爱伦·坡《哦,时代!哦,风尚! 》
O, Times! O, Manners! It is my opinion
That you are changing sadly your dominion—
I mean the reign of manners hath long ceased,
For men have none at all, or bad at least;
And as for times, altho' 'tis said by many
The "good old times" were far the worst of any,
Of which sound doctrine I believe each tittle,
Yet still I think these worse than them a little.
I've been a thinking—isn't that the phrase?—
I like your Yankee words and Yankee ways—
I've been a thinking, whether it were best
To take things seriously, or all in jest;
Whether, with grim Heraclitus of yore,
To weep, as he did, till his eyes were sore;
Or rather laugh with him, that queer philosopher,
Democritus of Thrace, who used to toss over
The page of life and grin at the dog-ears,
As though he'd say, "Why, who the devil cares?"
This is a question which, oh heaven, withdraw
The luckless query from a member's claw!
Instead of two sides, Job has nearly eight,
Each fit to furnish forth four hours debate.
What shall be done? I'll lay it on the table,
And take the matter up when I'm more able;
And, in the meantime, to prevent all bother,
I'll neither laugh with one, nor cry with t'other,
Nor deal in flatt'ry or aspersions foul,
But, taking one by each hand, merely growl.
Ah, growl, say you, my friend, and pray at what?
Why, really, sir, I almost had forgot—
But, damn it, sir, I deem it a disgrace
That things should stare us boldly in the face,
And daily strut the street with bows and scrapes,
Who would be men by imitating apes.
I beg your pardon, reader, for the oath
The monkeys make me swear, though something loath;
I'm apt to be discursive in my style,
But pray be patient; yet a little while
Will change me, and as politicians do,
I'll mend my manners and my measures too.
Of all the cities—and I've seen no few;
For I have travelled, friend, as well as you—
I don't remember one, upon my soul,
But take it generally upon the whole,
(As Members say they like their logick taken,
Because divided, it may chance be shaken)
So pat, agreeable and vastly proper
As this for a neat, frisky counter-hopper;
Here he may revel to his heart's content,
Flounce like a fish in his own element,
Toss back his fine curls from their forehead fair,
And hop o'er counters with a Vester's air,
Complete at night what he began A.M.,
And having cheated ladies, dance with them;
For, at a ball, what fair one can escape
The pretty little hand that sold her tape,
Or who so cold, so callous to refuse
The youth who cut the ribbon for her shoes!
One of these fish, par excellence the beau—
God help me!—it has been my lot to know,
At least by sight, for I'm a timid man,
And always keep from laughing, if I can;
But speak to him, he'll make you such grimace,
Lord! to be grave exceeds the power of face.
The hearts of all the ladies are with him,
Their bright eyes on his Tom and Jerry brim
And dove-tailed coat, obtained at cost; while then
Those eyes won't turn on anything like men.
His very voice is musical delight,
His form, once seen, becomes a part of sight;
In short, his shirt collar, his look, his tone is
The "beau ideal" fancied for Adonis.
Philosophers have often held dispute
As to the seat of thought in man and brute;
For that the power of thought attends the latter
My friend, the beau, hath made a settled matter,
And spite of all dogmas, current in all ages,
One settled fact is better than ten sages.
For he does think, though I'm oft in doubt
If I can tell exactly what about.
Ah, yes! his little foot and ankle trim,
'Tis there the seat of reason lies in him,
A wise philosopher would shake his head,
He then, of course, must shake his foot instead.
At me, in vengeance, shall that foot be shaken—
Another proof of thought, I'm not mistaken—
Because to his cat's eyes I hold a glass,
And let him see himself, a proper ass!
I think he'll take this likeness to himself,
But if he won't, he shall, a stupid elf,
And, lest the guessing throw the fool in fits,
I close the portrait with the name of PITTS.
我是一种思想——这难道不是格言?——
我喜欢你的北方腔调和北方习惯——
我是一种思想,不管怎样做最好,
是严肃对待人生,还是把人生当玩笑;
是学赫拉克利特,那个严厉的老翁,
像他一样哭泣,直哭得两眼红肿;
还是跟着他笑,那个奇怪的哲人,
色雷斯的德谟克利特,笑对人生,
他常翻开人生之书,对着折页发笑,
仿佛要说“干吗,究竟有谁会在乎?”
哦,天啊,就是这一个问号,
把世人那个不幸的问题一笔勾销!
不是两问,约伯几乎有八问,
每问都应该花上四小时来辩争。
那我该怎么办?先把问题搁一边,
待我有能力解答时再回过头来看;
而与此同时,我将避开一切烦扰,
既不跟着人哭,也不跟着人笑,
既不诬蔑诽谤,也不阿谀奉承,
而是一手拉一个,只是愤愤不平。
啊哈,我的朋友,你愤愤不平什么?
哟,真的,先生,我几乎已忘却——
可真该死,先生,我认为那真丢脸,
那些家伙竟厚颜无耻盯着咱们看,
终日在街头招摇,还不时点头哈腰,
那些家伙肯定是学人模样的活宝。
我请求读者原谅,原谅我出言不逊,
虽说不情愿,可那些猴子使我骂人;
我的作风很容易变得自由散漫,
但请稍安勿躁,只需一点点时间,
我就会像政客们一样摇身一变,
恢复我的风度举止和行为规范。
在所有的城市中——我见过不少人;
因为,朋友,我和你一样爱旅行——
可现在我脑海中一个也想不起,
不过干脆就把他们视为一个整体,
(就像有人喜欢他的逻辑保持囫囵,
因为一旦被分解,很可能一文不名)
如此恰当,如此相宜,如此方便,
把这整体比作一个精明活跃的老板,
在这世上他沉迷于他心灵的满足,
活蹦欢跳如鱼得水,如渴者逢甘露,
从优雅的额前把美丽的卷发向后一甩,
纵身跳过柜台,以大老板的气派,
在夜间来完成他上午开始的任务,
骗一个个夫人小姐与他翩翩共舞;
因为在舞场上哪位淑女能逃走,
从那双卖给她火酒的漂亮小手;
或谁会那么无情,竟忍心推辞,
撕绶带为她系鞋的年轻绅士!
这些鱼中的一条,杰出的花花公子——
愿上帝助我——我注定与他相识,
至少见过他,因为我生性害臊,
只要能够忍住,我总是忍住不笑;
但对他说话,他会对你扮个鬼脸,
主啊!那鬼脸的魅力超过了庄严。
所有女人的芳心都跟着他转悠,
她们明亮的眼中也溢满他的甜酒,
还有他那身价格昂贵的燕尾服,
除此之外她们对谁都不屑一顾。
他那悦耳的声音像音乐一样动听,
他那我曾见过的身躯已成为一景;
他的衣领、容貌、风度,总而言之,
就像是阿多尼,理想中美的极致。
哲学家们从来就争论不休,
何处是思想之寓所,于人于兽;
由于思想的力量伴随着后者,
我漂亮的朋友已把这问题解决,
虽说有无数定理世世代代流传,
但一个解决的问题胜过十个圣贤。
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