济慈（1795-1821）出生于18世纪末年的伦敦，他是杰出的英诗作家之一，也是浪漫派的主要成员。
雪莱对他的描述：
“约翰●济慈因患肺病死在罗马，时为一八二一年一月一日，享年二十六岁；他葬在该城新教徒的幽雅而僻静的墓地，在西斯蒂阿斯墓陵的金字塔下，周围是古罗马角斗场的巍峨高墙和楼塔，但如今已经荒凉倾圮了。”
他的墓志铭写着：Here lies one
whose name was written in water
此地长眠者，声名水上书。
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,-
Nature's observatory- whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
哦，孤独
约翰·济慈 查良铮译
哦，孤独！假若我和你必需同住，
可别在这层叠的一片
灰色建筑里，让我们爬上山，
到大自然的观测台去，从那里——
山谷、晶亮的河，锦簇的草坡
看来只是一拃；让我守着你
在枝叶荫蔽下，看跳纵的鹿糜
把指顶花蛊里的蜜蜂惊吓。
不过，虽然我喜欢和你赏玩
这些景色，我的心灵更乐于
和纯洁的心灵（她的言语
是优美情思的表象）亲切会谈；
因为我相信，人的至高的乐趣
是一对心灵避入你的港湾。
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.
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 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 might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim
哎，一口酒！那冷藏
在地下多年的甘醇，
味如花神、綠土、
舞蹈、戀歌和灼熱的歡樂！
哎，滿滿一杯南方的溫暖，
充滿了鮮紅的靈感之泉，
杯沿閃動著珍珠的泡沫，
和唇邊退去的紫色；
我要一飲以不見塵世，
與你循入森林幽暗的深處
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among 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 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 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,
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.
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;
Fast fading violets cover'd 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,
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 abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy 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 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.
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?
永生的鳥啊！你不為了死亡出生！
飢餓的時代無法把你蹂躪；
這逝去的夜晚里我所聽見的
在那遠古的日子也曾為帝王和小丑聽見；
可能相同的歌在露絲那顆憂愁的心中
找到了一條路徑，當她思念故鄉，
站在異邦的谷田中落淚；
這聲音常常
在遺失的仙城中震動了窗扉
望向泡沫浪花
遺失！這個字如同一聲鐘響
把我從你處帶會我單獨自我！
別了！幻想無法繼續欺騙
當她不再能夠，
別了！別了！你哀傷的聖歌
退入了後面的草地，流過溪水，
湧上山坡；而此時，它正深深
埋在下一個山谷的陰影中：
是幻覺，還是夢寐？
那歌聲去了：我醒了？我睡著？
Ode to Autumn
John Keats (1795–1821)
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, 5
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease; 10
For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 15
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twine´d flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook; 20
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barre´d clouds bloom the soft-dying day 25
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn 30
Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
FOUR Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of Man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously 5
Spring’s honey’d cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look 10
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:—
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
人生四季
Ode on Melancholy
John Keats (1795–1821)
NO, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries, 5
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. 10
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, 15
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globèd peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. 20
She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight 25
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung. 30
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love!-then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
Bright star
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art---
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors---
No---yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever---or else swoon to death.
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among 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 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 to-morrow.
Ode To A Nightingale
John Keats
夜鶯頌
濟慈
My heart aches, and a drowsy nOde To A Nightingale
John Keats
夜鶯頌
濟慈
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
我的心痛，困頓和麻木
毒害了感官，猶如飲過毒鴆，
又似剛把鴉片吞服，
一分鐘的時間，字句在忘川中沉沒
'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.
並不是在嫉妒你的幸運，
是為著你的幸運而大感快樂，
你，林間輕翅的精靈，
在山毛櫸綠影下的情結中，
放開了歌喉，歌唱夏季。
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 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 might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim
哎，一口酒！那冷藏
在地下多年的甘醇，
味如花神、綠土、
舞蹈、戀歌和灼熱的歡樂！
哎，滿滿一杯南方的溫暖，
充滿了鮮紅的靈感之泉，
杯沿閃動著珍珠的泡沫，
和唇邊退去的紫色；
我要一飲以不見塵世，
與你循入森林幽暗的深處
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among 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 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 to-morrow.
遠遠的離開，消失，徹底忘記
林中的你從不知道的，
疲憊、熱病和急躁
這裡，人們坐下並聽著彼此的呻吟；
癱瘓搖動了一會兒，悲傷了，最後的几絲白髮，
青春蒼白，古怪的消瘦下去，後來死亡；
鉛色的眼睛絕望著；
美人守不住明眸，
新的戀情過不完明天。
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.
去吧！去吧！我要飛向你，
不用酒神的車輾和他的隨從，
而是乘著詩歌無形的翅膀，
儘管這混沌的頭腦早已跟隨你，
夜色溫柔，而月之女皇
正登上她的寶座，
周圍是她所有的星星仙子，
但這處那處都沒有光，
一些天光被微風吹入幽綠，
和青苔的曲徑。
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;
Fast fading violets cover'd 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.
我看不清是哪些花在我的腳旁，
又何種軟香懸於高枝，
但在溫馨的暗處，猜測每一種甜蜜
以其時令的贈與
青草地、灌木叢、野果樹
白山楂和田園玫瑰；
葉堆中易謝的紫羅蘭；
還有五月中旬的首出，
這沾滿了如酒般的露水，即將綻開帶有麝香的玫瑰，
夏夜蠅蟲嗡嗡的盤旋其中。
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 abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem become a sod.
我傾聽黑夜，多少次
我幾乎愛上了逸謐的死亡，
在如此多的沉思之韻中呼喚她輕柔的名，
編織成歌，我無聲的呼吸；
現在她更加華麗的死去，
在午夜不帶悲傷的飛升，
當你正向外傾瀉靈魂
這般的迷狂！
你仍唱著，而我聽不見，
你那高昂的安魂曲對著一搓泥土。
Thou wast not born 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.
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?
永生的鳥啊！你不為了死亡出生！
飢餓的時代無法把你蹂躪；
這逝去的夜晚里我所聽見的
在那遠古的日子也曾為帝王和小丑聽見；
可能相同的歌在露絲那顆憂愁的心中
找到了一條路徑，當她思念故鄉，
站在異邦的谷田中落淚；
這聲音常常
在遺失的仙城中震動了窗扉
望向泡沫浪花
遺失！這個字如同一聲鐘響
把我從你處帶會我單獨自我！
別了！幻想無法繼續欺騙
當她不再能夠，
別了！別了！你哀傷的聖歌
退入了後面的草地，流過溪水，
湧上山坡；而此時，它正深深
埋在下一個山谷的陰影中：
是幻覺，還是夢寐？
那歌聲去了：我醒了？我睡著？
...某 MouHoo
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