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时间:2011-12-21来源:网友提供 作者:徐志摩 点击:

  The fire,and cracks Of sulphurous roaring,the most mighty
                 
  Neptune
                 
  Seem‘d to besiehe,and make his bold waves tremble,Yea his dreae tridents shade.
                 
  (Tem est)
                 
  在这大风涛中,在湖的东岸,龙河(Rhone)合流的附近,在小屿与白沫间,飘浮着一只疲乏的小舟,扯烂的布帆,破碎的尾舵,冲当着巨浪的打击,舟子只是着忙的祷告。乘客也失去了镇定,都已脱卸了外衣,准备与涛澜搏斗。这正是卢骚的故乡,那小舟的历险处又恰巧是玖荔亚与圣潘罗(Julia and St.Preux)遇难的名迹。舟中人有一个美貌的少年是不会泅水的,但他却从不介意他自己的骸骨的安全,他那时满心的忧虑,只怕是船翻时连累他的友人为他冒险,因为他的友人是最不怕险恶的,厄难只是他的雄心的激刺,他曾经狎侮爱琴海与地中海的怒涛,何况这有限的梨梦湖中的掀动,他交叉着手,静看着萨福埃(Savoy)的雪峰,在云罅里隐现。这是历史上一个希有的奇逢,在近代革命精神的始祖神感的胜处,在天地震怒的俄顷,载在同一的舟中。一对共患难的,伟大的诗魂,一对美丽的恶魔,一对光荣的叛儿!
  他站在梅锁朗奇(Mesolongion)的滩边(一八二四年,一月,四至二十二日)。海水在夕阳里起伏,周遭静瑟瑟的莫有人迹,只有连绵的砂碛,几处卑陋的草屋,古庙宇残圮的遗迹,三两株灰苍色的柱廊,天空飞舞着几只阔翅的海鸥,一片荒凉的暮景。他站在滩边,默想古希腊的荣华,雅典的文章,斯巴达的雄武,晚霞的颜色二千年来不曾消灭,但自由的鬼魂究不曾在海砂上留存些微痕迹……他独自的站着,默想他自己的身世,三十六年的光阴已在时间的灰烬中埋着,爱与憎,得志与屈辱:盛名与怨诅,志愿与罪恶,故乡与知友,威尼市的流水,罗马古剧场的夜色,阿尔帕斯的白雪,大自然的美景与愤怒,反叛的磨折与尊荣,自由的实现与梦境的消残……他看着海砂上映着的曼长的身形,凉风拂动着他的衣裾——寂寞的天地间的一个寂寞的伴侣—一他的灵魂中不由的激起了一阵感慨的狂潮,他把手掌埋没了头面。此时日轮已经翳隐,天上星先后的显现,在这美丽的暝色中,流动着诗人的吟声,像是松风,像是海涛,像是蓝奥孔苦痛的呼声,像是海伦娜岛上绝望的吁欢:——
                 
  Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
                 
  Since others it hath ceased to move;
                 
  Yet.though I cannot be beloved.
                 
  still let me love!
                 
  My days are in the yellow leaf;
                 
  The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
                 
  The worm,the canker,and the grief;
                 
  Are mine alone!
                 
  The fire that on my bosom preys
                 
  Is lone as some volcanic isle;
                 
  No torch is kindled at its blaze-
                 
  A funeral pile!
                 
  The hope,the fear,the jealous care,
                 
  The exalted portion of the pain
                 
  And power of love,I cannot share,
                 
  But wear the chain.
                 
  But‘tis not thus-and’tis not here-
                 
  Such thoughts should shake my soul,nor now,
                 
  Where glory decks the hero‘s bier
                 
  Or binds his brow.
                 
  The sword,the banner,and the field,
                 
  Glory and Grace,around me see!
                 
  The Spartan,born upon his shield,
                 
  Was not more free.
                 
  Awake!(not Greece—she is awake!)
                 
  Awake,my spirit!Think through whom
                 
  The life-blood tracks its parent lake,
                 
  And then strike home!
                 
  Tread those reviving passions down;
                 
  Unworthy manhood!-unto thee
                 
  Indifferent should the smile or frown
                 
  Of beauty be.
                 
  If thou regret‘st thy youth,why live;
                 
  The land of honorable death
                 
  Is here:-up to the field,and give
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