《夜鶯頌》
濟慈
我的心在痛,困頓和麻木
刺進了感官有如飲過毒鴆
又像是剛把鴉片吞服
於是向列斯忘川下沈
並不是我忌妒妳的好運
而是妳的快樂使我太歡欣
因為在林間嘹亮的天地裏
妳呵,輕翅的仙靈
妳躲進山毛櫸的蔥綠和蔭影
放開了歌喉,歌唱著夏季
唉,要是有壹口酒,那冷藏
在地下多年的清醇飲料
壹嘗就令人想起綠色之邦
想起花神,戀歌,陽光和舞蹈
要是有壹杯南國的溫暖
充滿了鮮紅的靈感之泉
杯緣明滅著珍珠的泡沫
給嘴唇染上紫斑
我要壹飲而盡而悄然離開塵寰
和妳同去幽暗的林中隱沒
遠遠地,遠遠隱沒,讓我忘掉
妳在樹葉間從不知道的壹切
忘記這疲勞,熱病,和焦躁
這使人對坐而悲嘆的世界
在這裏,青春,蒼白,削瘦,死亡
而癱瘓有幾根白發在搖擺
在這裏,稍壹思索就充滿了
憂傷和灰暗的絕望
而美保持不住明眸的光彩
新生的愛情活不到明天就枯雕
去吧!去吧!我要朝妳飛去
不用和酒神坐文豹的車駕
我要展開詩歌底無形的羽翼
盡管這頭腦已經困頓,疲乏
去了,我已經和妳同往
夜這般溫柔,月後正登上寶座
周圍是侍衛她的壹群星星
但這兒不甚明亮
除了有壹線天光,被微風帶過
蔥綠的幽暗和蘚苔的曲徑
我看不出是哪種花在腳旁
什麼清香的花掛在樹枝上
在溫馨的幽暗理,我只能猜想
這時令該把哪種芬芳
賦予這果樹,林莽和草叢
這白枳花,和田野的玫瑰
這綠葉堆中易雕謝的紫羅蘭
還有五月中旬的嬌寵
這綴滿了露酒的麝香薔薇
它成了夏夜蚊蚋嗡營的港灣
我在黑暗中裏傾聽,多少次
我幾乎愛上了靜謐的死亡
我在詩思裏用盡了我言辭
求他把我的壹息散入空茫
而現在,死更是多麼的富麗
在午夜裏溘然魂離人間
當妳正傾瀉妳的心懷
發出這般的狂喜
妳仍將歌唱,但我卻不再聽
妳的莽歌只能唱給泥草壹塊
永生的鳥啊,妳不會死去
餓的世代無法將妳蹂躪
今夜,我偶然聽到的歌曲
當使古代的帝王和村夫喜悅
或許這同樣的歌也曾激蕩
露絲憂郁的心,使她不禁落淚
站在異邦的谷田裏想著家
就是這聲音常常
在失掉了的仙域裏引動窗扉
壹個美女望著大海險惡的浪花
失掉了,這句話好比壹聲鐘
使我猛省到我站腳的地方
別了!幻想,這騙人的妖童
不能老耍弄它盛傳的伎倆
別了!別了!妳怨訴的歌聲
流過草坪,越過幽靜的溪水
溜上山坡,而此時它正深深
埋在附近的溪谷中
這是個幻覺,還是夢寐
那歌聲去了——我是睡?是醒?
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,--
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?