愛爾蘭詩人葉芝150誕辰將至。今天（6月4日）特抄錄翻譯界前輩查良錚譯葉芝名詩《一九一六年複活節》，以為紀念。（不揣固陋，對譯文略有改動。）
Easter, 1916
一九一六年複活節
W.B.Yeats （葉芝）
查良錚 譯 （略有改動）
我在日暮時遇見過他們，
他們帶著活潑的神采
從十八世紀的灰色房子中
離開櫃台或寫字台走出來。
我走過他們時曾點點頭
或作著無意義的寒暄，
或曾在他們中間呆一下，
有過禮貌而無意義的交談，
我談話未完就已想到
一個諷刺故事或笑話，
為了坐在俱樂部的火爐邊，
說給一個夥伴開心一下，
因為我相信，我們不過
是在穿戴雜色的地方生活：
但一切都變了，變化得那麽徹底：
誕生了一種可怕的美麗。
那個女人的白天花在
天真無知的善意中，
她的夜晚卻花在爭論上，
直爭得她聲嘶臉紅。
她年輕、秀麗，哪有聲音
比她的聲音更美好，
當她追逐著兔子行獵？
這個男人辦了一所學校，
還會駕馭我們的飛馬；
這另一個，他的助手和朋友，
也加入了他的行列；
他的思想大膽而優秀，
又有敏感的天性，也許
他會終於獲得聲望。
這另一個人是粗陋的
好虛榮的酒鬼，我曾想。
他曾對接近我心靈的人
有過一些最無聊的行動，
但再這支歌裏我要提他：
他也從荒誕的喜劇中
辭去了他扮演的角色；
他也和其他人相同，
變化得那麽徹底：
誕生了一種可怕的美麗。
許多心隻有一個宗旨
經過夏天，經過冬天，
好像中了魔變為岩石，
要把生命的流泉攪亂。
從大路上走來的馬，
騎馬的人，和從雲端
飛向翻騰的雲端的鳥，
一分鍾又一分鍾地改變；
飄落在溪水上流雲的影
一分鍾又一分鍾地變化；
一隻馬蹄在水邊滑跌，
一匹馬在水裏拍打；
長腿的母鬆雞俯衝下去，
對著公鬆雞咯咯地叫喚；
它們一分鍾又一分鍾地活著：
石頭是在這一切的中間。
一種犧牲過於長久
能把心變為一塊石頭。
嗬，什麽時候才算個夠？
那是天的事，我們的事
是喃喃念著一串名字，
好像母親念叨她的孩子
當睡眠終於籠罩著
野跑了一天的四肢。
那還是不是夜的降臨？
不，不，不是夜而是死；
這死亡是否不必要呢？
因為英國可能恪守信義，
不管已說了和做了什麽。
我們知道了他們的夢；
知道他們夢想過和已死去
就夠了；何必管過多的愛
在死以前使他們迷亂？
我用詩把它們寫出來——
麥克多納和康諾利，
皮爾斯和麥克布萊，
現在和將來，無論在哪裏
隻要是有穿戴著綠色，
就變化了，變化得那麽徹底：
誕生了一種可怕的美麗。
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葉芝原詩：
Easter, 1916
William Butler Yeats
I
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
II
That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse.
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vain-glorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
III
Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter, seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road,
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute change.
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim;
And a horse plashes within it
Where long-legged moor-hens dive
And hens to moor-cocks call.
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.
IV
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death.
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead.
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse --
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
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