英国诗人约翰 · 济慈代表作《仿斯宾塞》，《伊莎贝拉》，《圣亚尼节前夜》，《许佩里恩》，《夜莺颂》，《希腊古瓮颂》，《秋颂》等。
Ode To A Nightingale
John Keats (1795~1821)
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
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?
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?
夜莺颂 济慈
我的心痛，困顿和麻木
毒害了感官，犹如饮过毒鸩，
又似刚把鸦片吞服，
一分钟的时间，字句在忘川中沉没
并不是在嫉妒你的幸运，
是为着你的幸运而大感快乐，
你，林间轻翅的精灵，
在山毛榉绿影下的情结中，
放开了歌喉，歌唱夏季。
是为着你的幸运而大感快乐，
你，林间轻翅的精灵，
在山毛榉绿影下的情结中，
放开了歌喉，歌唱夏季。
哎，一口酒！那冷藏
在地下多年的甘醇，
味如花神、绿土、
舞蹈、恋歌和灼热的欢乐！
哎，满满一杯南方的温暖，
充满了鲜红的灵感之泉，
杯沿闪动着珍珠的泡沫，
和唇边退去的紫色；
我要一饮以不见尘世，
与你循入森林幽暗的深处
远远的离开，消失，彻底忘记
林中的你从不知道的，
疲惫、热病和急躁
这里，人们坐下并听着彼此的呻吟；
瘫痪摇动了一会儿，悲伤了，最后的几丝白发，
青春苍白，古怪的消瘦下去，后来死亡；
铅色的眼睛绝望着；
美人守不住明眸，
新的恋情过不完明天。
在地下多年的甘醇，
味如花神、绿土、
舞蹈、恋歌和灼热的欢乐！
哎，满满一杯南方的温暖，
充满了鲜红的灵感之泉，
杯沿闪动着珍珠的泡沫，
和唇边退去的紫色；
我要一饮以不见尘世，
与你循入森林幽暗的深处
远远的离开，消失，彻底忘记
林中的你从不知道的，
疲惫、热病和急躁
这里，人们坐下并听着彼此的呻吟；
瘫痪摇动了一会儿，悲伤了，最后的几丝白发，
青春苍白，古怪的消瘦下去，后来死亡；
铅色的眼睛绝望着；
美人守不住明眸，
新的恋情过不完明天。
去吧！去吧！我要飞向你，
不用酒神的车辗和他的随从，
乘着诗歌无形的翅膀，
尽管这混沌的头脑早已跟随你，
夜色温柔，而月后
正登上她的宝座，
周围是她所有的星星仙子，
但这处那处都没有光，
一些天光被微风吹入幽绿，
和青苔的曲径。
不用酒神的车辗和他的随从，
乘着诗歌无形的翅膀，
尽管这混沌的头脑早已跟随你，
夜色温柔，而月后
正登上她的宝座，
周围是她所有的星星仙子，
但这处那处都没有光，
一些天光被微风吹入幽绿，
和青苔的曲径。
我不能看清是哪些花在我的脚旁，
何种软香悬于高枝，
但在温馨的暗处，猜测每一种甜蜜
以其时令的赠与
青草地、灌木丛、野果树
白山楂和田园玫瑰；
叶堆中易谢的紫罗兰；
还有五与中旬的首出，
这啜满了露酒的麝香蔷薇，
夏夜蝇子嗡嗡的出没其中。
何种软香悬于高枝，
但在温馨的暗处，猜测每一种甜蜜
以其时令的赠与
青草地、灌木丛、野果树
白山楂和田园玫瑰；
叶堆中易谢的紫罗兰；
还有五与中旬的首出，
这啜满了露酒的麝香蔷薇，
夏夜蝇子嗡嗡的出没其中。
我倾听黑夜，多少次
我几乎爱上了逸谧的死亡，
在如此多的沉思之韵中呼唤她轻柔的名，
编织成歌，我无声的呼吸；
现在她更加华丽的死去，
在午夜不带悲伤的飞升，
当你正向外倾泻灵魂
这般的迷狂！
你仍唱着，而我听不见，
你那高昂的安魂曲对着一搓泥土。
我几乎爱上了逸谧的死亡，
在如此多的沉思之韵中呼唤她轻柔的名，
编织成歌，我无声的呼吸；
现在她更加华丽的死去，
在午夜不带悲伤的飞升，
当你正向外倾泻灵魂
这般的迷狂！
你仍唱着，而我听不见，
你那高昂的安魂曲对着一搓泥土。
永生的鸟啊！你不为了死亡出生！
饥饿的时代无法把你蹂躏；
这逝去的夜晚里我所听见的
在那远古的日子也曾为帝王和小丑听见；
可能相同的歌在露丝那颗忧愁的心中
找到了一条路径，当她思念故乡，
站在异邦的谷田中落泪；
这声音常常
在遗失的仙城中震动了窗扉
望向泡沫浪花
遗失！这个字如同一声钟响
把我从你处带会我单独自我！
别了！幻想无法继续欺骗
当她不再能够，
别了！别了！你哀伤的圣歌
退入了后面的草地，流过溪水，
涌上山坡；而此时，它正深深
埋在下一个山谷的阴影中：
是幻觉，还是梦寐？
那歌声去了：我醒了？我睡着？
(译者不详）
饥饿的时代无法把你蹂躏；
这逝去的夜晚里我所听见的
在那远古的日子也曾为帝王和小丑听见；
可能相同的歌在露丝那颗忧愁的心中
找到了一条路径，当她思念故乡，
站在异邦的谷田中落泪；
这声音常常
在遗失的仙城中震动了窗扉
望向泡沫浪花
遗失！这个字如同一声钟响
把我从你处带会我单独自我！
别了！幻想无法继续欺骗
当她不再能够，
别了！别了！你哀伤的圣歌
退入了后面的草地，流过溪水，
涌上山坡；而此时，它正深深
埋在下一个山谷的阴影中：
是幻觉，还是梦寐？
那歌声去了：我醒了？我睡着？
(译者不详）
