魏晉風度
舉觴白眼向青天
In Memoriam
by Lord Alfred Tennyson
(1809-1892)
我握住真理，隨著他音調各異
對著一張清澈的豎琴吟唱，
人們可從死亡本身的墊腳石上
升騰而成更高級的東西。
然而誰將預測到這些歲月
在失卻中找到相稱的獲益？
要麽尋得援手，穿越流光過隙
去捕捉遙遠的淚水之噱？
讓愛情緊扣憂傷，以免雙雙溺斃，
讓黑暗保持她烏黑的光彩；
啊，醉而有失更甜來，
與死神共舞，去擊敗大地，
超過勝者之際應當蔑視
愛情和吹噓帶來的久長碩果，
“快看那人，他愛過、失去過，
但他整個就是身心俱疲。”
I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
But who shall so forecast the years
And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand thro' time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?
Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,
Let darkness keep her raven gloss:
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
To dance with death, to beat the ground,
Than that the victor Hours should scorn
The long result of love, and boast,
"Behold the man that loved and lost,
But all he was is overworn."
II
蒼老的紫杉拽緊岩石
它們命名了潛在的亡戶，
你的纖維羅織無夢之顱，
你的根係包裹有骨質。
季節再次帶來花朵，
驅使幼雛壯而成群，
時鍾在你的黃昏
敲扁人生之脆弱。
哦，不為你這光彩，這花開，
在狂風中也不變化，
而標記夏日之陽也無法，
觸摸你千年憂鬱之哀。
凝望著你，沉鬱之樹，
患於你的頑固驚駭，
我仿佛衰自氣血之外，
漸次融合於汝。
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the under-lying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.
The seasons bring the flower again,
And bring the firstling to the flock;
And in the dusk of thee, the clock
Beats out the little lives of men.
O, not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale,
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom:
And gazing on thee, sullen tree,
Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,
I seem to fail from out my blood
And grow incorporate into thee.
III
哦，悲傷，這殘酷的情誼，
哦，死亡之窖的女祭司，
哦，一呼一吸的甜苦，
是何耳語飄自你正說謊的唇際？
“星群” ，她低語，“茫然飛奔，
有一張網正越空而織；
一陣泣涕從外麵荒地傳來，
垂死的太陽雜音低迷”；
所有的幽靈，大自然，起立--
音樂充盈在她的調子，
一聲我自己的空洞回音，--
伴隨雙手空空的虛空形式。”
我是否該如此盲目從事，
擁抱她如同天賦德行；
抑或粉碎她，猶如汙血惡跡，
一旦觸及心靈的閾值？
Sorrow, cruel fellowship,
O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
O sweet and bitter in a breath,
What whispers from thy lying lip?
"The stars," she whispers, "blindly run;
A web is wov'n across the sky;
From out waste places comes a cry,
And murmurs from the dying sun;
"And all the phantom, Nature, stands --
With all the music in her tone,
A hollow echo of my own, --
A hollow form with empty hands."
And shall I take a thing so blind,
Embrace her as my natural good;
Or crush her, like a vice of blood,
Upon the threshold of the mind?
IV
我將自身偉力交付給睡眠；
意誌遂成黑暗的奴隸；
坐在無舵之舟，
我心默想而語：
哦，心兒，而今它如此依附你，
你不應從欲望中棄離，
欲望它很少敢探究，
“是什麽讓我敗得沉底 ？”
是一些你已丟失的東西，
一些早年歲月的歡愉。
碎了，灌滿寒淚的深底花瓶，
那種憂傷顫栗成了霜氣！
這樣無名的困擾如流雲穿越
昏黑眼睛下的長夜淒淒；
清晨喚醒了意誌，於是慟哭，
“你不該象笨瓜般迷失” 。
To Sleep I give my powers away;
My will is bondsman to the dark;
I sit within a helmless bark,
And with my heart I muse and say:
O heart, how fares it with thee now,
That thou should'st fail from thy desire,
Who scarcely darest to inquire,
"What is it makes me beat so low?"
Something it is which thou hast lost,
Some pleasure from thine early years.
Break, thou deep vase of chilling tears,
That grief hath shaken into frost!
Such clouds of nameless trouble cross
All night below the darken'd eyes;
With morning wakes the will, and cries,
"Thou shalt not be the fool of loss."
我有時半感罪惡薰薰
為將悲痛付之言表；
因為言語，如同大自然，半昭
半隱內在的靈魂。
然而，對躁動的心腦，
謹慎用語意味著謊言；
悲哀的機械訓練，
一如無趣的麻醉劑，痛不知曉。
在如雜草的話中，我將自己覆蓋，
似用最粗鄙的衣服抵擋寒冷；
可是所擁的哀傷之盛
不過付諸個大概。
I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.
VI
有人寫道：‘尚有朋友們留存如始‘，
‘失卻對一個種類來說司空見慣’ --
司空見慣就是老生常談，
空虛的穀殼對穀粒仍有意義。
失卻實在是種平常現象
不增不減我的苦澀；
太司空見慣了！從未攜這
失意從朝到暮，但有心兒破碎遭殃。
哦，神父，無論你在哪個角落，
那人發誓做你勇武之子；
在你半枯竭之前，再試一次
仍會擁有源自你光彩的生活。
哦，聖母，祈禱上帝會拯救
你的水手，--當你躬首垂落
他彈痕累累的吊床樣桅索
墮入他廣闊而漫遊的墳柩。
你所知不比我多多少
我在最後一小時讓他安舒；
他默思我不得不告知的全部，
有筆錄，也有思考。
依然期待他那將臨的家園；
總想於其途中和他相遇
懷揣願望，想著，“ 今--日” ，
或者“明--天他會出現” 。
哦，某處溫順而迷離的鴿子，
坐而梳理金色的毛發;
樂於發現你自己光鮮絕佳，
可憐的孩子，那是在祈愛於你！
此刻，她神父的煙囪光焰薈萃
正期待一個貴客到來；
於是想，“這將最讓他開懷” ，
她拿起裝飾緞帶，或一朵玫瑰。
因為他將看見他們, 就今晚；
思緒她光華如灼，
放下玻璃杯, 她轉過
去再次弄妥那個小發卷。
甚至當她傳過身子時，
詛咒已降，她的未來之主
溺斃於穿越灘塗，
抑或從馬上跌落而死。
One writes, that `Other friends remain,'
That `Loss is common to the race' --
And common is the commonplace,
And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.
O father, wheresoe'er thou be,
Who pledgest now thy gallant son;
A shot, ere half thy draught be done,
Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.
O mother, praying God will save
Thy sailor, -- while thy head is bow'd,
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud
Drops in his vast and wandering grave.
Ye know no more than I who wrought
At that last hour to please him well;
Who mused on all I had to tell,
And something written, something thought;
Expecting still his advent home;
And ever met him on his way
With wishes, thinking, "here to-day,"
Or "here to-morrow will he come."
O somewhere, meek, unconscious dove,
That sittest ranging golden hair;
And glad to find thyself so fair,
Poor child, that waitest for thy love!
For now her father's chimney glows
In expectation of a guest;
And thinking "this will please him best,"
She takes a riband or a rose;
For he will see them on to-night;
And with the thought her colour burns;
And, having left the glass, she turns
Once more to set a ringlet right;
And, even when she turn'd, the curse
Had fallen, and her future Lord
Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford,
Or kill'd in falling from his horse.
O what to her shall be the end?
And what to me remains of good?
To her, perpetual maidenhood,
And unto me no second friend.
(浮生歡娛譯， 2009）
