
未完成设计之前,
岂能用钢凿敲出石英的火星?
岂能用砂浆砌砖?

(我们已到城门,敞开在面前的
是集市的市场。)
是的,这正是他为人的独特魅力:
(听我们的合唱!)
在生活之前,先要学习如何生活,——
而学习永不止步;
先获得手段,有什么用?上帝自会
安排它的用途!
别人才不信这套呢:“今宵永不再!
要明白岁月无情!”
他答道:“让狗们猿们抓住现在!
人却拥有永恒。”
说完又回到书堆里埋头工作。
结石把他折磨,
他眼睛变成了熔铅的浮渣色,
外加阵阵寒咳。
“稍微歇会儿吧,老师!”他不睬!
(伙伴,再次起步!
俩人一排,走齐了步,山路很窄!)
他可毫不在乎,
他重返研究,以更充沛的精力,
一如生龙活虎,
他的灵魂在神圣的饥渴中吮吸
满满的知识之壶。
假如画个近视的圈,把远期利益
都排除在圈外,
而只贪求眼前实利,那么显然,
这是赔钱买卖!
不伟大吗?他把其余交给上帝去做
(他自甘承担重负):
以“天上的生”来完善“地上的生”——
这是上帝的任务。
他夸大了心智,他要清晰地显示
心智意味着什么。
他不愿学愚人们所为——折扣贴现,
分期预支生活。
他孤注一掷,他获得了天上的成功
或地上的失败,
“你相信死亡吗?”“我信!但把生活的
小小诱惑拿开!”
俗人寻求的是做点区区琐事——
看得到他的成绩;
这位高人追求的是伟大事业——

而至死未穷其理。
俗人日复一日,不断地“一加一”,
很快有一百累积;
这位高人却将目标定在百万,
结果却错失了“一”。
俗人拥有现世,假如他需要来世,
唯有靠现世关照!
而高人托付给上帝,不惑的寻找
必将把他找到。
当死神的手已扼住他的喉咙,
他仍为语法刻苦,
在他上气不接下气的咕噜中
词类成了遗嘱。——
他给我们理清了Hoti的用途,
为Oun奠定基础,
他给我们定下轻音De的规则,
而他已半身麻木……
好吧,这儿是一块平台,这儿最好!
向此地表示敬意!
这是羽族的高飞者——燕子和鹬鸟
喜爱盘旋之地!
这儿是峰顶,下面的芸芸众生
只能活在下方;
此人却决定以求知代求生,他
岂能在下方安葬?
这才是他的位置:这儿陨星疾射,
闪电爆裂,云生成,
星宿来往,暴风雨迸发出欢乐,
露水带来和平!
崇高的志向必须有相应的效果——
让他在此安葬,
让他在俗世料想不到的高处
生活,和死亡。

[Untitled]

For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart's endeavour,—
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever!—
Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
Or so very little longer!

你乌黑澄澈的眼睛每一次闪烁
我都永远铭刻在心;
我心底也永远保留着你说
“愿白雪花回来”的声音!

但是,我将只说一般朋友的语言,
或许再稍微强烈一丝;
我握你的手,将只握礼节允许的时间,
或许再稍微长一霎时!