夜鶯頌

濟慈

我的心在痛，困頓和麻木
刺進了感官，有如飲過毒鳩，
又象是剛剛把鴉片吞服，
於是向著列斯忘川下沉：
並不是我嫉妒你的好運，
而是你的快樂使我太歡欣－－
因為在林間嘹亮的天地裏，
你嗬，輕翅的仙靈，
你躲進山毛櫸的蔥綠和蔭影，
放開歌喉，歌唱著夏季。
哎，要是有一口酒！那冷藏
在地下多年的清醇飲料，
一嚐就令人想起綠色之邦，
想起花神，戀歌，陽光和舞蹈！
要是有一杯南國的溫暖
充滿了鮮紅的靈感之泉，
杯沿明滅著珍珠的泡沫，
給嘴唇染上紫斑；
哦，我要一飲而離開塵寰，
和你同去幽暗的林中隱沒：
遠遠地、遠遠隱沒，讓我忘掉
你在樹葉間從不知道的一切，
忘記這疲勞、熱病、和焦躁，
這使人對坐而悲歎的世界；
在這裏，青春蒼白、消瘦、死亡，
而“癱瘓”有幾根白發在搖擺；
在這裏，稍一思索就充滿了
憂傷和灰色的絕望，
而“美”保持不住明眸的光彩，
新生的愛情活不到明天就枯凋。
去吧！去吧！我要朝你飛去，
　不用和酒神坐文豹的車駕，
我要展開詩歌底無形羽翼，
盡管這頭腦已經困頓、疲乏；
去了！嗬，我已經和你同往！
夜這般溫柔，月後正登上寶座，
周圍是侍衛她的一群星星；
但這兒卻不甚明亮，
除了有一線天光，被微風帶過，
蔥綠的幽暗，和苔蘚的曲徑。
我看不出是哪種花草在腳旁，
什麽清香的花掛在樹枝上；
在溫馨的幽暗裏，我隻能猜想
這個時令該把哪種芬芳
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，
它成了夏夜蚊蚋的嗡縈的港灣。
我在黑暗裏傾聽：嗬，多少次
我幾乎愛上了靜謐的死亡，
我在詩思裏用盡了好的言辭，
求他把我的一息散入空茫；
而現在，哦，死更是多麽富麗：
在午夜裏溘然魂離人間，
當你正傾瀉著你的心懷
發出這般的狂喜！
你仍將歌唱，但我卻不再聽見－－
你的葬歌隻能唱給泥草一塊。
永生的鳥嗬，你不會死去！
饑餓的世代無法將你蹂躪；
今夜，我偶然聽到的歌曲
曾使古代的帝王和村夫喜悅；
或許這同樣的歌也曾激蕩
露絲憂鬱的心，使她不禁落淚，
站在異邦的穀田裏想著家；
就是這聲音常常
在失掉了的仙域裏引動窗扉：
一個美女望著大海險惡的浪花。
嗬，失掉了！這句話好比一聲鍾
使我猛醒到我站腳的地方！
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！你怨訴的歌聲
流過草坪，越過幽靜的溪水，
溜上山坡；而此時，它正深深
埋在附近的溪穀中：
噫，這是個幻覺，還是夢寐？
那歌聲去了：－－我是睡？是醒？

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Ode to a Nightingale

John Keats


I
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.

II
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 Provençal 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:

III
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the feet
Here, where men sit and hear each other grown;
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 tomorrow.

IV
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.

V
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;
And mid-May’s eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

VI
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 abrad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-
To thy high requiem become a sod.

VII
Thou wast not b orn 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.

VIII
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?