弥尔顿诗2首
弥尔顿(John Milton,1608-1674),英国资产阶级革命时期的大诗人。早期受到维吉尔诗风的影响,创作抒情挽诗《利西达斯》以及具有田园诗风的抒情诗《快乐的人》、《幽思的人》等。其十四行诗在题材和艺术形式方面对伊丽莎白时代的十四行诗均有所突破,将政治、宗教、友情与爱情一并展现于诗中,涵义深刻而丰富,感情真挚,语言朴实无华。它们多用意大利式写成,形式完美,意境庄严。革命时期,他任共和国拉丁文秘书,拥护民主,宣扬自由。革命失败后,他深居简出,完成了巨著《失乐园》、《复乐园》和《力士参孙》。
On the Late Massacre in Piedmont
Avenge , O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old
When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rolled
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
O'er all th'Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple tyrant : that from these may grow
A hundredfold, who having learnt thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian woe .
最近的皮埃蒙大屠杀
复仇吧,主呵!圣徒们遭了大难,
白骨散布在寒冷的阿尔卑斯山顶;
当我们的祖先崇拜木石的时辰,
他们已信奉了你那纯粹的真言;
别忘记他们:请录下他们的呻唤,
你的羔羊群,被那血腥的皮埃蒙人
屠杀在古老的羊栏,凶手们把母亲
连婴孩摔下悬崖。他们的悲叹
从山谷传到山峰,再传到上天。
请把殉难者的血肉播种在意大利
全部国土上,尽管三重冠的暴君
仍然统治着意大利:种子将繁衍,
变为千万人,理解了您的真谛,
他们将及早避开巴比伦式的厄运。
Il Penseroso
Hence vain deluding Joys,
The brood of Folly without father bred,
How little you bestead,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys;
Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sunbeams ,
Or likest hovering dreams,
The fickle pensioners of Morpheus'train.
But hail thou Goddess sage and holy ,
Hail, divinest Melancholy,
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue;
Black, but such as in esteem ,
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,
Or that starred Ethiope queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above
The sea nymphs , and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended ;
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she (in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain).
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast , and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable stole of cypress lawn
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward cast
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar sing.
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The cherub Contemplatiòn ;
And the mute Silence hist along,
'Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight ,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o'er th'accustomed oak;
Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy !
Thee chantress oft the woods among
I woo to hear thy evensong;
And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heaven's wide pathless way;
And oft as if her head she bowed,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off curfew sound
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or if the air will not permit,
Some still removèd place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman's drowsy charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm;
Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato to unfold
What words or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook;
And of those demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptered pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine,
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the buskined stage.
But, O sad virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball and of Algarsife,
And who had Canacee to wife,
That owned the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horse of brass,
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of tourneys and of trophies hung,
Of forests and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited Morn appear,
Not tricked and frounced as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kerchiefed in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ushered with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of pine or monumental oak,
Where the rude ax with heaved stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
There in close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honeyed thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feathered sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
of lively portraiture displayed
softly on my eyelids laid.
And as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath ,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or th'unseen genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high embowèd roof,
With antic pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow
To the full-voiced choir below,
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies ,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew,
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
冥想的人
去吧,徒然骗人的“欢愉”,
“愚昧”的产儿,没有父亲的孽障!
把你所有的玩意儿全呈上
也难以使得坚定的心胸满意!
你可以住进懒散的脑袋,
幻想出愚蠢而花哨的种种造形,
光怪陆离,千姿百态,
像太阳光线里无数快活的微尘,
更像那飘忽的梦境在摇摆,
做睡神行列里反复无常的侍臣。
但是,欢迎你,神圣的女神!
无比庄严的“忧郁”,欢迎!
你仪容圣洁,光芒太强烈,
怕射伤世人敏感的眼睫,
你于是给我们柔弱的视觉
加上稳重的“智慧”的暗色,
但是这暗色,被认为尊贵,
可媲美门农王子的妹妹,
也像那埃塞俄比亚王后——
她夸耀自己美丽俊秀
超过海仙女,把她们得罪:
可是你出身远为高贵:
金发的威斯塔,在远古时代,
她跟萨土恩生下你来,
她本是萨土恩之女,那时,
这样的结合不算可耻:
朦胧的树荫下,枝叶扶苏,
伊达山隐秘的密林深处,
他时常在这里跟她幽会,
那时还不用怕约夫作祟。
来吧,沉思的修女,你虔诚,
纯洁,清醒,坚贞,娴静,
全身裹一件暗色的袍服,
身后拖曳着庄严的裙裾,
一条深黑色透明的纱巾
披上你庄重的双肩正合身。
来吧,保持你往常的尊严,
要神态沉吟,步履平缓,
你仰面朝天,与诸天交接,
你灵魂在你的眼睛里欢跃:
请牢固坚持圣洁的情操,
忘掉你自己,成一座石雕,
直到你忧伤地转移视线
牢牢地凝视着地上人间:
跟“和平”“宁静”的联谊要保持,
斋戒时,跟诸神一同节食,
聆听缪斯们围成个圆圈
唱歌,绕着约夫的神坛:
还要添一份退隐的闲适,
到雅园秀苑,看赏心乐事:——
但是首要的事情却是
请来那拍动金翅的天使
带领有火轮的宝座到此,
他的名字就叫做“沉思”:
还有那“静寂”不许声音响,
除非夜莺能屈尊唱一唱,
夜莺那凄楚动听的歌喉
能舒展“黑夜”深锁的眉头,
辛西娅收紧驭龙的丝缰,
缓行在常见的橡树顶上。
好鸟啊,你躲开愚蠢的喧嚷,
你的歌鸣最悦耳,最忧伤!
女歌手!我常到树林中去
追踪你,听你唱黄昏之曲;
我没找到你,就悄悄步行,
走上干爽而平坦的草坪,
抬头仰望那浪游的明月
正驾车驶近她最高的天阙,
仿佛她已经被引入迷途,
行经那浩茫无路的天宇,
她似乎常常低下头来,
穿过白云,俯身徘徊。
我时常站在高坡平台上,
倾听那晚钟来自远方,
钟声震荡在大水之湄,
音调沉郁,凄恻低回:
假如天时不许我踟蹰,
我便另找个幽僻的去处,
屋内炉子里馀火未熄,
火光暗淡,成一片阴翳:
对一切欢娱,都远远离开,
只有炉边的蟋蟀除外,
或者听更夫催眠的咒语
在消灾祛祟,替家家祝福。
或让我在午夜时分举灯
从高塔放出孤傲的光明,
我时常倚塔观测熊星座,
研读赫耳墨斯的巨作,
或唤醒柏拉图的魂灵来阐述
是什么广阔的宇宙或疆土
包容着永生不朽的心灵,
那舍弃肉体皮囊的精神:
或请他讲解水与土、火与风,
其中隐藏着什么精灵,
而这些精灵有何等神力
跟行星和元素和谐相契。
有时我阅读雄壮的悲剧,
看权杖和王袍来往急遽,
演出忒拜城,佩洛普斯族,
或者神圣的特洛亚掌故;
也让我偶尔看一下近代
有什么悲剧登上舞台。
可是,忧郁的贞女啊,愿你能
立即把缪秀斯从卧室唤醒,
或命令俄耳甫斯的魂灵
随琴弦起伏而婉转歌吟,
这样的歌曲,叫冥王眼泪流,
叫冥府答应爱情的要求!
或唤起说故事人,继续讲完
那故事,描述勇猛的坎宾斯汗,
描述坎巴罗,阿尔加西夫,
讲讲谁娶了卡纳丝做媳妇,
卡纳丝赢得了神戒指、魔镜;
讲讲那铜马有神奇的本领,
鞑靼王骑着它到处驰骋:
还要唤起其他的大诗人,
他们曾唱过庄严的圣曲,
歌唱比武会,缴获的兵器,
唱出森林和瘆人的妖术,
歌里的弦外之音要领悟。
夜啊!你挥洒青光看着我,
直到素衣的“黎明”喷薄,
她一如往常,不打扮,不梳妆,
随雅典少年去打猎那样,
头上的鬓鬟在云中半掩,
任大风回旋奏响弦管,
等到那狂飙已经吹够,
也可以来一阵豪雨急骤,
雨将歇还落上窸窣的树叶,
听屋檐滴水一声声不歇。
这时候太阳升起来,放射
万丈光芒,女神啊!请带我
到丛林深处阴蔽的小径,
看林神钟爱的松柏浓影,
或者参天的橡树高耸,
听不见丁丁砍伐的斧声,
不会使山林女神们受惊,
使她们离开神圣的幽境。
请把我藏在溪边隐蔽处,
不让鄙俗的眼睛来偷睹,
躲避开太阳刺眼的光芒,
任腿沾花粉的蜜蜂来往,
唱着歌在花木丛中忙碌,
听条条溪涧潺潺低诉,
种种轻声成一片和音
引来轻如羽绒的睡神;
让睡神带来奇异的梦幻
如生动鲜活的画面展现,
在他的羽翼上流水般潋滟,
轻轻地印上我的眼帘:
我醒来,有音乐无比美妙,
从上,从下,从四周涌到,
由林间无形的善心神灵
或精怪送来给凡人聆听。
但是我不会收起步履,
我走访沉静的教堂小区,
我爱那崇高的穹形屋顶,
古老的石柱,粗壮坚挺,
装饰着五彩故事的高窗,
放进宗教的幽暗微光:
这里有风琴响亮地奏鸣,
下面的唱诗班合唱和声,
虔诚的圣诗,清亮的颂歌,
在我的耳朵里美妙谐和,
使我销魂于狂喜极乐,
在我的眼前便出现天国。
但愿我能在衰老的晚年
找到一座宁静的修道院,
粗拙的袍服,生苔的小屋,
我坐在那里,专心研读
一个个星象在天上争辉,
一棵棵草木吸饮露水;
直到成熟的经验累积,
能获得类似先知的品质。
推荐阅读:
采尔提斯《致阿波罗,诗歌艺术的创造者,愿他从意大利莅临德国》
沙比尔·巴努海《are you the river oram i》