济慈《伊莎贝拉》
Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil
Keats
I.
FAIR Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love’s eye!
They could not in the self-same mansion dwell
Without some stir of heart, some malady;
They could not sit at meals but feel how well 5
It soothed each to be the other by;
They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep
But to each other dream, and nightly weep.
II.
With every morn their love grew tenderer,
With every eve deeper and tenderer still; 10
He might not in house, field, or garden stir,
But her full shape would all his seeing fill;
And his continual voice was pleasanter
To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill;
Her lute-string gave an echo of his name, 15
She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.
III.
He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
Before the door had given her to his eyes;
And from her chamber-window he would catch
Her beauty farther than the falcon spies; 20
And constant as her vespers would he watch,
Because her face was turn’d to the same skies;
And with sick longing all the night outwear,
To hear her morning-step upon the stair.
IV.
A whole long month of May in this sad plight 25
Made their cheeks paler by the break of June:
“To morrow will I bow to my delight,
“To-morrow will I ask my lady’s boon.”—
“O may I never see another night,
“Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love’s tune.”— 30
So spake they to their pillows; but, alas,
Honeyless days and days did he let pass;
V.
Until sweet Isabella’s untouch’d cheek
Fell sick within the rose’s just domain,
Fell thin as a young mother’s, who doth seek 35
By every lull to cool her infant’s pain:
“How ill she is,” said he, “I may not speak,
“And yet I will, and tell my love all plain:
“If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears,
“And at the least ’twill startle off her cares.” 40
VI.
So said he one fair morning, and all day
His heart beat awfully against his side;
And to his heart he inwardly did pray
For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide
Stifled his voice, and puls’d resolve away— 45
Fever’d his high conceit of such a bride,
Yet brought him to the meekness of a child:
Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!
VII.
So once more he had wak’d and anguished
A dreary night of love and misery, 50
If Isabel’s quick eye had not been wed
To every symbol on his forehead high;
She saw it waxing very pale and dead,
And straight all flush’d; so, lisped tenderly,
“Lorenzo!”—here she ceas’d her timid quest, 55
But in her tone and look he read the rest.
VIII.
“O Isabella, I can half perceive
“That I may speak my grief into thine ear;
“If thou didst ever any thing believe,
“Believe how I love thee, believe how near 60
“My soul is to its doom: I would not grieve
“Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear
“Thine eyes by gazing; but I cannot live
“Another night, and not my passion shrive.
IX.
“Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold, 65
“Lady! thou leadest me to summer clime,
“And I must taste the blossoms that unfold
“In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time.”
So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold,
And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme: 70
Great bliss was with them, and great happiness
Grew, like a lusty flower in June’s caress.
X.
Parting they seem’d to tread upon the air,
Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart
Only to meet again more close, and share 75
The inward fragrance of each other’s heart.
She, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair
Sang, of delicious love and honey’d dart;
He with light steps went up a western hill,
And bade the sun farewell, and joy’d his fill. 80
XI.
All close they met again, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
All close they met, all eves, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk, 85
Unknown of any, free from whispering tale.
Ah! better had it been for ever so,
Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe.
XII.
Were they unhappy then?—It cannot be—
Too many tears for lovers have been shed, 90
Too many sighs give we to them in fee,
Too much of pity after they are dead,
Too many doleful stories do we see,
Whose matter in bright gold were best be read;
Except in such a page where Theseus’ spouse 95
Over the pathless waves towards him bows.
XIII.
But, for the general award of love,
The little sweet doth kill much bitterness;
Though Dido silent is in under-grove,
And Isabella’s was a great distress, 100
Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove
Was not embalm’d, this truth is not the less—
Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,
Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
XIV.
With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt, 105
Enriched from ancestral merchandize,
And for them many a weary hand did swelt
In torched mines and noisy factories,
And many once proud-quiver’d loins did melt
In blood from stinging whip;—with hollow eyes 110
Many all day in dazzling river stood,
To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood.
XV.
For them the Ceylon diver held his breath,
And went all naked to the hungry shark;
For them his ears gush’d blood; for them in death 115
The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark
Lay full of darts; for them alone did seethe
A thousand men in troubles wide and dark:
Half-ignorant, they turn’d an easy wheel,
That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel. 120
XVI.
Why were they proud? Because their marble founts
Gush’d with more pride than do a wretch’s tears?—
Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts
Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs?—
Why were they proud? Because red-lin’d accounts 125
Were richer than the songs of Grecian years?—
Why were they proud? again we ask aloud,
Why in the name of Glory were they proud?
XVII.
Yet were these Florentines as self-retired
In hungry pride and gainful cowardice, 130
As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,
Paled in and vineyarded from beggar-spies,
The hawks of ship-mast forests—the untired
And pannier’d mules for ducats and old lies—
Quick cat’s-paws on the generous stray-away,— 135
Great wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay.
XVIII.
How was it these same ledger-men could spy
Fair Isabella in her downy nest?
How could they find out in Lorenzo’s eye
A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt’s pest 140
Into their vision covetous and sly!
How could these money-bags see east and west?—
Yet so they did—and every dealer fair
Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare.
XIX.
O eloquent and famed Boccaccio! 145
Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon,
And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow,
And of thy roses amorous of the moon,
And of thy lilies, that do paler grow
Now they can no more hear thy ghittern’s tune, 150
For venturing syllables that ill beseem
The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme.
XX.
Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale
Shall move on soberly, as it is meet;
There is no other crime, no mad assail 155
To make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet:
But it is done—succeed the verse or fail—
To honour thee, and thy gone spirit greet;
To stead thee as a verse in English tongue,
An echo of thee in the north-wind sung. 160
XXI.
These brethren having found by many signs
What love Lorenzo for their sister had,
And how she lov’d him too, each unconfines
His bitter thoughts to other, well nigh mad
That he, the servant of their trade designs, 165
Should in their sister’s love be blithe and glad,
When ’twas their plan to coax her by degrees
To some high noble and his olive-trees.
XXII.
And many a jealous conference had they,
And many times they bit their lips alone, 170
Before they fix’d upon a surest way
To make the youngster for his crime atone;
And at the last, these men of cruel clay
Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone;
For they resolved in some forest dim 175
To kill Lorenzo, and there bury him.
XXIII.
So on a pleasant morning, as he leant
Into the sun-rise, o’er the balustrade
Of the garden-terrace, towards him they bent
Their footing through the dews; and to him said, 180
“You seem there in the quiet of content,
“Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade
“Calm speculation; but if you are wise,
“Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies.
XXIV.
“To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount 185
“To spur three leagues towards the Apennine;
“Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count
“His dewy rosary on the eglantine.”
Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont,
Bow’d a fair greeting to these serpents’ whine; 190
And went in haste, to get in readiness,
With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman’s dress.
XXV.
And as he to the court-yard pass’d along,
Each third step did he pause, and listen’d oft
If he could hear his lady’s matin-song, 195
Or the light whisper of her footstep soft;
And as he thus over his passion hung,
He heard a laugh full musical aloft;
When, looking up, he saw her features bright
Smile through an in-door lattice, all delight. 200
XXVI.
“Love, Isabel!” said he, “I was in pain
“Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow:
“Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain
“I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow
“Of a poor three hours’ absence? but we’ll gain 205
“Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow.
“Good bye! I’ll soon be back.”—“Good bye!” said she:—
And as he went she chanted merrily.
XXVII.
So the two brothers and their murder’d man
Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno’s stream 210
Gurgles through straiten’d banks, and still doth fan
Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream
Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan
The brothers’ faces in the ford did seem,
Lorenzo’s flush with love.—They pass’d the water 215
Into a forest quiet for the slaughter.
XXVIII.
There was Lorenzo slain and buried in,
There in that forest did his great love cease;
Ah! when a soul doth thus its freedom win,
It aches in loneliness—is ill at peace 220
As the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin:
They dipp’d their swords in the water, and did tease
Their horses homeward, with convulsed spur,
Each richer by his being a murderer.
XXIX.
They told their sister how, with sudden speed, 225
Lorenzo had ta’en ship for foreign lands,
Because of some great urgency and need
In their affairs, requiring trusty hands.
Poor Girl! put on thy stifling widow’s weed,
And ’scape at once from Hope’s accursed bands; 230
To-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,
And the next day will be a day of sorrow.
XXX.
She weeps alone for pleasures not to be;
Sorely she wept until the night came on,
And then, instead of love, O misery! 235
She brooded o’er the luxury alone:
His image in the dusk she seem’d to see,
And to the silence made a gentle moan,
Spreading her perfect arms upon the air,
And on her couch low murmuring, “Where? O where?” 240
XXXI.
But Selfishness, Love’s cousin, held not long
Its fiery vigil in her single breast;
She fretted for the golden hour, and hung
Upon the time with feverish unrest—
Not long—for soon into her heart a throng 245
Of higher occupants, a richer zest,
Came tragic; passion not to be subdued,
And sorrow for her love in travels rude.
XXXII.
In the mid days of autumn, on their eves
The breath of Winter comes from far away, 250
And the sick west continually bereaves
Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
Of death among the bushes and the leaves,
To make all bare before he dares to stray
From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel 255
By gradual decay from beauty fell,
XXXIII.
Because Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes
She ask’d her brothers, with an eye all pale,
Striving to be itself, what dungeon climes
Could keep him off so long? They spake a tale 260
Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes
Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom’s vale;
And every night in dreams they groan’d aloud,
To see their sister in her snowy shroud.
XXXIV.
And she had died in drowsy ignorance, 265
But for a thing more deadly dark than all;
It came like a fierce potion, drunk by chance,
Which saves a sick man from the feather’d pall
For some few gasping moments; like a lance,
Waking an Indian from his cloudy hall 270
With cruel pierce, and bringing him again
Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain.
XXXV.
It was a vision.—In the drowsy gloom,
The dull of midnight, at her couch’s foot
Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb 275
Had marr’d his glossy hair which once could shoot
Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom
Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute
From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears
Had made a miry channel for his tears. 280
XXXVI.
Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake;
For there was striving, in its piteous tongue,
To speak as when on earth it was awake,
And Isabella on its music hung:
Languor there was in it, and tremulous shake, 285
As in a palsied Druid’s harp unstrung;
And through it moan’d a ghostly under-song,
Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among.
XXXVII.
Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright
With love, and kept all phantom fear aloof 290
From the poor girl by magic of their light,
The while it did unthread the horrid woof
Of the late darken’d time,—the murderous spite
Of pride and avarice,—the dark pine roof
In the forest,—and the sodden turfed dell, 295
Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.
XXXVIII.
Saying moreover, “Isabel, my sweet!
“Red whortle-berries droop above my head,
“And a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet;
“Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed 300
“Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheep-fold bleat
“Comes from beyond the river to my bed:
“Go, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom,
“And it shall comfort me within the tomb.
XXXIX.
“I am a shadow now, alas! alas! 305
“Upon the skirts of human-nature dwelling
“Alone: I chant alone the holy mass,
“While little sounds of life are round me knelling,
“And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass,
“And many a chapel bell the hour is telling, 310
“Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to me,
“And thou art distant in Humanity.
XL.
“I know what was, I feel full well what is,
“And I should rage, if spirits could go mad;
“Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss, 315
“That paleness warms my grave, as though I had
“A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss
“To be my spouse: thy paleness makes me glad;
“Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel
“A greater love through all my essence steal.” 320
XLI.
The Spirit mourn’d “Adieu!”—dissolv’d, and left
The atom darkness in a slow turmoil;
As when of healthful midnight sleep bereft,
Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil,
We put our eyes into a pillowy cleft, 325
And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil:
It made sad Isabella’s eyelids ache,
And in the dawn she started up awake;
XLII.
“Ha! ha!” said she, “I knew not this hard life,
“I thought the worst was simple misery; 330
“I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife
“Portion’d us—happy days, or else to die;
“But there is crime—a brother’s bloody knife!
“Sweet Spirit, thou hast school’d my infancy:
“I’ll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes, 335
“And greet thee morn and even in the skies.”
XLIII.
When the full morning came, she had devised
How she might secret to the forest hie;
How she might find the clay, so dearly prized,
And sing to it one latest lullaby; 340
How her short absence might be unsurmised,
While she the inmost of the dream would try.
Resolv’d, she took with her an aged nurse,
And went into that dismal forest-hearse.
XLIV.
See, as they creep along the river side, 345
How she doth whisper to that aged Dame,
And, after looking round the champaign wide,
Shows her a knife.—“What feverous hectic flame
“Burns in thee, child?—What good can thee betide,
“That thou should’st smile again?”—The evening came, 350
And they had found Lorenzo’s earthy bed;
The flint was there, the berries at his head.
XLV.
Who hath not loiter’d in a green church-yard,
And let his spirit, like a demon-mole,
Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard, 355
To see skull, coffin’d bones, and funeral stole;
Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr’d,
And filling it once more with human soul?
Ah! this is holiday to what was felt
When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt. 360
XLVI.
She gaz’d into the fresh-thrown mould, as though
One glance did fully all its secrets tell;
Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know
Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well;
Upon the murderous spot she seem’d to grow, 365
Like to a native lily of the dell:
Then with her knife, all sudden, she began
To dig more fervently than misers can.
XLVII.
Soon she turn’d up a soiled glove, whereon
Her silk had play’d in purple phantasies, 370
She kiss’d it with a lip more chill than stone,
And put it in her bosom, where it dries
And freezes utterly unto the bone
Those dainties made to still an infant’s cries:
Then ’gan she work again; nor stay’d her care, 375
But to throw back at times her veiling hair.
XLVIII.
That old nurse stood beside her wondering,
Until her heart felt pity to the core
At sight of such a dismal labouring,
And so she kneeled, with her locks all hoar, 380
And put her lean hands to the horrid thing:
Three hours they labour’d at this travail sore;
At last they felt the kernel of the grave,
And Isabella did not stamp and rave.
XLIX.
Ah! wherefore all this wormy circumstance? 385
Why linger at the yawning tomb so long?
O for the gentleness of old Romance,
The simple plaining of a minstrel’s song!
Fair reader, at the old tale take a glance,
For here, in truth, it doth not well belong 390
To speak:—O turn thee to the very tale,
And taste the music of that vision pale.
L.
With duller steel than the Persèan sword
They cut away no formless monster’s head,
But one, whose gentleness did well accord 395
With death, as life. The ancient harps have said,
Love never dies, but lives, immortal Lord:
If Love impersonate was ever dead,
Pale Isabella kiss’d it, and low moan’d.
’Twas love; cold,—dead indeed, but not dethroned. 400
LI.
In anxious secrecy they took it home,
And then the prize was all for Isabel:
She calm’d its wild hair with a golden comb,
And all around each eye’s sepulchral cell
Pointed each fringed lash; the smeared loam 405
With tears, as chilly as a dripping well,
She drench’d away:—and still she comb’d, and kept
Sighing all day—and still she kiss’d, and wept.
LII.
Then in a silken scarf,—sweet with the dews
Of precious flowers pluck’d in Araby, 410
And divine liquids come with odorous ooze
Through the cold serpent pipe refreshfully,—
She wrapp’d it up; and for its tomb did choose
A garden-pot, wherein she laid it by,
And cover’d it with mould, and o’er it set 415
Sweet Basil, which her tears kept ever wet.
LIII.
And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,
And she forgot the blue above the trees,
And she forgot the dells where waters run,
And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze; 420
She had no knowledge when the day was done,
And the new morn she saw not: but in peace
Hung over her sweet Basil evermore,
And moisten’d it with tears unto the core.
LIV.
And so she ever fed it with thin tears, 425
Whence thick, and green, and beautiful it grew,
So that it smelt more balmy than its peers
Of Basil-tufts in Florence; for it drew
Nurture besides, and life, from human fears,
From the fast mouldering head there shut from view: 430
So that the jewel, safely casketed,
Came forth, and in perfumed leafits spread.
LV.
O Melancholy, linger here awhile!
O Music, Music, breathe despondingly!
O Echo, Echo, from some sombre isle, 435
Unknown, Lethean, sigh to us—O sigh!
Spirits in grief, lift up your heads, and smile;
Lift up your heads, sweet Spirits, heavily,
And make a pale light in your cypress glooms,
Tinting with silver wan your marble tombs. 440
LVI.
Moan hither, all ye syllables of woe,
From the deep throat of sad Melpomene!
Through bronzed lyre in tragic order go,
And touch the strings into a mystery;
Sound mournfully upon the winds and low; 445
For simple Isabel is soon to be
Among the dead: She withers, like a palm
Cut by an Indian for its juicy balm.
LVII.
O leave the palm to wither by itself;
Let not quick Winter chill its dying hour!— 450
It may not be—those Baalites of pelf,
Her brethren, noted the continual shower
From her dead eyes; and many a curious elf,
Among her kindred, wonder’d that such dower
Of youth and beauty should be thrown aside 455
By one mark’d out to be a Noble’s bride.
LVIII.
And, furthermore, her brethren wonder’d much
Why she sat drooping by the Basil green,
And why it flourish’d, as by magic touch;
Greatly they wonder’d what the thing might mean: 460
They could not surely give belief, that such
A very nothing would have power to wean
Her from her own fair youth, and pleasures gay,
And even remembrance of her love’s delay.
LIX.
Therefore they watch’d a time when they might sift 465
This hidden whim; and long they watch’d in vain;
For seldom did she go to chapel-shrift,
And seldom felt she any hunger-pain;
And when she left, she hurried back, as swift
As bird on wing to breast its eggs again; 470
And, patient as a hen-bird, sat her there
Beside her Basil, weeping through her hair.
LX.
Yet they contriv’d to steal the Basil-pot,
And to examine it in secret place:
The thing was vile with green and livid spot, 475
And yet they knew it was Lorenzo’s face:
The guerdon of their murder they had got,
And so left Florence in a moment’s space,
Never to turn again.—Away they went,
With blood upon their heads, to banishment. 480
LXI.
O Melancholy, turn thine eyes away!
O Music, Music, breathe despondingly!
O Echo, Echo, on some other day,
From isles Lethean, sigh to us—O sigh!
Spirits of grief, sing not your “Well-a-way!” 485
For Isabel, sweet Isabel, will die;
Will die a death too lone and incomplete,
Now they have ta’en away her Basil sweet.
LXII.
Piteous she look’d on dead and senseless things,
Asking for her lost Basil amorously: 490
And with melodious chuckle in the strings
Of her lorn voice, she oftentimes would cry
After the Pilgrim in his wanderings,
To ask him where her Basil was; and why
’Twas hid from her: “For cruel ’tis,” said she, 495
“To steal my Basil-pot away from me.”
LXIII.
And so she pined, and so she died forlorn,
Imploring for her Basil to the last.
No heart was there in Florence but did mourn
In pity of her love, so overcast. 500
And a sad ditty of this story born
From mouth to mouth through all the country pass’d:
Still is the burthen sung—“O cruelty,
“To steal my Basil-pot away from me!”
二
每一清早，他们的爱情增进一步，
每到黄昏，那爱情就更深刻而温馨；
他无论在哪里：室内、田野或园中，
他的眼帘必充满她整个的身影；
而她呢，树木和隐蔽溪水的喧哗
无论怎样清沥，也不及他的声音；
她的琵琶时时把他的名字回荡，
她的刺绣空下一半，也被那名字填上。
三
当房门还没有透露她的身影，
他已经知道是谁的手握着门环；
朝她卧房的窗口，他窥视她的美，
那视力比鹰隼的还更锐利、深远；
他总是在她做晚祷时仰望着她，
因为她的面孔也在仰对着青天；
一整夜他在病恹的相思中耗尽，
只为想听她清早下楼的脚步声音。
四
就这样，整个漫长而忧郁的五月
使恋人的脸苍白了；等到六月初：
“明天，我一定要向我的喜悦俯首，
明天，我要向我的姑娘请求幸福。”——
“啊，罗伦左，我不愿再活过一夜，
假如你的嘴唇还不把爱曲倾诉。”
这便是他们对枕头的低语；唉，可是
他的日子还只是无精打采地消逝；
五
直到伊莎贝拉的孤寂的面颊
在玫瑰该盛开的地方黯然消损，
清癯得像年轻的母亲，当她低唱
各种样的催眠曲，抚慰婴儿的病痛：
“啊，她多么难过！”他想，“尽管我不该，
可是我决意明白宣告我的爱情：
如果容颜透露了她的心事，我要吻干
她的眼泪，至少这会逐开她的忧烦。”
六
在一个美好的清晨，他这样决定了，
他的心整天都在怦怦地跳；
他暗中向心儿祷告，但愿给他力量
使他能表白；但心中赤热的浪潮
窒息了他的声音，推延他的决定——
美丽的伊莎贝拉越是使他骄傲，
在她前面，他也就越腼腆如儿童，
可不是！当爱情又是柔顺，又是沸腾！
七
于是，他又一次睁着眼挨过了
充满相思与折磨的凄凉夜景，
假如说，伊莎贝尔的敏锐的目光
并没有看清他额际的每一表征，
至少她看到，那前额苍白而呆滞，
她立刻红了脸；于是，她充满柔情，
嗫嚅着：“罗伦左！”——才开口便又停顿，
但从她的音容他读出了她的询问。
八
“啊，伊莎贝拉！我不能十分肯定
是否我该把我的悲哀说给你听；
假如你曾有过信心，请相信吧：
我是多么爱你，我的灵魂已临近
它的末日：我不愿以鲁莽的紧握
使你的手难过，也不愿使你的眼睛
因被注视而吃惊；可是啊，我怎能
活过另一夜晚，而不倾诉我的热情！
九
“爱啊：请领我走出冬季的严寒，
姑娘！我要你引我到夏日的地方；
我必须尝一尝在那炎热的气候
开放的花朵，它开放着美好的晨光。”
说完，他先前怯懦的嘴唇变为勇敢，
便和她的嘴唇，像两句诗，把韵押上：
他们陶醉在幸福里，巨大的快乐
滋生着，像六月所抚爱的艳丽花朵。
一〇
分手时，他们好像走在半空中，
好像是被和风吹开的玫瑰两朵，
这分离只为了更亲密的相聚，
好使彼此内心的芬芳交互融合。
她回到她的卧房，口里唱着小曲，
唱着甜蜜的爱和伤心的情歌；
而他呢，以轻捷的步子登上西山，
向太阳挥手告别，心头充满了喜欢。
一一
他们重又秘密地相聚，趁暮色
还没有拉开它的帷幕，露出星星；
他们每天秘密地相聚，趁暮色
还没有拉开它的帷幕，露出星星；
藏在风信子和麝香的花荫里，
躲开了人迹和人们的窃窃议论。
啊，顶好是永远如此，免得让
好事的耳朵喜悦于他们的悲伤。
一二
那么，难道他们不快乐？——不可能——
只怪过多的眼泪寄予了有情人，
我们对他们付出过多的叹息，
在他们死后又给了过多的怜悯；
我们看到太多的哀情故事，其实
那内容最好以灿烂的金字标明；
除非是这一页故事：隔着波浪
忒修斯的妻子枉然把丈夫盼望。［12］
一三
是的，对爱情无需有过多的报酬，
一丝甜蜜就能抵消大量的苦涩；
尽管黛多［13］在密树丛里安息了，
伊莎贝拉忍受了巨大的波折，
尽管罗伦左没有在印度苜蓿花下
安享美梦，这真理依旧颠扑不破：
连小小的蜜蜂，向春日的亭荫求布施，
也知道有毒的花朵才最富于甜汁。
一四
这美人和两个哥哥住在一起，
祖先给他们留下了无数财产；
在火炬照耀的矿坑，在喧腾的工厂，
多少疲劳的人为他们挥汗；
啊，多少一度佩挂箭筒的腰身
被鞭子抽出了血，在血里软瘫；
多少人整天茫然地站在激流里，
为了把水中金银矿的沙石提取。
一五
锡兰的潜水者为他们屏住呼吸，
赤裸着全身走近饥饿的鳄鱼；
他的耳朵为他们涌着血；为他们，
海豹死在冰层上，全身悲惨地
射满了箭；成千的人只为了他们
而煎熬在幽暗无边的困苦里：
他们悠游着岁月，自己还不甚清楚：
他们是在开动绞盘，把人们剥皮割骨。
一六
他们何必骄傲？因为有大理石喷泉
比可怜虫的眼泪流得更欢腾？
他们何必骄傲？因为有美丽的橘架
比贫病者的台阶［14］更易于攀登？
他们何必骄傲？可是因为有红格账本
比希腊时代的诗歌更动听？
他们何必骄傲？我们还要高声询问：
在荣誉的名下，他们有什么值得夸矜？
一七
但这两个佛罗伦萨商人却自满于
淫侈的虚荣和富豪者的懦弱，
像是圣城［15］的两个吝啬的犹太人，
他们把穷人当奸细一样严防着；
他们是盘旋在船桅间的鹰，是驮不尽
金银与古老谎骗的衣冠的马骡；
会向异乡人的钱袋迅速伸出猫爪，
对西班牙、塔斯干、马来文一律通晓。
一八
像这样算账的人们怎会窥察出
伊莎贝拉的温柔乡的秘密？
他们怎会看出罗伦左的眼睛
有什么在分神？让埃及的瘟疫
扑进他们贪婪而狡狯的眼吧！
这种守财奴怎会处处看得详细？——
但竟然如此，——就像被追赶的野兔，
凡是正经的商人都必左右环顾。
一九
哦，才气磅礴的、著名的卜伽丘！
现在，我们需要你慷慨的祝福，
请赐给我们盛开的番石榴香花
和玫瑰——如此为月光所爱抚；
赐给我们百合吧，它变得更苍白
因为不再听到你的琴声低诉，
请原谅这鲁莽的辞句，它拙于
表现这段阴郁而沉默的悲剧。
二〇
只要受到你原谅，这故事一定会
顺利地开展下去，有条有理；
我虽然拙劣，却没有狂妄的意图
想把古代文章化为更美的韵律：
它之所以写作——无论好或坏——
只为了敬仰你，对你的天灵致意；
只为在英文诗中竖立你的风格，
好使北国的风中也回荡你的歌。
二一
从很多征象，这兄弟俩看出了
罗伦左对妹妹有多深的爱情，
而且妹妹也热爱他，这使他们
彼此谈论起来，感到异常愤恨：
因为他，他们商务中的一名小卒，
竟然享有了自己胞妹的爱情，
而他们正谋划怎样劝诱她接受
一个富豪的贵族，和他的橄榄树！
二二
有很多次，他们在嫉恨地商议，
有很多次，他们咬着自己的嘴唇，
终于想出了最可靠的办法
要叫那年轻人为他的罪过抵命；
这两个凶狠的人啊，简直是
用尖刀把圣灵割得碎骨粉身，
因为他们决定，要在幽暗的树林里
杀死罗伦左，并且把他掩埋灭迹。
二三
于是，在一个晴和的早晨，正当他
在园中倚着亭台上的栏杆
把身子探进晨曦里，他们便走过
露水凝聚的草地，来到他面前：
“罗伦左啊，你像是正在享受
适意的恬静，我们很不愿扰乱
你平静的思绪，可是，假如你高兴，
骑上你的马吧，趁天空还这么冷。
二四
“今天，我们想，不，这一刻我们要
骑马向阿本奈山地走三英里远；
请你下来吧，趁炎热的太阳
还没有把野玫瑰的露珠数完。”
罗伦左，像他经常一样的儒雅，
躬一躬身，听从了这蛇蝎的呜咽，
便赶忙走去了，为的是装备停当：
扎上皮带、马刺，穿好猎人的服装。
二五
而当他向庭院走近的时候，
每走到第三步，便停下来留意
是否能听见他的姑娘的晨歌，
或听见她轻柔的脚步的低语；
于是，正当他在热情中流连，
他听到嘹亮的笑声来自空际：
他抬起头来，看见她光辉的容颜
在窗格里微笑，秀丽好似天仙。
二六
“伊莎贝尔，我的爱！”他说，“我多苦，
害怕来不及对你道一声早安：
唉！连这三小时的分别的悲伤
我都无法抑制住，假如我竟然
失去你怎么办？可是，我们将会
从爱情的幽暗得到爱情的白天。
再见吧！我就回来。”“再见吧！”她说；——
当他走去时，她快乐地唱着歌。
二七
于是，兄弟俩和他们谋杀的人
骑马走出佛罗伦萨，到阿诺河；
到那河边，河水流过狭窄的山谷，
以欢跃的芦苇把自己摇摆着，
而鲫鱼逆着水滩前行。两兄弟
在涉过河时，脸上都苍白失色，
罗伦左却满面是爱情的红润。
他们过了河，来到幽静的树林。
二八
罗伦左就在那儿被杀害和掩埋，
就在那林中，结束了他无比的爱情；
噢，当一个灵魂这样脱出躯壳，
它在孤寂中绞痛——不能宁静，
一如犯了这种罪恶的恶狗们：
他们把自己的剑在河里洗净，
就策马回家，马刺被踢得歪扭，
每人由于当了杀人犯而更富有。
二九
他们告诉妹妹，罗伦左如何
由于商务的急切需要和紧迫，
而他们又没有别人可信靠，
便派了他匆匆搭船去往外国。
可怜的姑娘！披上你寡妇的哀服吧，
快逃开“希望”的该诅咒的枷锁；
今天你看不见他，明天也不能，
再过一天你还得满心是悲痛。
三〇
她独自为了不再有的欢乐
而哭泣，直痛哭到夜色降临；
而那时，唉！痛苦代替了热恋，
她独自一个人冥想着欢情：
在幽暗中，她仿佛看见他的影子，
她对寂静轻轻地发出悲吟；
接着把美丽的两臂向空中举起，
在卧榻上喃喃着：“哪里？哦，哪里？”
三一
但“自私”——“爱情”的堂弟——并不能
在她专一的胸中永远点着火焰；
她原为期待黄金的一刻而焦躁，
急切不安地挨过孤寂的时间——
但没有许久——她心上就来了
较高贵的情思，更丰富的欲念；
来了悲剧：那是不能抑制的真情，
是对她的恋人突然远行的悲痛。
三二
在仲秋的一些日子，每逢黄昏，
从远方就飘来了冬的呼吸，
它逐渐给病恹的西天剥夺了
金黄的色彩，并且奏出死之曲
在灌木丛间，在簌簌的叶子上；
它要使一切凋落，然后才敢于
离开它北方的岩洞。就这样，
伊莎贝尔的美色逐渐萎谢、无光，
三三
因为罗伦左不曾回来。常常地
她问她的哥哥（她的一双眼
因为矜持而无光），是什么鬼地方
把他拘留这么久？为了使她心安，
他们回回编个谎。他们的罪恶
像新诺谷中的烟［17］在心中回旋；
啊，每一夜，他们都在梦里悲鸣，
看见妹妹似乎裹在白色的尸衣中。
三四
而她呀，也许到死都茫然无知，
要不是有一个最难测的东西：
它像是偶然饮下的强心的药
使病危的人可以多一刻喘息，
不致立刻僵毙；它像是长矛
以残酷的一刺使印度人脱离
云雾中的楼阁，使他重又感到
一团火焰在心中和脑中啮咬。
三五
这就是梦景。——在深沉的午夜
和昏睡的幽暗里，罗伦左站在
她的床边，落着泪：林中的坟墓
把他的发间一度闪烁的光彩
弄暗了；给他的嘴唇按上了
冰冷的毁灭；使他凄凉的声带
失去柔和的曲调；在他的泥颊上，
又割出一条细渠使眼泪流淌。
三六
幽灵开口，发出奇怪的声音，
因为它那可悲的舌头很想要
发出它生前所惯用的口音，
伊莎贝拉细细地听那声调：
它仿佛老僧以麻木的手弹破琴，
不合音符，又似无力而飘摇；
就从那口里，幽灵的歌曲在呜咽，
像是夜风飒飒穿过阴森的荆棘间。
三七
幽灵的眼睛虽然悲伤，却仍旧
充满爱情，露水一般地闪亮，
这明光奇异地逐开恐惧的暗影，
使可怜的少女能略带安详，
聆听幽灵讲起那恐怖的时刻——
那傲慢与贪婪、那谋杀的狂妄，——
松林的荫蔽处，——水草的洼地，
在那儿，他无言地被刺倒下去。
三八
他还说，“伊莎贝尔啊，我的爱！
我的头上悬有红色的越橘果，
一块巨大的磨石压在我脚下；
还有山毛榉和高大的栗树，洒落
叶子和果实在我四周；对岸有
羊群的咩叫从我榻上飘过：
去吧，对我头上的野花洒一滴泪，
那将使我在坟墓中得到安慰。
三九
“唉，天哪！我如今是个影子了！
我独自在人性的居室外边
徘徊，独自唱着谢主的弥撒，
听生命的音响在我周身回旋；
光泽的蜜蜂日午飞往田野，
多少教堂的钟声在报告时间；
这些声音刺痛我，似熟而又陌生，
而你却是远远的，处于人世中。
四〇
“我记得过去，对一切都有感觉，
哦，我必发疯，如若我不是魂魄；
虽然我丢了人间幸福，那余味
却温暖了我的墓穴，仿佛我
从光明的苍穹有了一位天使
作为妻子；你的苍白使我欢乐；
我渐渐爱上你的美色，我感到
更崇高的爱情在我魂中缭绕。”
四一
幽灵呻吟道：“别了！”——接着消隐，
给幽暗的空气留下轻轻骚动；
好像当我们在午夜不能安眠，
想到艰难的经历，无益的苦辛，
我们会把眼睛埋进枕头缝隙，
看见闪烁的幽暗在翻动、沸腾：
悲哀的伊莎贝拉正是感到眼皮痛，
天刚破晓，她忽地坐起，睁开眼睛。
四二
“哈哈！”她说，“谁懂得这冷酷的人生？
我曾以为最坏的不过是灾难，
我以为命运只使人快乐或挣扎，
不是活得愉快，就是一命归天；
想不到有罪恶，——有哥哥的血刃！
亲爱的幽灵啊，你教我变为成年：
为了这，我要去看你，吻你的眼，
每早每晚在天空中向你问安。”
四三
在天光大亮时，她已盘算好
怎样可以秘密地到树林里去；
怎样可以找到那珍贵的泥土，
就对它唱一支最近的安眠曲；
怎样使她的暂别不为人知道，
好把她内心的梦景加以证实。
决定以后，她就带了老乳妈一人，
走进那阴森的灵棺似的树林。
四四
看啊，她们沿着河边悄悄走去，
她不断地对那老婆婆低语；
在环顾旷野以后，她拿出了
一柄刀。——“是什么烈火在你心里，
我的孩子？——究竟有什么好事
又使你笑起来？”——暮色在凝聚；
她们找到了罗伦左的睡乡：
那儿有磨石，有越橘树在头上。
四五
谁不曾徘徊在青青的坟场，
让自己的精灵，像一只小鼹鼠，
穿过黏土的地层，坚硬的沙石，
去窥视脑壳、尸衣、棺中的枯骨？
谁不曾怜悯过那被饥饿的“死亡”
所蚕食的形体，想看它再次恢复
人的心灵？唉！这感觉却不算凄惨，
比不得伊莎贝拉跪在罗伦左之前！
四六
她凝视着那一抔新土，仿佛
只一瞥已完全看出它的隐秘；
她清楚地看出来，清楚得像在
明亮的井中认出苍白的肢体；
她完全呆住在这谋杀的场所，
好似百合花扎根在幽谷里：
突然，她拿起小刀往地下掘，
她掘得比守财奴还更心切。
四七
她很快就挖出一只脏手套，
那上面有她绣出的紫色幻想，
她吻着它，嘴唇比青石还冰冷，
接着又把它放在她的心胸上，
就在那儿，它冻结了一切能止住
婴儿哭嚎的甘蜜，和她的幻想；［18］
于是她又放手去掘，不稍间断，
只有时把遮面的发撩到后边。
四八
老乳妈站在一旁，奇怪地望着：
这凄凉的景象、这墓穴的掘挖，
使她的心深处充满了怜悯；
于是她跪下来，披散一头白发，
用她枯柴的手也尽力帮着
做这可怕的工作；她们直向地下
掘了三点钟，终于把墓穴摸到，
伊莎贝拉既不顿足，也不哭嚎。
四九
噫！为什么尽是这阴森的描述？
为什么这支笔把墓门说个不完？
古老的传奇故事是多么文雅！
想想行吟的歌，那单纯的哀怨！
亲爱的读者，还是请你读一读
原来的小说吧，因为，在本篇
它实在讲得不够好：读读原作，
听乐音如何流贯那暗淡的景色。
五〇
她们的钢刀不及珀耳修斯的剑，
割下的头也不是畸形的魔妖，
而是这样一个人，他死后依然优雅，
有如生时。古代的竖琴曾唱道：
爱情不朽，它是主宰我们的神；
但它也许是化成肉身，而且死了，
伊莎贝拉正是吻着这肉身伤悲。
这正是爱情；啊，死了——却没有退位。
五一
她们急急把它秘密地带回家，
于是它成了伊莎贝尔的宝藏：
她用金梳子梳着它散乱的头发，
又在每只眼睛的阴森孔穴旁
把睫毛梳直；她以眼泪（它冰冷得
像石穴的水滴）把泥污的脸庞
洗拭干净：——她一面梳，一面叹息，
整天不是吻着它，就是哭泣。
五二
以后她用一方丝巾（它因有
阿拉伯的奇花的露水而香甜，
并且沾有各种神异的花汁，
仿佛刚从那幽冷的脉茎涌现，）
把它包裹了；又找出一个花盆
当做坟墓，就把它放在里面；
于是她铺上泥土，把一株紫苏花
种植下去，用她的泪水不断浇洒。
五三
从此，她忘了日月和星辰，
从此，她忘了树梢上的青天，
她忘了流水潺潺的山谷，
也忘了冷峭的秋风飞旋；
她不再知道白天几时消逝，
也看不见晨光升起：只不断
静静地望着她甜蜜的紫苏，
并且把泪水滴滴向它灌注。
五四
就这样，由于她的清泪的灌溉，
它繁茂地滋长，青绿而美丽；
它比佛罗伦萨所有的紫苏花
都更芬芳，因为它还从人所怕的
吸取到营养和生命，还从那
掩覆着的、迅速腐蚀的头颅里；
所以，这珍宝就从密封的盆中
开出花来，又把嫩叶伸到半空。
五五
唉，忧郁！在这儿稍停一会吧！
哦，乐音，乐音，请哀哀地呼吸！
还有回声，回声，请从渺茫的
忘川的岛屿——对我们太息！
悲伤的精灵，抬起头来，微笑吧；
精灵啊，把你们沉重的头抬起，
在这柏树的幽暗中闪一闪亮，
把你们的石墓染上银白的光。
五六
到这儿呻吟啊，所有的哀辞，
请你们离开悲剧女神的喉咙，
从青铜的竖琴上悒郁而行，
把琴弦点化为神秘的乐声；
请对轻风悲哀而低回地唱，
因为啊，真纯的伊莎贝尔已不能
活得很久了：她枯萎有如那芭蕉：
印度人要为了香汁把它砍掉。
五七
啊，任由芭蕉自己去枯萎吧；
别再让严冬冷彻它临终的一刻！——
也许不会——但她那膜拜金钱的
哥哥，却看到她呆枯的眼睛洒落
不断的泪雨；不少好事的亲友
也在奇怪，为什么在她将要充作
贵族的新娘的时候，却不惜
将大好青春与美的天赋委弃。
五八
而且，更使她的哥哥诧异的是，
为什么她总垂头坐在紫苏前，
为什么花儿盛开，像具有魔力，
这一切都给他们提出了疑难；
的确，他们不能相信，这一盆
渺不足道的东西，竟能截断
她美好的青春，窃取她的欢愉，
甚至霸占她恋人远行的记忆。
五九
所以，他们观察许久，想解答
这一个哑谜；但都归枉然；
因为她很少到教堂去忏悔，
也很少感到饥饿的熬煎；
她每次离房，都很快就回来，
好像飞开的鸟要回来孵卵；
她也和雌鸟一样耐心，面对着
她的紫苏，任泪珠朝发丝滚落。
六〇
但他们终于偷到了紫苏花盆，
并且把它拿到暗地里仔细考察：
他们看到青绿而灰白的一物，
正是罗伦左的脸，分毫不差！
啊，他们终于得到了谋杀的报酬：
两人匆匆离开了佛罗伦萨，
从此不再回来。——他们的头上
戴着血罪，从此流落在异乡。
六一
唉，忧郁！移开你的视线吧！
哦，乐音，乐音，请哀哀地呼吸！
还有回声，回声，请在另一天
从你的忘川之岛对我们太息！
悲伤的精灵啊，暂停你的丧歌，
因为甜蜜的伊莎贝尔将死去；
她将死得不称心，死得孤独，
因为他们夺走了她的紫苏。
六二
可怜的她望着无感觉的木石，
尽向它们追问她失去的紫苏；
每看到游方的僧人，她就带着
凄苦而清朗的笑声向他招呼，
并且问道：为什么人们把她的
紫苏花隐藏起来了，藏在何处，
“因为啊，”她说，“是谁这么残忍，
竟偷去了我的紫苏花盆。”
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