约翰·æµæ
æµæ
ï¼åºçäº18ä¸çºªæ«å¹´ç伦æ¦ï¼ä»æ¯æ°åºçè±è¯ä½å®¶ä¹ä¸ï¼ä¹æ¯æµªæ¼«æ´¾ç主è¦æåãç¶äº²
æ¯é©¬å©çéå·¥é¢çãèªå¹¼åç±æå¦ï¼ç±äºå®¶å¢çªå°ï¼ä¸æ»¡16å²å°±ç¦»æ ¡å¦å»ãå
¶ç¶æ¯å¨å
¶éå°å¹´æ¶æ便ç¸ç»å»ä¸ï¼è½ç¶ä¸å
å¼åå§å§ç¸äºæ¯æï¼
ä½è¿æ©å¤±å»ç¶æ¯çæ²ä¼¤å§ç»å½±åçä»ãå¨åè²å°å¾·å¦æ ¡ï¼EnfieldSchoolï¼ï¼æµæ
æ¥åäºä¼ ç»æ£è§çæè²ï¼å¨é
读ååä½æ¹é¢ï¼æµæ
åå°äºå¸é¿
å
æå
ï¼CharlesCowdenClarkeï¼çé¼å±ãå¹´è½»çæµæ
é常éç±ç»´åå°ï¼Virgilï¼ï¼14å²æ¶ï¼ä»å°ç»´åå°çé¿è¯ãè¾æ¶
é¿æ¯çºªãï¼"Aeneid"ï¼ç¿»
è¯æè±è¯ã1810å¹´ï¼æµæ
被éå»å½è¯åå¸çå¦å¾ãäºå¹´åæµæ
èå
¥ä¼¦æ¦çä¸æå»å¦é¢ï¼ä½æ²¡æä¸å¹´ï¼æµæ
便æ¾å¼äºä»å»çå¿æ¿ï¼èä¸å¿äºåä½
è¯æãæµæ
å¾æ©å°±å°è¯åä½è¯æï¼ä»æ©æçä½åå¤æ¯ä¸äºä»¿ä½ï¼1817å¹´ï¼æµæ
ç第ä¸æ¬è¯éåºçãè¿æ¬è¯éåå°äºä¸äºå¥½çè¯è®ºï¼ä½ä¹æä¸äº
æ为èå»çæ»å»æ§è¯è®ºåç»å¨å½æ¶å¾æå½±ååçä¸æ¬æå¿ï¼Blackwood`smagazineï¼ä¸ãæµæ
没æ被ååï¼ä»å¨æ¥å¹´çæ¥å¤©å¤å°äºæ°è¯éãå®è¿ª
å¯æ©ãï¼âEndymionâï¼ã1818å¹´å¤å¤©ï¼æµæ
åå¾è±æ ¼å
°åé¨åèæ ¼å
°æ
è¡ï¼é ä¸å¾å°æ¶æ¯è¯´ä»çå
å¼æ±¤å§å¾äºä¸¥éçèºç»æ ¸ï¼æµæ
å³å»èµ¶å
家ç
§é¡¾æ±¤å§ãè¿ä¸å¹´å¹´åºï¼æ±¤å§æ»äºï¼æµæ
æ¬å°ä¸ä¸ªæåå¨æ±æ®æ¯æ³°å¾·ï¼Hampsteadï¼çæ¿åå»ä½ï¼ç°å¨äººä»¬å·²å°é£ææ¿å认为æµæ
ä¹å®¶ãå¨é£
éï¼æµæ
éè§å¹¶æ·±æ·±çç±ä¸äºä¸ä½å¹´è½»ç女é»å±
ï¼è¬å¦®Â·å¸æï¼FannyBrawneï¼ãå¨æ¥ä¸æ¥çå å¹´ä¸ï¼ç¾ç
ä¸ç»æµä¸çé®é¢ä¸ç´å°æ°çæµæ
ï¼ä½
ä»å´ä»¤äººæ讶çååºäºå¤§éçä¼ç§ä½åï¼å
¶ä¸å
æ¬ãå£è¾æ ¼å°¼ä¸ä¹å¤ããç§é¢ããå¤èºé¢ãå
ãè´ç§å¤©ãçåä½ï¼è¡¨ç°åºè¯äººå¯¹å¤§èªç¶ç强çæååçç±ï¼èµ¢å¾å·¨å¤§å£°èªã1820å¹´3æï¼æµæ
第ä¸æ¬¡å³è¡ï¼ä¹åä¸ä¹
ï¼å 为è¿
éæ¶åçèºç»æ ¸
ï¼1821å¹´2æ23æ¥ï¼æµæ
äºå»æ大å©çå
»çéä¸éä¸ãå»ä¸çæ¶åï¼åªæå¹´è½»èå¿ è¯çæåç»å®¶å¡æéªä¼´çä»ã
ããä»çå¢å¿éåçï¼Here lies one whose name was written in water æ¤å°é¿ç è
ï¼å£°åæ°´ä¸ä¹¦ã
ãå¤èºé¢ã
åæ
Ode To A Nightingale
JohnKeatsãMy 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
Cooled 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 may drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim.
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou amongst 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 grey hairs.
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where nut 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,
Clustered around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verduous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot se 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 covered 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,
Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath; æ±
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 the 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 eas 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
Charmed 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 famed 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 is a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music -- Do I wake or sleep?
è¯æ
å¤èºé¢
约翰·æµæ
æçå¿å¨çï¼å°é¡¿å麻æ¨
åºè¿äºæå®ï¼æå¦é¥®è¿æ¯é¸©ï¼
å象æ¯ååæ鸦çåæï¼
äºæ¯åçå溪å¿å·ä¸æ²ï¼
并ä¸æ¯æå«å¦ä½ ç好è¿ï¼
èæ¯ä½ çå¿«ä¹ä½¿æ太欢欣ââ
å 为å¨æé´å¹äº®ç天å°éï¼
ä½ åµï¼è½»ç¿
çä»çµï¼
ä½ èº²è¿å±±æ¯æ¦çè±ç»¿åè«å½±ï¼
æ¾å¼æåï¼æå±çå¤å£ã
åï¼è¦æ¯æä¸å£é
ï¼é£å·è
å¨å°ä¸å¤å¹´çæ¸
é饮æï¼
ä¸å°å°±ä»¤äººæ³èµ·ç»¿è²ä¹é¦ï¼
æ³èµ·è±ç¥ï¼ææï¼é³å
åèè¹ï¼
è¦æ¯æä¸æ¯åå½ç温æ
å
满äºé²çº¢ççµæä¹æ³ï¼
æ¯æ²¿æçççç ç泡沫ï¼
ç»å´åæä¸ç´«æï¼
å¦ï¼æè¦ä¸é¥®è离å¼å°å¯°ï¼
åä½ åå»å¹½æçæä¸é没ï¼
è¿è¿å°ãè¿è¿é没ï¼è®©æå¿æ
ä½ å¨æ å¶é´ä»ä¸ç¥éçä¸åï¼
å¿è®°è¿ç²å³ãçç
ãåç¦èºï¼
è¿ä½¿äººå¯¹åèæ²å¹çä¸çï¼
å¨è¿éï¼éæ¥èç½ãæ¶ç¦ãæ»äº¡ï¼
èâç«çªâæå æ ¹ç½åå¨ææï¼
å¨è¿éï¼ç¨ä¸æ索就å
满äº
忧伤åç°è²çç»æï¼
èâç¾âä¿æä¸ä½æç¸çå
彩ï¼
æ°ççç±æ
æ´»ä¸å°æ天就æ¯åã
å»å§ï¼å»å§ï¼æè¦æä½ é£å»ï¼
ä¸ç¨åé
ç¥åæè±¹ç车驾ï¼
æè¦å±å¼è¯æåºæ 形羽翼ï¼
尽管è¿å¤´èå·²ç»å°é¡¿ãç²ä¹ï¼
å»äºï¼åµï¼æå·²ç»åä½ åå¾ï¼
å¤è¿è¬æ¸©æï¼æåæ£ç»ä¸å®åº§ï¼
å¨å´æ¯ä¾å«å¥¹çä¸ç¾¤ææï¼
ä½è¿å¿å´ä¸çæ亮ï¼
é¤äºæä¸çº¿å¤©å
ï¼è¢«å¾®é£å¸¦è¿ï¼
è±ç»¿çå¹½æï¼åèèçæ²å¾ã
æçä¸åºæ¯åªç§è±èå¨èæï¼
ä»ä¹æ¸
é¦çè±æå¨æ æä¸ï¼
å¨æ¸©é¦¨çå¹½æéï¼æåªè½çæ³
è¿ä¸ªæ¶ä»¤è¯¥æåªç§è¬è³
èµäºè¿ææ ï¼æè½ï¼åèä¸ï¼
è¿ç½æ³è±ï¼åç°éçç«ç°ï¼
è¿ç»¿å¶å ä¸æè°¢çç´«ç½å
°ï¼
è¿æäºæä¸æ¬çå¨å® ï¼
è¿ç¼æ»¡äºé²é
çéºé¦è·èï¼
å®æäºå¤å¤èèçå¡è¦ç港湾ã
æå¨é»æéå¾å¬ï¼åµï¼å¤å°æ¬¡
æå ä¹ç±ä¸äºéè°§çæ»äº¡ï¼
æå¨è¯æéç¨å°½äºå¥½çè¨è¾ï¼
æ±ä»ææçä¸æ¯æ£å
¥ç©ºè«ï¼
èç°å¨ï¼å¦ï¼æ»æ´æ¯å¤ä¹å¯ä¸½ï¼
å¨åå¤éæºç¶é离人é´ï¼
å½ä½ æ£å¾æ³»çä½ çå¿æ
ååºè¿è¬ççåï¼
ä½ ä»å°æå±ï¼ä½æå´ä¸åå¬è§ââ
ä½ çè¬æåªè½å±ç»æ³¥èä¸åã
æ°¸ççé¸åµï¼ä½ ä¸ä¼æ»å»ï¼
饥饿çä¸ä»£æ æ³å°ä½ è¹èºï¼
ä»å¤ï¼æå¶ç¶å¬å°çææ²
æ¾ä½¿å¤ä»£çå¸çåæ夫åæ¦ï¼
æ许è¿åæ ·çæä¹æ¾æ¿è¡
é²ä¸å¿§éçå¿ï¼ä½¿å¥¹ä¸ç¦è½æ³ªï¼
ç«å¨å¼é¦çè°·ç°éæ³ç家ï¼
å°±æ¯è¿å£°é³å¸¸å¸¸
å¨å¤±æäºçä»åéå¼å¨çªæï¼
ä¸ä¸ªç¾å¥³æç大海é©æ¶ç浪è±ã
åµï¼å¤±æäºï¼è¿å¥è¯å¥½æ¯ä¸å£°é
使æçéå°æç«èçå°æ¹ï¼
å«äºï¼å¹»æ³ï¼è¿éªäººçå¦ç«¥ï¼
ä¸è½èèå¼å®çä¼ çä¼ä¿©ã
å«äºï¼å«äºï¼ä½ æ¨è¯çæ声
æµè¿èåªï¼è¶è¿å¹½éç溪水ï¼
æºä¸å±±å¡ï¼èæ¤æ¶ï¼å®æ£æ·±æ·±
åå¨éè¿ç溪谷ä¸ï¼
å«ï¼è¿æ¯ä¸ªå¹»è§ï¼è¿æ¯æ¢¦å¯ï¼
é£æ声å»äºââææ¯ç¡ï¼æ¯éï¼