一
希臘群島嗬，美麗的希臘群島！
火熱的薩弗在這裏唱過戀歌；
在這裏，戰爭與和平的藝術並興，
狄洛斯崛起，阿波羅躍出海麵！
永恒的夏天還把海島鍍成金，
可是除了太陽，一切已經消沉。
二
開奧的繆斯，蒂奧的繆斯，
那英雄的豎琴，戀人的琵琶，
原在你的岸上博得了聲譽，
而今在這發源地反倒喑啞；
嗬，那歌聲已遠遠向西流傳，
遠超過你祖先的“海島樂園”。
三
起伏的山巒望著馬拉鬆－
馬拉鬆望著茫茫的海波；
我獨自在那裏冥想一刻鍾，
夢想希臘仍舊自由而歡樂；
因為，當我在波斯墓上站立，
我不能想象自己是個奴隸。
四
一個國王高高坐在石山頂，
了望著薩拉密挺立於海外；
千萬隻船舶在山下靠停，
還有多少隊伍全由他統率！
他在天亮時把他們數了數，
但日落的時候他們都在何處？
五
嗬，他們而今安在？還有你呢，
我的祖國？在無聲的土地上，
英雄的頌歌如今已沉寂－
那英雄的心也不再激蕩！
難道你一向莊嚴的豎琴，
竟至淪落到我的手裏彈弄？
六
也好，置身在奴隸民族裏，
盡管榮譽都已在淪喪中，
至少，一個愛國誌士的憂思，
還使我的作歌時感到臉紅；
因為，詩人在這兒有什麽能為？
為希臘人含羞，對希臘國落淚。
七
我們難道隻好對時光悲哭
和慚愧？－我們的祖先卻流血。
大地嗬！把斯巴達人的遺骨
從你的懷抱裏送回來一些！
哪怕給我們三百勇士的三個，
讓德魔比利的決死戰複活！
八
怎麽，還是無聲？一切都喑啞？
不是的！你聽那古代的英魂
正象遠方的瀑布一樣喧嘩，
他們回答：“隻要有一個活人
登高一呼，我們就來，就來！”
噫！倒隻是活人不理不睬。
九
算了，算了；試試別的調門：
斟滿一杯薩摩斯的美酒！
把戰爭留給土耳其野人，
讓開奧的葡萄的血汁傾流！
聽嗬，每一個酒鬼多麽踴躍
響應這一個不榮譽的號召！
一0
你們還保有庇瑞克的舞藝，
但庇瑞克的方陣哪裏去了？
這是兩課，為什麽隻記其一，
而把高尚而堅強的一課忘掉？
凱德謨斯給你們造了字體－
難道他是為了傳授給奴隸？
一一
把薩摩斯的美酒斟滿一盅！
讓我們且拋開這樣的話題！
這美酒曾使阿納克瑞翁
發為神聖的歌；是的，他屈於
波裏克瑞底斯，一個暴君，
但這暴君至少是我們國人。
一二
克索尼薩斯的一個暴君
是自由的最忠勇的朋友：
暴君米太亞得留名至今！
嗬，但願現在我們能夠有
一個暴君和他一樣精明，
他會團結我們不受人欺淩！
一三
把薩摩斯的美酒斟滿一盅！
在蘇裏的山岩，巴加的岸上，
住著一族人的勇敢的子孫，
不愧是斯巴達的母親所養；
在那裏，也許種子已經散播，
是赫剌克勒斯血統的真傳。
一四
自由的事業別依靠西方人，
他們有一個做買賣的國王；
本土的利劍，本土的士兵，
是衝鋒陷陣的唯一希望；
但土耳其武力，拉丁的欺騙，
會裏應外合把你們的盾打穿。
一五
把薩摩斯的美酒斟滿一盅！
樹蔭下正舞蹈著我們的姑娘－
我看見她們的黑眼亮晶晶，
但是，望著每個鮮豔的姑娘，
我的眼就為火熱的淚所迷，
這乳房難道也要哺育奴隸？
一六
讓我攀登蘇尼阿的懸崖，
可以聽見彼此飄送著悄悄話，
讓我象天鵝一樣歌盡而亡；
我不要奴隸的國度屬於我－
幹脆把那薩摩斯酒杯打破！
1
The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.
2
The Scian and the Teian muse,
The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse;
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' 'Islands of the Blest.'
3
The mountains look on Marathon —
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dream'd that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persians' grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.
4
A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations; — all were his!
He counted them at break of day —
And when the sun set where were they?
5
And where are they? and where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now —
The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?
6
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though link'd among a fetter'd race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear.
7
Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!
8
What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no; — the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, 'Let one living head,
But one arise, — we come, we come!'
'Tis but the living who are dumb.
9
In vain — in vain: strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call —
How answers each bold Bacchanal!
10
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave —
Think ye he meant them for a slave?
11
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these!
It made Anacreon's song divine:
He served — but served Polycrates —
A tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.
12
The tyrant of the Chersonese
Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
That tyrant was Miltiades!
O! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind!
Such chains as his were sure to bind.
13
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,
Exists the remnant of a line
Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.
14
Trust not for freedom to the Franks —
They have a king who buys and sells;
In native swords, and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
15
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade —
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves
16
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die:
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine —
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
希臘群島嗬，美麗的希臘群島！
火熱的薩弗在這裏唱過戀歌；
在這裏，戰爭與和平的藝術並興，
狄洛斯崛起，阿波羅躍出海麵！
永恒的夏天還把海島鍍成金，
可是除了太陽，一切已經消沉。
二
開奧的繆斯，蒂奧的繆斯，
那英雄的豎琴，戀人的琵琶，
原在你的岸上博得了聲譽，
而今在這發源地反倒喑啞；
嗬，那歌聲已遠遠向西流傳，
遠超過你祖先的“海島樂園”。
三
起伏的山巒望著馬拉鬆－
馬拉鬆望著茫茫的海波；
我獨自在那裏冥想一刻鍾，
夢想希臘仍舊自由而歡樂；
因為，當我在波斯墓上站立，
我不能想象自己是個奴隸。
四
一個國王高高坐在石山頂，
了望著薩拉密挺立於海外；
千萬隻船舶在山下靠停，
還有多少隊伍全由他統率！
他在天亮時把他們數了數，
但日落的時候他們都在何處？
五
嗬，他們而今安在？還有你呢，
我的祖國？在無聲的土地上，
英雄的頌歌如今已沉寂－
那英雄的心也不再激蕩！
難道你一向莊嚴的豎琴，
竟至淪落到我的手裏彈弄？
六
也好，置身在奴隸民族裏，
盡管榮譽都已在淪喪中，
至少，一個愛國誌士的憂思，
還使我的作歌時感到臉紅；
因為，詩人在這兒有什麽能為？
為希臘人含羞，對希臘國落淚。
七
我們難道隻好對時光悲哭
和慚愧？－我們的祖先卻流血。
大地嗬！把斯巴達人的遺骨
從你的懷抱裏送回來一些！
哪怕給我們三百勇士的三個，
讓德魔比利的決死戰複活！
八
怎麽，還是無聲？一切都喑啞？
不是的！你聽那古代的英魂
正象遠方的瀑布一樣喧嘩，
他們回答：“隻要有一個活人
登高一呼，我們就來，就來！”
噫！倒隻是活人不理不睬。
九
算了，算了；試試別的調門：
斟滿一杯薩摩斯的美酒！
把戰爭留給土耳其野人，
讓開奧的葡萄的血汁傾流！
聽嗬，每一個酒鬼多麽踴躍
響應這一個不榮譽的號召！
一0
你們還保有庇瑞克的舞藝，
但庇瑞克的方陣哪裏去了？
這是兩課，為什麽隻記其一，
而把高尚而堅強的一課忘掉？
凱德謨斯給你們造了字體－
難道他是為了傳授給奴隸？
一一
把薩摩斯的美酒斟滿一盅！
讓我們且拋開這樣的話題！
這美酒曾使阿納克瑞翁
發為神聖的歌；是的，他屈於
波裏克瑞底斯，一個暴君，
但這暴君至少是我們國人。
一二
克索尼薩斯的一個暴君
是自由的最忠勇的朋友：
暴君米太亞得留名至今！
嗬，但願現在我們能夠有
一個暴君和他一樣精明，
他會團結我們不受人欺淩！
一三
把薩摩斯的美酒斟滿一盅！
在蘇裏的山岩，巴加的岸上，
住著一族人的勇敢的子孫，
不愧是斯巴達的母親所養；
在那裏，也許種子已經散播，
是赫剌克勒斯血統的真傳。
一四
自由的事業別依靠西方人，
他們有一個做買賣的國王；
本土的利劍，本土的士兵，
是衝鋒陷陣的唯一希望；
但土耳其武力，拉丁的欺騙，
會裏應外合把你們的盾打穿。
一五
把薩摩斯的美酒斟滿一盅！
樹蔭下正舞蹈著我們的姑娘－
我看見她們的黑眼亮晶晶，
但是，望著每個鮮豔的姑娘，
我的眼就為火熱的淚所迷，
這乳房難道也要哺育奴隸？
一六
讓我攀登蘇尼阿的懸崖，
可以聽見彼此飄送著悄悄話，
讓我象天鵝一樣歌盡而亡；
我不要奴隸的國度屬於我－
幹脆把那薩摩斯酒杯打破！
1
The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.
2
The Scian and the Teian muse,
The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse;
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' 'Islands of the Blest.'
3
The mountains look on Marathon —
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dream'd that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persians' grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.
4
A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations; — all were his!
He counted them at break of day —
And when the sun set where were they?
5
And where are they? and where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now —
The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?
6
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though link'd among a fetter'd race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear.
7
Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled.
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!
8
What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no; — the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, 'Let one living head,
But one arise, — we come, we come!'
'Tis but the living who are dumb.
9
In vain — in vain: strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call —
How answers each bold Bacchanal!
10
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave —
Think ye he meant them for a slave?
11
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these!
It made Anacreon's song divine:
He served — but served Polycrates —
A tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.
12
The tyrant of the Chersonese
Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
That tyrant was Miltiades!
O! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind!
Such chains as his were sure to bind.
13
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,
Exists the remnant of a line
Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.
14
Trust not for freedom to the Franks —
They have a king who buys and sells;
In native swords, and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
15
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade —
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves
16
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die:
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine —
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
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