济慈诗8首
One morn before me were three figures seen,
With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;
And one behind the other stepped serene,
In placid sandals, and in white robes graced;
They passed, like figures on a marble urn,
When shifted round to see the other side;
They came again; as when the urn once more
Is shifted round, the first seen shades return;
And they were strange to me, as may betide
With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.
II
How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?
How came ye muffled in so hush a masque?
Was it a silent deep-disguised plot
To steal away, and leave without a task
My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;
The blissful cloud of summer indolence
Benumbed my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;
Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no flower:
Oh, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense
Unhaunted quite of all but—nothingness?
III
A third time passed they by, and, passing, turned
Each one the face a moment whiles to me;
Then faded, and to follow them I burned
And ached for wings because I knew the three;
The first was a fair maid, and Love her name;
The second was Ambition, pale of cheek,
And ever watchful with fatigued eye;
The last, whom I love more, the more of blame
Is heaped upon her, maiden most unmeek,—
I knew to be my demon Poesy.
IV
They faded, and, forsooth! I wanted wings:
Oh, folly! What is Love? And where is it?
And, for that poor Ambition! It springs
From a man's little heart's short fever-fit;
For Poesy! —No, —she has not a joy—
At least for me—so sweet as drowsy noons,
And evenings steeped in honeyed indolence.
Oh, for an age so sheltered from annoy
That I may never know how change the moons,
Or hear the voice of busy common-sense!
V
A third time came they by; —Alas, wherefore?
My sleep had been embroidered with dim dreams;
My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er
With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams:
The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,
Though in her lids hung the sweet tears of May;
The open casement pressed a new-leaved vine,
Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay;
O Shadows! 'twas a time to bid farewell!
Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.
VI
So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise
My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;
For I would not be dieted with praise,
A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!
Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more5
In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;
Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,
And for the day faint visions there is store.
Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle sprite
Into the clouds, and never more return!
Mar. 1819
他们走过，像石瓮表面的浮雕，
石瓮转动着，可以看到另一面；
他们又来了；石瓮再旋转一程，
翻过来，最初见到的影子又来到；
我觉得他们很奇特，正如深谙
菲迪亚斯的艺术者见到了希腊瓶。
II
影子们！我怎么不认识你们？怎么——
你们这样悄悄地戴着面具来？
这可是暗地里精心装扮的计策
要偷走我怠惰的时光，再把它丢开
而毫不费力？倦睡的时刻在发酵；
无忧无虑的云彩在慵懒的夏日
困住我两眼；我脉搏越来越缓慢；
痛苦不刺人，欢乐没鲜花炫耀：
你们呵，为什么不化掉，让我感知
谁也没来干扰我，除了那——虚幻？
III
他们第三次走过，经过时，他们
每人不时地把面孔转向我片刻；
然后退去，我渴望去追随他们，
苦想生翅膀，我认识他们三个；
第一位，美丽的姑娘，名叫爱情；
第二位，正是雄心，面色苍白，
永远在观察，用一双疲惫的眼睛；
第三位，我最爱，人们骂她越凶狠
我越爱，是个最不驯服的女孩——
我知道她是我的诗歌之精灵。
IV
他们退去了，真的！我想要羽翅：
傻话！什么是爱情？它在哪里？
还有那可怜的雄心！从一个男子
小小心灵阵发的热病中它跃起；
呵诗歌！——不，她没有欢乐，至少
对于我，不如午时甜甜的睡眠，
不如黄昏时惬意的懒散游荡，
但愿呵，来一个时代，避开烦恼，
让我永远不知道月缺月圆，
永远听不见常理的繁忙喧嚷！
V
他们又来了；——唉！这是为什么？
蒙眬的梦境装饰了我的睡眠；
我灵魂是一块草地，上面撒满了
鲜花，颤动的阴影，折射的光线：
晨空布满了阴云，但没下阵雨，
虽然晨睫挂着五月的甘泪；
打开的窗户紧挨着葡萄藤新叶，
让新蕾的温馨和鸫鸟的歌声进入；
影子们！时候到了，让我们说再会！
你们的衣裙没沾上我的泪液。
VI
再见吧，三鬼魂！你们不能够把我
枕着阴凉花野的头颅托起来；
我不愿人们喂我以赞誉，把我
当作言情闹剧里一只羊来宠爱！
从我眼前退隐吧，再一次变做
梦中石瓮上假面人一般的叠影；
再会！在夜里我拥有幻象联翩，
到白天，我仍有幻象，虽然微弱；
消逝吧，鬼魂们！离开我闲怠的心灵，
飞入云端去，不要再回来，永远！
Ode to Psyche
O Goddess! Hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
Surely I dreamt today, or did I see
The winged Psyche with awakened eyes?
I wandered in a forest thoughtlessly,
And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
In deepest grass, beneath the whispering roof
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
A brooklet, scarce espied:
'Mid hushed, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
Blue, silver-white and budded Tyrian,
They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;
Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Their lips touched not, but had not bade adieu,
As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
And ready still past kisses to outnumber
At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
The winged boy I knew;
But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
His Psyche true!
O latest born and loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-regioned star,
Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
Nor altar heaped with flowers;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours:
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
From chain-swung censer teeming;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
Of pale-mouthed prophet dreaming.
O brightest! Though too late for antique vows,
Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retired
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired.
So let me be thy choir and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours—
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged censer teeming;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
Of pale-mouthed prophet dreaming.
Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane0
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
Far, far around shall those dark-clustered trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;5
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lulled to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreathed trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
Who breeding flowers will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win, 65
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!
Apr. 1819
直诉向你那柔软的海螺状耳轮：
无疑我今天曾梦见——我是否目睹
长着翅膀、睁着眼睛的赛吉？
我在树林里无思无虑地漫步，
突然，我竟惊奇得目眩神迷，
我见到两个美丽的精灵相依偎
在深草丛里，上面有絮语的树叶
和轻颤的鲜花荫庇，溪水流淌
在其间，无人偷窥：
周围是宁静的、清凉的、芬芳的嫩蕊，
蓝色花、银色花，紫色的花苞待放，
他们躺卧在绿茵上，呼吸得安详；
他们的手臂拥抱，翅膀交叠；
他们的嘴唇没接触，也没告别，
仿佛被睡眠的柔腕分开一时，
准备醒后再继续亲吻无数次
在欢爱的黎明睁眼来到的时刻：
带翅的男孩我熟悉；
可你是谁呀，幸福的、幸福的小鸽？
他的好赛吉！
啊，出生在最后而秀美超群的形象
来自奥林波斯山暗淡的神族！
蓝宝石一般的福柏减却清芒，
天边威斯佩多情的萤光比输；
你比他们美，虽然你没有神庙，
没堆满供花的祭坛；
也没童男女唱诗班等午夜来到
便唱出哀婉的咏叹；
没声音，没诗琴，没风管，没香烟浓烈
从金链悬挂的香炉播散；
没神龛，没圣林，没神谕，没先知狂热，
嘴唇苍白，沉迷于梦幻。
啊，至美者！你虽没赶上古代的誓约，
更没听到善男信女的祝歌，
可神灵出没的树林庄严圣洁，
空气、流水、火焰纯净谐和；
即使在那些远古的日子里，远离开
敬神的虔诚，你那发光的翅膀
仍然在失色的诸神间振羽飞翔，
我两眼有幸见到了，我歌唱起来。
就让我做你的唱诗班吧，等午夜来到
便唱出哀婉的咏叹！
做你的声音、诗琴、风管、香烟浓烈，
从悬空摆动的香炉播散；
做你的神龛、圣林、神谕、先知狂热，
嘴唇苍白，沉迷于梦幻。
是的，我要做你的祭司，在我心中
未经践踏的地方为你建庙堂，
有沉思如树枝长出，既快乐，又苦痛，
代替了松树在风中沙沙作响：
还有绿阴浓深的杂树大片
覆盖着悬崖峭壁，野岭荒山。
安卧苍苔的林仙在轻风、溪涧、
小鸟、蜜蜂的歌声里安然入眠；
在这寂静的广阔领域的中央，
我要整修出一座玫瑰色的圣堂，
它将有花环形构架如思索的人脑，
点缀着花蕾、铃铛、无名的星斗
和“幻想”这园丁构思的一切奇妙，
雷同的花朵决不会出自他手：
将为你准备冥想能赢得的一切
温馨柔和的愉悦欢快，
一支火炬，一扇窗敞开在深夜，
好让热情的爱神进来！
On First Looking into Chapman's Homer
Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold.
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific, and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Oct. 1816
那曾被诗人们献给阿波罗的岛屿。
我时常听人说起那广袤的疆域——
荷马的领土，在那里他蹙额思考，
但只有恰普曼发了言，慷慨高蹈，
我才吸到了那里的清气馥郁。
于是我自觉仿佛守望着苍天，
见一颗新 星向我的视野流进来，
或者像壮汉柯忒斯，用一双鹰眼
凝视着太平洋，而他的全体伙伴们
都面面相觑，带着狂热的臆猜——
站在达连的山峰上，屏息凝神。
'Keen, fitful gusts are whispering here and there'
Keen, fitful gusts are whispering here and there
Among the bushes, half leafless and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair.
For I am brimful of the friendliness
That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-haired Milton's eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid drowned;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
And faithful Petrarch gloriously crowned.
Oct. 1816
而我呀还有多少里路程要赶；
但我没感到天气肃杀，严寒，
没听到枯叶萧飒，窸窣有声，
没留意高空星焰如盏盏银灯，
没觉着离温暖的家有多么遥远：
因为我心中溢满了深情厚谊，
是在小小的村舍里觅得；我看见
银发的弥尔顿说不尽多少忧悒，
把挚爱向溺水的好友里西达斯呈献；
可爱的劳拉身穿淡色的绿衣，
忠诚的彼得拉克头戴光荣的桂冠。
On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour
Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heaped-up flowers, in regions clear and far.
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
Or hand of hymning angel when 'tis seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween.
And let there glide by many a pearly car,
Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,
And half-discovered wings, and glances keen.
The while let music wander round my ears,
And as it reaches each delicious ending,
Let me write down a line of glorious tone,
And full of many wonders of the spheres:
For what a height my spirit is contending!
'Tis not content so soon to be alone.
Oct.—Nov. 1816
不然就给我天使的素手，好拨弄
天堂里竖琴的银弦，奏圣乐赞颂：
让缀满珍珠的彩车悄然来往，
载着飘动的鬓发，钻石瓶，红罗裳，
半露的翅膀，流盼的美目匆匆。
让仙乐悠扬，缭绕在我的耳际，
当美妙的乐章到达终曲的时辰，
让我写出高雅典丽的诗句，
描绘重霄之上的种种奇迹：
我的灵魂在攀登凌霄的高峰！
它不会这样快就甘愿忍受孤独。
To my Brothers
Small, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals,
And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o'e fraternal souls.
And while for rhymes I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fixed, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep
That ay at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birth-day, Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly.
Many such eves of gently whispering noise
May we together pass, and calmly try
What are this world's true joys, ere the great voice
From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly.
18th Nov. 1816
守护着兄弟友爱的温馨王国。
正当我上天入地把诗韵搜索，
你们的眼睛，像睡在诗的梦里，
凝视着这部传说，它雄辩，奥秘，
宽解着我们的 烦忧，当夜幕垂落⋯⋯
今天是你的生日，托姆，我高兴
这一天过得宁静，过得平安。
愿我们共度多少个这样温馨
低语的夜晚，安恬地品尝世间
真正的欢乐，直到那伟大的声音
和颜悦色地召唤我们上天。
Addressed to Haydon
Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood.
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a 'singleness of aim'
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy and Malice to their native sty?
Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.
Nov. 1816
身居陋巷，或人迹罕至的树林：
我们认为不懂世事的天真
却常常具有“锲而不舍的精神”，
这使高利贷商贾、可怜的一群
感到惊异，羞赧，无颜见人。
意志坚强的天才，献身于理想，
勇敢地劳作，赢得了无上的荣耀！
不屈的志士，威慑住嫉妒和中伤，
使它们丑态毕露，有什么不好？
无数颗良心都在默默地赞扬，
在人们心目中，他是祖国的骄傲！
Addressed to the Same ['Great Spirits']
Great spirits now on earth are sojourning:
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,
Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing;
He of the rose, the violet, the spring,
The social smile, the chain for freedom's sake;
And lo!—whose steadfastness would never take
A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering.
And other spirits there are standing apart
Upon the forehead of the age to come;
These, these will give the world another heart
And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings?—
Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb.
Nov. 1816
从天使的翅膀取得常新的力量；
一个属于玫瑰，紫罗兰，春光，
友好地微笑，为自由而身系铁链，
看啊 ！他如此坚定，决不采选
一声低于拉斐尔耳语的音响。
还有另一些灵魂站在一旁，
站在属于未来的时代的额前；
他们会赋予世人另一颗心脏，
另一 种脉搏。你们难道没听见
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