托马斯·哈代诗13首
Hap
If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy Love's loss is my hate's profiting!"
Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
— Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan…
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
A Confession to a Friend in Trouble
Your troubles shrink not, though I feel them less
Here, far away, than when I tarried near;
I even smile old smiles — with listlessness —
Yet smiles they are, not ghastly mockeries mere.
A thought too strange to house within my brain
Haunting its outer precincts I discern:
— That I will not show zeal again to learn
Your griefs, and, sharing them, renew my pain…
It goes, like murky bird or buccaneer
That shapes its lawless figure on the main,
And staunchness tends to banish utterly
The unseemly instinct that had lodgment here;
Yet, comrade old, can bitterer knowledge be
Than that, though banned, such instinct was in me!
Neutral Tones
We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden by God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod;
— They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles of years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro
On which lost the more by our love.
The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing…
Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
灰色调
那个冬日，我俩站在池边，
太阳苍白得像遭了上帝责备，
枯萎的草坪上几片树叶发灰，
那是一棵白腊树落下的叶片。
你看我的双眼，仿佛是在看
多年前已猜破了的沉闷的谜；
你我间交换的几句文字游戏
把我们的爱贬损得更加惨淡。
你唇上的微笑充满死的滋味，
它的活力刚刚够赴死之用，
其中掠过一抹枯涩的影踪，
像一只不祥的鸟在飞……
辛酸的一课啊：爱情善欺善毁，
这一课从此为我画出你的面目，
画出上帝诅咒的太阳，一棵树，
还有灰色落叶镶边的一池水。
She at His Funeral
They bear him to his resting-place—
In slow procession sweeping by;
I follow at a stranger's space;
His kindred they, his sweetheart I.
Unchanged my gown of garish dye,
Though sable-sad is their attire;
But they stand round with griefless eye,
Whilst my regret consumes like fire!
她在他的葬礼上
他们把他抬向安息之地——
延伸的队列缓慢地行进；
我是陌生人，隔着一段距离；
他们是亲属，我只是情人。
我没有换掉我的花衣裳，
尽管他们的丧服是一片黑色；
但他们围着，眼光毫不悲伤，
而吞噬我的是遗恨之火！
The Dance at the Phoenix
To Jenny came a gentle youth
From inland leazes lone,
His love was fresh as apple-blooth
By Parrett, Yeo, or Tone.
And duly he entreated her
To be his tender minister,
And take him for her own.
Now Jenny's life had hardly been
A life of modesty;
At few in Casterbridge had seen
More loves of sorts than she
From scarcely sixteen years above;
Among them sundry troopers of
The King's-Own Cavalry.
But each with charger, sword, and gun,
Had bluffed the Biscay wave;
And Jenny prized her rural one
For all the love he gave.
She vowed to be, if they were wed,
His honest wife in heart and head
From bride-ale hour to grave.
Wedded they were. Her husband's trust
In Jenny knew no bound,
And Jenny kept her pure and just,
Till even malice found
No sin or sign of ill to be
In one who walked so decently
The duteous helpmate's round.
Two sons were born, and bloomed to men,
And roamed, and were as not:
Alone was Jenny left again
As ere her mind had sought
A solace in domestic joys,
And ere the vanished pair of boys
Were sent to sun her cot.
She numbered near to sixty years,
And passed as elderly,
When, on a day, with flushing fears,
She learnt from shouts of glee,
And shine of swords and thump of drum,
Her early loves from war had come,
The King's-Own Cavalry.
She turned aside, and bowed her head
Anigh Saint Peter's door;
"Alas for chastened thoughts!" she said;
"I'm faded now, and hoar,
And yet those notes — they thrill me through,
And those gay forms move me anew
As they moved me of yore!"…
'Twas Christmas, and the Phoenix Inn
Was lit with tapers tall,
For thirty of the trooper men
Had vowed to give a ball
As "Theirs" had done ('twas handed down)
When lying in the self-same town
Ere Buonaparté's fall.
That night the throbbing "Soldier's Joy",
The measured tread and sway
Of "Fancy-Lad" and "Maiden Coy",
Reached Jenny as she lay
Beside her spouse; till springtide blood
Seemed scouring through her like a flood
That whisked the years away.
She rose, arrayed, and decked her head
Where the bleached hairs grew thin;
Upon her cap two bows of red
She fixed with hasty pin;
Unheard descending to the street
She trod the flags with tune-led feet,
And stood before the Inn.
Save for the dancers', not a sound
Disturbed the icy air;
No watchman on his midnight round
Or traveller was there;
But over All-Saints', high and bright,
Pulsed to the music Sirius white,
The Wain towards Bullstake Square.
She knocked, but found her further stride
Checked by a sergeant's call:
"Gay Granny, whence come you?" he cried;
"This is a private ball."
— "No one has more right here than me!
Ere you were born, man," answered she,
"I knew the regiment all!"
"Take not the lady's visit ill!"
The steward said; "for, see,
We lack sufficient partners still,
So, prithee let her be!"
They seized and whirled her 'mid the maze,
And Jenny felt as in the days
Of her immodesty.
Hour chased each hour, and night advanced;
She sped as shod with wings;
Each time and every time she danced —
Reels, jigs, poussettes, and flings:
They cheered her as she soared and swooped,
(She had learnt ere art in dancing drooped
From hops to slothful swings).
The favorite Quick-step "Speed the Plough" —
(Cross hands, cast off, and wheel) —
"The Triumph", "Sylph", "The Row-dow-dow",
Famed "Major Malley's Reel",
"The Duke of York's", "The Fairy Dance",
"The Bridge of Lodi" (brought from France),
She beat out, toe and heel.
The "Fall of Paris" clanged its close,
And Peter's chimed to four,
When Jenny, bosom-beating, rose
To seek her silent door.
They tiptoed in escorting her,
Lest stroke of heel or clink of spur
Should break her goodman's snore.
The fi re that lately burnt fell slack
When lone at last was she;
Her nine-and-fifty years came back;
She sank upon her knee
Beside the durn , and like a dart
A something arrowed through her heart
In shoots of agony.
Their footsteps died as she leant there,
Lit by the morning star
Hanging above the moorland, where
The aged elm-rows are;
As overnight, from Pummery Ridge
To Maembury Ring and Standfast Bridge
No life stirred, near or far.
Though inner mischief worked amain,
She reached her husband's side;
Where, toil-weary, as he had lain
Beneath the patchwork pied
When with lax longings she had crept
Therefrom at midnight, still he slept
Who did in her confide.
A tear sprang as she turned and viewed
His features free from guile;
She kissed him long, as when, just wooed,
She chose his domicile.
She felt she would give more than life
To be the single-hearted wife
That she had been erstwhile…
Time wore to six. Her husband rose
And struck the steel and stone;
He glanced at Jenny, whose repose
Seemed deeper than his own.
With dumb dismay, on closer sight,
He gathered sense that in the night,
Or morn, her soul had flown.
When told that some too mighty strain
For one so many-yeared
Had burst her bosom's master-vein,
His doubts remained unstirred.
His Jenny had not left his side
Betwixt the eve and morning-tide:
— The King's said not a word.
Well! times are not as times were then,
Nor fair ones half so free;
And truly they were martial men,
The King's-Own Cavalry.
And when they went from Casterbridge
And vanished over Mellstock Ridge,
'Twas saddest morn to see.
凤凰之舞
有个温柔小伙子来追珍妮，
来自内地的牧场；
他清新的爱情像苹果花儿
在帕雷特河边开放。
他认真追求，诚意说服，
求她答应做他的贤内助，
永远认他作情郎。
却说珍妮的生活和性情
算不上拘谨规范，
刚刚到十六岁上初长成，
就开始激情体验，
她在卡斯特桥很多相识，
其中有各种各样的兵士，
都属皇家骑兵团。
个个配备火枪、剑和战马，
比斯开湾有战绩；
但珍妮看重乡下来的他，
看重他诚心实意。
她保证说，如果他俩成婚，
她会做忠实妻子永不变心，
从喜酒直到墓地。
于是他们结了婚。她老公
对珍妮无限信任；
而珍妮保持纯洁，正大光明，
就连恶意的人
存心要到她身上来找碴儿，
对这位贤内助，也没法儿
挑剔她的忠贞。
她生了两个儿子，养大了，
离家外出在远途：
珍妮被撂在家成了空巢，
想当年她的家屋
靠两个孩子增添了欢愉，
使她的持家充满了乐趣，
而今却重新孤独。
六十的岁数已越来越近，
她步入了老年，
有一天，忽感到猛地一震，
她听得欢声一片，
伴着剑光闪闪鼓声咚咚，
从战场回来了她的旧情——
皇家御林骑兵团。
她低下头，她转向一侧，
在圣彼得教堂旁；
“抑制了的心情呀！”她说，
“如今我白发苍苍，
但这音乐仍使我全身战栗，
鲜亮军装仍使我激动不已，
像久久之前一样！”……
——正值圣诞节，凤凰酒店
高烛通明放光辉，
因为今夜有三十个军人
决意组织舞会。——
他们前辈在拿破仑覆亡前，
骑兵团在本市驻扎期间，
有这传统之规。
那夜，令人心跳的“士兵乐”、
“怕羞妹”的摇摆、
“少年郎”有节律的踏和跺
向珍妮耳中传来，
当她躺在老伴身边；舞曲声声
使她热血沸腾，冲走了年龄，
一如春潮澎湃。
她起身来，打扮整洁，
为装点双鬓斑斑，
用红丝带挽两个蝴蝶结，
匆匆别在女帽边；
悄没声响地下楼上了街，
踩着石板路，循着音乐
来到了酒店门前。
除了舞蹈声，冰冻的空中
没杂音打岔；
再没有别人半夜里出行
也没更夫巡查；
唯见诸圣堂上明亮的天狼
应着乐音闪光，拴牛广场上
是北斗星高挂。
她敲门，不料一个军士
拦住不让进门：
“老奶奶，你哪里来的？
我们没请外人。”
“这里没一个人比我更有权！”
她回答道，“我认识整个团！
那时你还没出生。”
“对待女士来访不要粗暴！”
服务员发了话；
“你瞧，这儿女舞伴还少，
就请你放她一马！”
于是她被抱着在迷宫飞旋，
珍妮感到重温了青春之年
她的浪漫潇洒。
小时追小时，夜在赶路，
脚下生翅般轻快；
她跳着每一种舞：里尔舞、
吉格、弗灵和蒲赛，
兴高采烈地飞升又降低
（她从前就会低姿舞技——
从跳跃到慢摇摆）。
她心爱的快步“扶犁舞”——
（交叉手、丢开、转）、
“马利少校舞”和“西尔芙”、
“闹多多”和“凯旋”、
“约克公爵”和“舞蹈仙子”、
法国“洛底桥”，她敲出拍子
用脚跟和脚尖。
“巴黎陷落”奏响了终曲，
圣彼得钟敲四下，
怀着剧跳的心，珍妮站起
找她静静的家。
护送者小心翼翼踮着脚，
免得靴跟、马刺声惊扰
还在打鼾的他。
炉火即将烧尽，火光幽幽，
当只剩她一人，
她的年岁重新回到五十九；
她身挨着房门
跪倒在地，一阵剧痛来袭，
有什么东西像飞镖似的
刺穿了她的心。
他们的脚步远去，她靠着，
沐浴在晨星光里，——
晨星照临整片荒原沼泽，
老榆树成行站立；
寒夜将尽，从彭梅里山
到斯丹发桥和曼伯利环，
到处阒无声息。
体内的恶作剧在加力发威，
她爬近老公的身；
而他因干活累，身盖花缀被
仍旧睡得很沉；
像昨夜珍妮因心情荡漾，
而爬起时一样，他睡得正香：
对妻子完全信任。
她滴下了泪，当她转身注视
他无邪的面庞；
她久久吻他，像答应求婚时，
一吻选了他的房。
她感到再付生命也不惜
来做他一心一意的妻，
正如此生一样……
时间到六点。她丈夫起床，
用火镰打击火石；
他瞧一眼珍妮，今儿早上
咋睡得比他还实？
怀着惊慌，到床边再细看，
他明白了：在凌晨或夜间
她灵魂已飞逝。
他被告知，由于负荷剧烈
加上她的年纪，
导致了胸腔主动脉破裂。
但他仍毫不怀疑：
从傍晚到早晨整段时间
他的珍妮没离开过身边。
——骑兵没透露秘密。
那年头，女性的自由度
不及今天一半；
而他们有真正军人风度——
皇家御林骑兵团。
他们开拔离开了卡斯特桥，
当他们翻过梅尔斯托山坳，
晨光哀恸黯淡。
Her Immortality
Upon a noon I pilgrimed through
A pasture, mile by mile,
Unto the place where last I saw
My dead Love's living smile.
And sorrowing I lay me down
Upon the heated sod:
It seemed as if my body pressed
The very ground she trod.
I lay, and thought; and in a trance
She came and stood thereby —
The same, even to the marvellous ray
That used to light her eye.
"You draw me, and I come to you,
My faithful one," she said,
In voice that had the moving tone
It bore ere she was wed.
"Seven years have circled since I died:
Few now remember me;
My husband clasps another bride;
My children's love has she.
"My brethren, sisters, and my friends
Care not to meet my sprite:
Who prized me most I did not know
Till I passed down from sight."
I said: "My days are lonely here;
I need thy smile alway:
I'll use this night my ball or blade,
And join thee ere the day."
A tremor stirred her tender lips,
Which parted to dissuade:
"That cannot be, O friend," she cried;
"Think, I am but a Shade!
"A Shade but in its mindful ones
Has immortality;
By living, me you keep alive,
By dying you slay me.
"In you resides my single power
Of sweet continuance here;
On your fidelity I count
Through many a coming year."
— I started through me at her plight,
So suddenly confessed:
Dismissing late distaste for life,
I craved its bleak unrest.
"I will not die, my One of all! —
To lengthen out thy days
I'll guard me from minutest harms
That may invest my ways!"
She smiled and went. Since then she comes
Oft when her birth-moon climbs,
Or at the seasons' ingresses,
Or anniversary times;
But grows my grief. When I surcease,
Through whom alone lives she,
Her spirit ends its living lease,
Never again to be!
她的永生
中午我穿过辽阔的草原
去重访旧日的游踪，
我曾在那儿最后一次看见
我死去的恋人生前的笑容。
我怀着满腔悲痛躺下，
躺在发烫的草地，
我觉得好像我的身体
紧压住她的足迹。
我想出了神，在恍惚中
她来到我的身旁，——
她眼睛闪着神奇的光辉，
完全跟当年一样。
她说：“因为你招我，我就来
回报你忠诚的爱，”
她的声音如同嫁人以前
那样柔情脉脉。“
我死后已流转七度春秋，
还有谁把我记在心头？
我丈夫抱着另一位新娘，
我儿女的爱被她占有。
我的兄弟姐妹，我的朋友，
谁愿与我魂梦邂逅？
要知道谁对我情意最重，
唯有在我逝去之后。”
我说：“我在人间日子孤寂，
我愿和你的笑颜相依，
今夜借助于弹丸或锋刃，
天明前就和你相聚。”
她急急劝阻，一阵战栗
震动她温柔的嘴唇：
“朋友啊，不成！”她喊道，
“要知道我仅仅是一个魂！
魂只在永不相忘的心中
获得永生的资格；
你以你的生命使我活着，
你死，就是杀害了我。
你身上寄托着我唯一的权利——
使我得到甜蜜的继续；
我指望你的忠诚经得起
未来岁月的风雨。”
她的表白出乎我的意外，
她的苦境震撼了我，
我驱除近日对生活的厌恶，
我渴望这萧瑟的生活！
“我不死！我唯一的恋人！
为了延长你的时限，
我要避免途中的种种伤害，
防备最小的危险！”
她微笑着去了。从此以后
她常来和我相见——
每逢她生日之夜明月初上，
或是每逢周年纪念；
但与年俱增的是我的悲哀：
一旦我的终结到来，
她的魂就结束了租借期，
从此永不存在！
Thoughts of Phena
At News of Her Death
Not a line of her writing have I,
Not a thread of her hair,
No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
I may picture her there;
And in vain do I urge my unsight
To conceive my lost prize
At her close, whom I knew when her dreams were upbrimming with light,
And with laughter her eyes.
What scenes spread around her last days,
Sad, shining, or dim?
Did her gifts and compassions enray and enarch her sweet ways
With an aureate nimb?
Or did life-light decline from her years,
And mischances control
Her full day-star; unease, or regret, or forebodings, or fears
Disennoble her soul?
Thus I do but the phantom retain
Of the maiden of yore
As my relic; yet haply the best of her — fined in my brain
It maybe the more
That no line of her writing have I,
Nor a thread of her hair,
No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
I may picture her there.
March 1890
念菲娜
闻菲娜去世志哀
我没有一行她的字迹，
没有一绺她的秀发，
没有一点她后来当主妇的印记
好让我把情境描画；
我错失的她后期怎样？
我的想象全归徒劳；
而早年啊她的梦想充溢着阳光，
她的眼睛充溢欢笑。
最后环绕她的是何情境——
是悲或欢，明或暗？
她的温柔，是否因善良和才情
而加上灿烂光环？
她的光辉是否随年龄减退，
她的太阳是否被遮没，
是否有不安、忧虑、畏惧或后悔
把她的心灵折磨？
我只能把她少女的魂留下
作我唯一的纪念；
也许这是我能呈现的最美好的她，
也许还多亏了今天
我没有一行她的字迹，
没有一绺她的秀发，
没有一点她后来当主妇的印记
好让我把情境描画。
Nature's Questioning
When I look forth at dawning, pool,
Field, flock, and lonely tree,
All seem to gaze at me
Like chastened children sitting silent in a school;
Their faces dulled, constrained, and worn,
As though the master's ways
Through the long teaching day
Had cowed them till their early zest was overborne.
Upon them stirs in lippings mere
(As if once clear in call,
But now scarce breathed at all) —
"We wonder, ever wonder, why we find us here!
"Has some Vast Imbecility,
Mighty to build and blend,
But impotent to tend,
Framed us in jest, and left us now to hazardry?
"Or come we of an Automaton
Unconscious of our pains?…
Or are we live remains
Of Godhead dying downwards, brain and eye now gone?
"Or is it that some high Plan betides,
As yet not understood,
Of Evil stormed by Good,
We the Forlorn Hope over which Achievement strides?"
Thus things around. No answerer I…
Meanwhile the winds, and rains,
And Earth's old glooms and pains
Are still the same, and Life and Death are neighbours nigh.
自然之问
迎着曙光，举目四望，牛羊、
田野、孤树、水池，
似乎都在向我凝视，
像受严厉管教的孩子，默默坐在课堂；
它们脸色黯淡，憔悴，发僵，
似乎老师的方式
通过漫长的课时，
压制了初生的盎然生机，换作了沮丧。
它们翕动着嘴唇在低语
（似乎曾经的高呼，
变了如今的嗫嚅）：
“我们不明白我们为什么会在这里！
“是哪个巨大的弱智之徒，
有能力创造，搅混，
没能力照看关心，
把我们塞进一个玩笑，交给意外摆布？
“或许我们来自个自动机制，
它对我们痛苦无知？……
或许是，上帝垂死，
脑死亡，眼无视，留下我们这些残肢？
“或许是，上苍大展宏图，
但目前无人能懂，
善卷起恶的暴风，
伟大功业践踏着我们凄惨的希望迈步？”
我环顾万物，无话答复……
这时分，风骤雨疏，
大地上古老的痛苦
依然如故，生命永与紧邻的死亡为伍。
"I look into my glass"
I look into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say, "Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!"
For then, I, undistrest
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity.
But Time, to make me grieve;
Part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.
对镜
当我照我的镜，
见我形容憔悴，
我说：“但愿上天让我的心
也像这样凋萎！”
那时，人心对我变冷，
我也不再忧戚，
我将能孤独而平静，
等待永久的安息。
可叹时间偷走一半，
却让一半留存，
被时间摇撼的黄昏之躯中
搏动着正午的心。
Drummer Hodge
I
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined — just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.
II
Young Hodge the Drummer never knew —
Fresh from his Wessex home —
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.
III
Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge for ever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellations reign
His stars eternally.
鼓手霍吉
1
找到了鼓手霍吉，就如此
不加装殓，扔进了坑。
土丘的隆顶作他的标志，
点缀着草原的低平；
异国的星座向西飞逝，
每夜越过他的土冢。
2
刚刚来自威塞克斯故乡，
年轻的鼓手全然不知
这灌木丛、这粉状的土壤、
这广阔的台地有何意义；
不懂为何每当夜色苍茫，
升起的星星这样奇异。
3
尽管如此，霍吉将永远化作
陌生平原的一撮土；
他朴实的头脑、北国的胸脯
将长成某种南国的树，
那些闪着奇异光芒的星座
将永远作他命运的主。
A Wife in London
I-The Tragedy
She sits in the tawny vapour
That the Thames-side lanes have uprolled,
Behind whose webby fold on fold
Like a waning taper
The street-lamp glimmers cold.
A messenger's knock cracks smartly,
Flashed news is in her hand
Of meaning it dazes to understand
Though shaped so shortly:
He — has fallen — in the far South Land …
II-The Irony
'Tis the morrow; the fog hangs thicker,
The postman nears and goes:
A letter is brought whose lines disclose
By the firelight flicker
His hand, whom the worm now knows:
Fresh — firm — penned in highest feather —
Page-full of his hoped return,
And of home-planned jaunts by brake and burn
In the summer weather,
And of new love that they would learn.
December 1899
伦敦的妻
一、悲 剧
她坐在棕黄色的雾中，
雾从伦敦街巷溢出，
透过巷里重重的浓雾，
一盏冷冷街灯
瑟缩如同将熄的蜡烛。
信差敲门声响得剧烈，
她拿到了电报通知书，
其含义的理解令人恍惚，
虽然文字简洁：
他已捐躯——在远方南土……
二、作 弄
到次日，雾气笼得更浓，
邮递员来了马上又走；
收了封信就着炉火瞅：
信里行行分明
出自他正被蛆虫亲近的手：
新鲜，有力，精神饱满——
满纸写满回家的憧憬，
计划夏天重温家乡风景，
同游丛林溪涧，
续写他俩更新的爱情。
Shelley's Skylark
(The neighbourhood of Leghorn: March, 1887)
Somewhere afield here something lies
In Earth's oblivious eyeless trust
That moved a poet to prophecies —
A pinch of unseen, unguarded dust:
The dust of the lark that Shelley heard,
And made immortal through times to be; —
Though it only lived like another bird,
And knew not its immortality.
Lived its meek life; then, one day, fell —
A little ball of feather and bone;
And how it perished, when piped farewell,
And where it wastes, are alike unknown.
Maybe it rests in the loam I view,
Maybe it throbs in a myrtle's green,
Maybe it sleeps in the coming hue
Of a grape on the slopes of yon inland scene.
Go find it, faeries, go and find
That tiny pinch of priceless dust,
And bring a casket silver-lined,
And framed of gold that gems encrust;
And we will lay it safe therein,
And consecrate it to endless time;
For it inspired a bard to win
Ecstatic heights in thought and rhyme.
雪莱的云雀
（1887年3月于里窝那附近）
有样东西躺在此地偏僻的田边，
交给这无心无眼的大地照顾，
此物曾感动一位诗人作出预言，——
这撮不起眼的无人理会的尘土：
这是雪莱聆听的云雀的遗体，
曾被化为不朽，并把时间穿越，
尽管它活得和其他小鸟无异，
对自己不朽之名也毫无知觉。
活完谦卑的一生，一朝跌落，
剩下这么一小团细骨和羽毛；
它怎么死的，何时唱最后的歌，
在何处朽腐，全都无人知晓。
也许它就安息在眼前这片土壤，
也许它在桃金娘绿叶里悸动，
也许在深入内陆的坡地上
它正在渐渐溶入葡萄的紫红。
仙子们哪，快去四处寻找吧，
把那一小撮无价的尘土找到，
还要准备一个精美的小匣，
要镶金包银，还要嵌上珠宝；
再让我们把它好好地装殓，
作为向无穷的时间的供奉，
因为它曾赋予一位诗人灵感，
去冲击思想与韵律的狂醉顶峰。
The Mother Mourns
When mid-autumn's moan shook the night-time,
And sedges were horny,
And summer's green wonderwork faltered
On leaze and in lane,
I fared Yell'ham-Firs way, where dimly
Came wheeling around me
Those phantoms obscure and insistent
That shadows unchain.
Till airs from the needle-thicks brought me
A low lamentation,
As though from a tree-god disheartened,
Perplexed, or in pain.
And, heeding, it awed me to gather
That Nature herself there
Was breathing in aërie accents,
With dirgelike refrain,
Weary plaint that Mankind, in these late days,
Had grieved her by holding
Her ancient high fame of perfection
In doubt and disdain…
— "I had not proposed me a Creature
(She soughed) so excelling
All else of my kingdom in compass
And brightness of brain
"As to read my defects with a god-glance,
Uncover each vestige
Of old inadvertence, annunciate
Each flaw and each stain!
"My purpose went not to develop
Such insight in Earthland;
Such potent appraisements affront me,
And sadden my reign!
"Why loosened I olden control here
To mechanize skywards,
Undeeming great scope could outshape in
A globe of such grain?
"Man's mountings of mind-sight I checked not,
Till range of his vision
Now tops my intent, and finds blemish
Throughout my domain.
"He holds as inept his own soul-shell —
My deftest achievement —
Contemns me for fitful inventions
Ill-timed and inane:
"No more sees my sun as a Sanct-shape,
My moon as the Night-queen,
My stars as august and sublime ones
That influences rain:
"Reckons gross and ignoble my teaching,
Immoral my story,
My love-lights a lure, that my species
May gather and gain.
"'Give me,' he has said, 'but the matter
And means the gods lot her,
My brain could evolve a creation
More seemly, more sane.'
— "If ever a naughtiness seized me
To woo adulation
From creatures more keen than those crude ones
That first formed my train —
"If inly a moment I murmured,
'the simple praise sweetly,
But sweetlier the sage' — and did rashly
Man's vision unrein,
"I rue it!… His guileless forerunners,
Whose brains I could blandish,
To measure the deeps of my mysteries
Applied them in vain.
"From them my waste aimings and futile
I subtly could cover;
'Every best thing,' said they, 'to best purpose
Her powers preordain.' —
"No more such!… My species are dwindling,
My forests grow barren,
My popinjays fail from their tappings,
My larks from their strain.
"My leopardine beauties are rarer,
My tusky ones vanish,
My children have aped mine own slaughters
To quicken my wane.
"Let me grow, then, but mildews and mandrakes,
And slimy distortions,
Let nevermore things good and lovely
To me appertain;
"For Reason is rank in my temples,
And Vision unruly,
And chivalrous laud of my cunning
Is heard not again!"
母亲在悲叹
当秋声萧瑟摇撼着长夜，
而芦苇已枯干，
当牧场和小径夏季的绿锦
已变得惨淡，
我走在耶勒姆云杉道上，
朦胧的幻影
从昏暗中浮现，执拗地
围绕着我转。
随着微风从云杉丛传来
低声的悲叹，
仿佛是，有个树神在伤心，
痛苦而不安。
我敬畏地听着，忽然醒悟：
是自然本身
在秋声中悄悄吟唱和倾诉
她的哀和怨，
她诉说着，人类最近以来
很伤她的心，
她自古完美的崇高名声
遭人类轻慢……
“我从未设想一种生物
在我王国里
凭大脑聪明，压倒超越
所有的同伴，
“并以自命为神的眼光
挑我的缺陷，
到处揭发说我粗心大意，
说我有污点！
“我的目的本不是在地球
发展这种智力，
这种霸道评论侮辱了我，
毁伤我的治权！
“我为何在此放松了控制，
让机械化疯长，
没料到它的膨胀会超出
地球的极限？
“我没能扼制住人的心眼，
以至他的幻想
压倒我的意图，来全方位地
挑鼻子挑眼。
“他蔑的成就——
他自己的躯体，——
鄙薄我不合时尚潮流，
笨拙而肤浅；
“他不再认我的太阳为神圣，
月亮为夜王后，
不再认我的星空昭示雨季，
崇高而庄严；
“他把我的教导和我的故事
贬为粗野卑贱，
把我的爱情之光贬为诱饵，
叫物种去抢占。
“他说道：‘只要给我物质，
由我代神分派，
由我的头脑策划创世，一定
更十美十全。’
“都怪我当初调皮的一念，
想听几句美言，
让一些生物比我早期制造的
更聪敏一点；
“都怪我心里曾默默地说：
‘简朴赞歌美，
睿智当更美。’草率放任了人
幻想越界限，
“悔不该啊！……他正直的先人
头脑堪夸赞，
但若想要衡量我的无限奥秘，
也望洋兴叹，
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