拜伦《堂璜与海蒂》

……

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?

Ah! 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.

   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——

   对多数亲朋眷念，对少数疑惧；

千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

   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。  

米斯特拉尔于1889年4月6日出生在智利北部一个小镇。1914年，她参加在首都圣地亚哥举行的“花奖赛诗会”，以三首怀念不得志而轻生的未婚夫所写的《死的十四行诗》获得金奖而蜚声文坛。1922年，纽约的西班牙研究院出版了她的《绝望》。这部诗集共分七卷，其中五卷是诗歌，涉及生活、学习、童年、痛苦、自然等方面。另外两卷是散文诗和短篇小说。诗歌中除了表现爱情这一永恒的主题之外，米斯特拉尔开始表达她对教育儿童、拯救贫民以及对西班牙美洲人民的关注。在艺术上，她的诗歌文字笔触细腻生动，感情真实，在形式上力求突破传统，锐意创新。

1924年，米斯特拉尔的第二部诗集《柔情》出版。之后，她进入外交界，先后任智利驻意大利、西班牙、葡萄牙、美国的领事，晚年还曾任智利驻联合国特使。1930年发表《艺术十条原则》，认为世界上不存在无神论的艺术；美就是上帝在人间的影子；美是指灵魂的美，美即是怜悯和安慰。1938年，她的第三部诗集《塔拉》问世。诗集歌颂大自然的美丽，抒发对母亲的挚爱，反映被压迫的痛苦。《塔拉》中的诗歌都是象征主义的佳作。米斯特拉尔还出版了《白云朵朵》（1934）、《智利掠影》（1934）、《母亲的诗》（1934）、《有刺的树》（1938）、《葡萄压榨机》（1954）、《智利的诗》（1966）等作品。另有散文集《智利信札》（1957）和《旧金山的主题》（1965）问世。她的作品题材广泛，艺术水准极高，她成为一代女诗人的代表和中心人物。她在拉丁美洲诗歌史上是承前启后的人物，对智利乃至拉丁美洲许多诗人产生了重要的影响。

《柔情》是米斯特拉尔的第二部重要诗集，共百余首诗。诗集中的大部分作品是献给母亲和儿童的，此外也有一些儿歌。这些诗格调清新，意境美丽，内容健康，诗句朴实易懂，感情真挚、热烈。墨西哥曾经举行由四千儿童组成的大合唱，演出这些歌谣，以表示对歌谣作者的敬意。“卡夫列拉·米斯特拉尔成了象征母爱的诗人。”

如《摇篮》一诗这样唱道：

木匠，木匠，

给我的娃娃做个摇篮，

快快锯些木材，

我在迫切等待。

……

木匠，木匠，

我摇我的娃娃入眠，

但愿你的小孩带着笑颜，

今晚睡得香甜。[3]

这首小诗以母亲要木匠做摇篮一事入诗，表达了母亲对孩子浓浓的爱意。像这样的小诗，情境交融，读起来朗朗上口，容易记忆。《柔情》中的诗一般都讲究形式，有的可以朗诵，有的可以歌唱，生动地表达了诗人即母亲对婴儿、幼儿和儿童的爱心和柔情。

巴勃罗·聂鲁达（1904—1973），原名内夫塔利·里卡多·雷耶斯·巴索阿尔托，是智利伟大的民族诗人。1971年，“因为他的诗作具有自然力般的作用，复苏了一个大陆的命运和梦想”[4]，凭借着《情诗哀诗赞诗》，以其无可比拟的境界和成就，聂鲁达成为诺贝尔文学奖得主，被马尔克斯誉为是“20世纪最伟大的诗人”。

1904年7月12日，聂鲁达出生于帕拉尔城。1920年起，出于对捷克现实主义诗人杨·聂鲁达的仰慕而开始启用巴勃罗·聂鲁达的笔名。1923年，聂鲁达出版了第一部诗集《黄昏》。1924年，他的第二部诗集《二十首情诗和一支绝望的歌》问世。此后，诗集《奇男子的引力》（1925）、《戒指》（1926）和小说《居民及其希望》（1926）相继出版，当时被称为智利三大诗人之一。从1927年开始，聂鲁达进入政坛，供职于外交界，先后出使仰光等多地，任驻外领事、总领事和大使等职。1935年，诗歌集《大地上的居所》（第一、二集）出版。聂鲁达用充满象征、比喻、神秘莫测的语言和自由体诗歌来发泄绝望、苦闷的情绪，表现畸形的阴暗世界。

1936年6月，西班牙内战爆发后，聂鲁达回到智利，创作了著名诗篇《西班牙在我心中》（1936），热情讴歌西班牙人民反法西斯战争。1939—1940年，他出访苏联、美国等许多国家，陆续写下了《献给斯大林格勒的情歌》、《献给玻利瓦尔的歌》、《献给斯大林格勒的新情歌》、《歌颂红军到达普鲁士门口》等诗篇，这些作品连同《西班牙在我心中》等其他作品一同收录在诗集《大地上的居所》第三卷（1935—1945）中。他的诗歌在结构和形象上采用超现实主义的手法，但在内容上则已经出现了向政治诗的转向。1945—1949年间，聂鲁达积极从事政治活动，并完成两部长诗《1948年纪事》和《漫歌集》。

1950年，聂鲁达获得“加强国际和平”列宁奖金，嗣后访问中国。1952年8月，智利政府撤销了对他的通缉令，他得以返回智利。此后，他完成了《元素之歌》（1954）、《葡萄和风》（1954）、《新元素之歌》（1956）等。《葡萄和风》创作于聂鲁达在访问欧洲、苏联和中国以后，是他一系列保卫世界和平政治活动的记述。而《颂歌》则是这一时期的代表作。《颂歌》中的作品富有哲理性，普通人和平凡的事物成为歌颂的对象，描绘了社会生活的细节。在表现形式上，语言简短、活泼，节奏较为平缓。

《黄昏》是聂鲁达于1923年出版的第一部诗集，其中不乏带有神秘的浪漫主义和象征主义的色彩之作。《二十首情诗和一支绝望的歌》（1924）是他的第二部诗集。诗集形象地展现出美丽的自然风光，歌颂爱情和青春，也表现个人爱情的悲欢。诗中感情真挚、文字朴实，风格清新。《漫歌集》（又称《诗歌总集》）是聂鲁达的巅峰之作。诗集分为15章，共248篇。它具有史诗般的品质，述说了美洲的历史、古代印第安文化的历史、侵略与反侵略的斗争史、独立战争的斗争史，总结了20世纪40年代的世界形势。第一章《大地上的灯》象征着人的潜意识中，美洲大地对人的召唤，一直到第十五章《我是》，写出了战士和诗人的责任。其中包括对西班牙征服者的描述，对美洲解放者的颂扬，对压迫者、独裁者的谴责，对普通劳苦大众的赞美，表达了诗人的愿望和理想。其中第二章《马克丘·毕比丘之巅》，是诗人在1943年结束墨西哥总领事工作的归国途中，参观秘鲁的印加帝国遗址——马克丘·毕比丘后而创作的，长达3500行，是《漫歌集》的精华所在。

奥克塔维奥·帕斯（1914—1998），1990年瑞典文学院将当年的诺贝尔文学奖授予了这位墨西哥诗人、散文家，认为“他的作品充满激情，视野开阔，渗透着感悟的智慧并体现了完美的人道主义”。帕斯成为拉美第五位诺贝尔文学奖得主。

帕斯出生于墨西哥城一个书香门第。14岁时，他以优异的成绩考入墨西哥国立自治大学。1931年他与人合办《栏杆》杂志（1931—1932），后来创办《墨西哥谷地手册》（1933—1934），介绍英、法、德等国的文学成就，主要刊登西班牙语国家著名诗人的作品。第一部诗集《野生的月亮》于1933年问世。1937年，《在你清晰的影子下及其他关于西班牙的诗》出版。西班牙内战结束后，他出版了《在世界岸边》和《复活之夜》（1939），并创办墨西哥后先锋文学的重要刊物《车间》（1938—1941）、《浪子》（1943），成为“车间”派诗人的重要一员。1949年，帕斯第一部重要诗作《假释的自由》面世。1955年，帕斯创建“诗歌朗诵”小组，推动诗歌戏剧运动。此后，他又创办《墨西哥文学杂志》来捍卫和实践现代派艺术理论。1956年，帕斯的诗论专著《弓与琴》出版并获得墨西哥文学的最高奖赏——比利亚马鲁蒂亚文学奖。1957年，出版文学随笔集《榆树上的梨》和第一部长诗《太阳石》，后者标志着帕斯诗歌艺术鼎盛时期的到来。次年《狂暴的季节》出版，表现了诗人对当时墨西哥现状所持的批判态度。此后，他专业从事文学创作。这一时期发表的主要有《蝾螈》（1962）、《旋转符号》（1965）、《交流》（1967）、《可视唱片》（1968）、《东山坡》（1969）、《回归》（1976）、《内心之树》（1987）、《另一个声音：诗歌与世纪末》（1990）等一大批作品。

《太阳石》是帕斯最具代表性的抒情诗之一，写于1957年的墨西哥城，收录在《语言下的自由》中。诗人写诗“是对墨西哥心理和神秘的底层作深入的探索”，“也是对我本人的一种深入探索”。他写社会，也写他自己。因此，他的“诗歌是对当时、对我们面对的时刻产生的内心和外部反应作出的回答”。

这首诗共有584行。太阳石即阿兹台克族的太阳历石碑，生死轮回、昼夜交替、时空置换，就像太阳历本身的循环一样，没有穷尽地轮转下去。《太阳石》描写了这种循环运动。这首诗的开头和结尾以相同的诗句表达了这种循环：

一颗晶莹的垂柳，一颗水灵的黑杨，

一股高高的喷泉随风飘荡，

一株笔直的树木翩翩起舞，

一条弯弯曲曲的河流

前进、后退、迂回，总能到达

要去的地方：……

这首长诗从15世纪的阿兹特克太阳历石碑切入，借赞扬阿兹台克太阳历石碑来赞美灿烂的美洲古代文明。诗的主题是描绘世界万物的特点、人类命运的变幻，抒发了诗人对祖国河山的眷恋和对美好生活的热爱。诗人展开想象的翅膀，打破时空的界限，用蒙太奇、联想波、套合术等手法，将现实、历史、神话、梦幻、回忆和憧憬融会贯通，充分显示出帕斯通古博今的学识和激越奔放的诗情。从形式上看，长诗以十一音节的无韵诗写成，一气呵成，被切分成几十个段落，却没有使用一个句号，表达了帕斯那一代人对历史和现实的深度思考和切身感受。这首诗被评论界认为是一部罕见的“当代史诗”。《太阳石》的问世使帕斯声誉鹊起，跻身世界文坛。

《语言下的自由》（1958）是帕斯的重要诗集之一，收录了诗人1935年至1957年的诗作。全书共分五大部分，包括历年创作的名篇，即《在你清晰的影子下》（1935—1944，六组诗，共40首）、《灾祸与奇迹》（1937—1947，两组诗，共31首）、《为一支颂歌准备的种子》（1943—1948，三组诗，共37首）、《鹰还是太阳？》（1949—1950，包括散文诗33首）和《狂暴的季节》（1948—1957，包括9首诗），总计150首。这些篇章是帕斯对时代和他自己关心的问题的思考。《语言下的自由》之所以如此命名，源于诗人对自由的不懈思索。他认为自由不可或缺，它是必须的面具，自由与命运互相依存。这部诗集的特点鲜明：一是题材广泛。人的生死爱恋、肉体情感，宇宙的时间空间、黑夜白天，大自然的花鸟草木、湖海山川、风云雷电，古往今来的社会事件，以及诗人的生活写作，应有尽有。二是形式多样。自由体诗、十四行诗、散文诗、叙事诗都有，长诗和短诗交相辉映。三是艺术手法丰富。象征、明喻和隐喻交替出现，充分运用了形象重现、诗句重叠及标点省略等各种手法。

豪尔赫·路易斯·博尔赫斯（1899—1986），阿根廷小说家、诗人，出生在布宜诺斯艾利斯一个富有家庭。1914年，全家迁往日内瓦，博尔赫斯在那里接受中学教育。1919年至1921年间，他在西班牙参加了极端主义文学运动。1921年，博尔赫斯回国后，将极端主义引介到阿根廷，同时坚持自己的创作道路。1923年，博尔赫斯出版第一部诗集《布宜诺斯艾利斯的激情》。他以诗人的身份登上文坛。此后，他又出版诗集《面前的月亮》（1925）、《圣马丁札记》（1929）、《诗人》（1960）、《另一个，同一个》（1964）、《为六弦琴而作》（1965）、《诗选》（1923—1967）、《影子的赞歌》（1967）、《老虎的黄金》（1972）、《深沉的玫瑰》（1975）、《铁币》（1976）、《夜晚的故事》（1977）、《天数》（1981）和《密谋》（1985）等。有评论家评论说：“他的诗作形式简朴，内容却深奥复杂，将逻辑的迷宫、直观的形象和神秘的寓言融为一体。”[6]他的诗歌涉及了很多主题：时间、梦幻、迷宫、死亡、镜子、图书馆、无限、永恒、宗教、神和“另一个我”。他的作品反映了世界的混沌性和文学的非现实感，其诗歌中包含有“一切皆流、一切皆变”的辩证法思想和“怀疑主义”与“不可知论”的唯心主义。他认为，古往今来的诗歌在题材上是相同的，诗歌永恒的本质在于典型和纯粹的形式。他的诗歌汇集抒情和叙事、激情和理智、思考和感受于一体，既有源自生活的灵感，也有深思的果实。对东方文明的向往构成了博尔赫斯诗歌的一个特色。他的作品用简练、明净、通俗的语言表达了深奥和玄妙的哲学思想。博尔赫斯被聂鲁达誉为“影响欧美文学的第一位拉丁美洲作家”。由于在文学上的卓越贡献，他一生获奖无数，如1956年获阿根廷国家文学奖等，唯独没有获得诺贝尔文学奖。

博尔赫斯的创作在中短篇小说和散文创作方面的成就更高。作品有短篇小说集《恶棍列传》（1935）、《永恒的历史》（1936）、《小径分岔的花园》（1941）等。散文作品有《探询集》、《我的巨大希望》（1926）、《新时间论》（1947）、《阿莱夫》（1948）和《死亡与罗盘》（1951）等。他的诗歌、小说和散文是交相辉映的。尤其是他的小说，获得高度的评价。评论者称：“博尔赫斯的小说短小精悍，却隐藏着一种深奥的哲理；运用典故和象征，制造梦幻、神秘的氛围。小说的情节扑朔迷离，结构新颖，充满了想象力，有的评论家把博尔赫斯的小说归入幻想文学。”[7]

《布宜诺斯艾利斯的激情》是诗人的第一部诗集，写于1923年。除了“序言”以外，共收录33首诗。博尔赫斯在1969年为诗集再版作了新序。他说：“我发觉1923年写下这些东西的那位青年本质上已经就是今天或认可或修改这些东西的先生。我们是同一个人。我们俩全都不相信失败与成功，不相信文学的流派及其教条……”[8]博尔赫斯保持了早期的信仰、理想和追求，是让人认清自己的本质并在其中看到自己成长的一面镜子。街道、广场、庭院、黄昏、思念与离别成了他这部诗集的主题。该诗集中最出色的一首是《分离》，“三百个夜晚必定变成三百堵高墙／无情地将爱侣与我隔断／大海将成为我们之间的梦魇。可能有的只会是思念。……[9]”这是一首爱情典范之作，表达了一种浓烈的爱意和思念。类似的爱情诗还有《星期六——致C.G.》等。

推荐阅读：

黄鹤矶头暮云尽 鹦鹉洲边春水生

莫倚仲宣能作赋 洞庭南接桂阳城