上星期陪小女儿去考音乐理论一级考试，7岁的她从来没去考过这样的试，是她的钢琴老师安排的，钢琴老师是日本人，做事非常严谨细心，也好让孩子学学日本式的做事方式也很好。
考试地点有点远，事先没看地图， 非常依赖卫星导航的那个叫什么来着，法语叫tom tom就上路了，糟了tom tom也找不到具体的考试地点，只指示一个打开位子，没时间再研究了，上路再说， 总会有办法的。
路上小女儿而问我：妈妈，考试和比赛有什么区别？去年她懵懵懂懂去钢琴比赛都不知道还有奖状奖品这回事，去之前收到她老师的text， 叫她答完卷不要马上出来， 要检查至少3遍。
tomtom没把我待到确切地址，在附近停车准备走过去，然后去问路，热情的路人告诉我大概在什么地方，走路2分钟，而且要穿过一个老教堂的墓地，《church yard 》
啊，《Church Yard?》, 脑海里就冒出好像听说有这么一首英诗，自己正想读呢，正好老天安排我迷路，然后要经过一教堂墓地，还是带着孩子，不会吓着我孩子吧？
教堂位于郊区一小镇的闹市区， 可教堂本身又被其它建筑物包围保护，远离喧嚣，墓地墓碑零零散散，东倒西歪， 有一个还在紧靠树跟， 那天已经是傍晚， 天色渐渐地暗下来， 感觉到太阳正在沉落， 墓地不大，旁边一面是教堂，一边是一个小停车场，另一边是一个大运动场， 非常安静， 还能听到鸟语，3月初的英伦还是挺冷的，鲜花还没来报到， 带着小女儿穿过教堂墓地，小女儿马上有点感觉，妈， 这有点怕怕； 我马上说， 有什么怕的， 这些人他们几百年前就不在了，他们这会儿在天上，上帝也在看着我们啊，别怕！小女儿立即放松， 最近因为带她去教堂， 她也相信上帝，有时作业本不见了她会自个儿祷告，海，还真马上找到了。 我宁愿她相信，因为我不能永远保护自己的孩子 ， 还是把她们交给上帝吧，她们的心灵也不会孤独，她们也会学着去帮助别人，理解别人， 痛苦时也不会惊慌失措，这样我比较放心
穿过教堂墓地, 墓地没人，非常幽静，和小女儿手拉着手，远处有另外两位lady , 我不怕幽灵，倒是有点担心坏人袭击我们母女俩，另外还有比如抢我的iphone， ipode什么的， 一种本能的母性让我的警报器系统高度地准备着，小时候在武术班混了一阵子，目前锻炼的时候，腿嘛还能踢到一定高度，但呈无力状态。草草别胡思乱想，你有那么重要吗？谁会抢你？
西方的墓地不是那么可怕，今年圣诞节老二提出想去巴黎著名的Pere lachaise公墓去朝拜她喜欢的作家，圣诞节那天，我都有点犹豫和迷信，这过节去那好不好啊?最后还是陪她去了，可是那天是放假不开；上次去听一个音乐会在教堂，中间大家还手捧红酒在教堂的目的聊天，那是大夏天，这会儿是冬天，天森森的，很church Yard 的感觉， 好人性， 没有让死者远离胜者的视线， 生和死接得这么近，怎么忽然间我觉得很温馨，没有什么恐惧
以前在国内每年都去姐姐的墓前看她，有几次还和哥哥去的，最开始我们总是很悲痛，坐在姐姐在山上的墓旁，慢慢地我们也喜欢在姐姐的墓边小坐一会儿，聊天，野外的花香，南方夏日的热热微风吹着我们的脸，我们的头发，我们的衣裳，我们在聊天，聊人生， 那时哥哥刚参加工作，我也刚上大学， 哥哥从来不教训我，只是说些他看到的，经历的人生故事，让我自己判断该怎么做人做事....
赶快走， 已经迟到了，快到考试地点，我问一位怀抱婴儿的妈妈， 考试教室在哪，她很热情地带我去，她说她也找了半天才找到这个地方， 工作人员说不知考官还让不让进，那不行，来了不让考啊？！不一会儿，又来几位迟到的，一位身材魁梧的向地中海那边的中年男人，气冲冲地领着女儿冲来，还发气，说考试怎么在这个鬼地方，卫星导航大大地失灵， 还乓一声用力推开考试教室的门， 这些迟到的必不迟到的还神气！跟一位妈妈聊了一会儿，又见一帮迟到匆匆赶来，我的天，俺还算早到的。
还得回去停车场补交钱，本来想把车开近考试地点，那天天好冷，但又担心别到时又找不到地方了，还是穿过教堂墓地 走回去接孩子， 穿过教堂墓地 again......，
回去一看，孩子考试已经出来，我问她做完题目后检查了几遍？2遍， 老师不是说要检查3遍的吗？瓦，都忘记交待她要看一遍试卷，别漏了最后一page忘记做了， 海，没关系了。
这时天完全黑了，傍晚我们两个又手拉手穿过教堂墓地 again......，小女儿非常放松，我也是，我也不知道自己从什么时候开始对死不是那么可怕，尽管我还是想多活一些，多看世界
这时小女儿她开始提问：这些人（墓碑里）是什么人，我说应该是好人吧，好人是会上天堂去上帝那的； 女儿问怎么知道他们是好人呢？我说上帝应该知道， 怕她问，再问我也答不出了，
我自己也在想：对，这些是什么人，反正不会是外国移民； 那个年代的？ 应该和教堂的年份差不多吧， 他们是干什么的？什么地位？年收入多少? 房子大不大？...? 草草，这些问题还这么重要吗？看看墓碑旁边那些万古长青的松树，它们在乎这些吗？嗯.... 海，自己教育一下子自己!
一个寒冷的二月天里，黑夜中，只有路灯，鸟儿也早回家了，只有夜空依稀可见的几颗零散的星星看着我们， 我们穿过教堂墓地......， 好可惜我背不得这首诗，一定要背下来，找个时间找个伴一起晚穿过巴黎的拉雪兹公墓 ， 要么就去一个英伦乡间墓地去朗诵这首诗; 感受生与死的距离， 感受生命的可贵， 感受上帝给与的一切......
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http://langrissera.5d6d.com/archiver/tid-5947.html
【英诗鉴赏】Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
By Thomas Gray 
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share,
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the Poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:-
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, --
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn;
"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high.
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
"The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,-
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
The Epitaph
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melacholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God
英诗中译
墓园挽歌晚钟响起来一阵阵给白昼报丧，
牛群在草原上迂回，吼声起落，
耕地人累了，回家走，脚步踉跄，
把整个世界留给了黄昏与我。
苍茫的景色逐渐从眼前消退，
一片肃穆的寂静盖遍了尘寰，
只听见嗡嗡的甲虫转圈子纷飞，
昏沉的铃声催眠着远处的羊栏。
只听见常春藤披裹的塔顶底下
一只阴郁的柢枭向月亮诉苦，
怪人家无端走进它秘密的住家，
搅扰它这个悠久而僻静的领土。
峥嵘的榆树底下，扁柏的荫里，
草皮鼓起了许多零落的荒堆，
各自在洞窟里永远放下了身体，
小村里粗鄙的父老在那里安睡。
香气四溢的晨风轻松的呼召，
燕子从茅草棚子里吐出的呢喃，
公鸡的尖喇叭，使山鸣谷应的猎号
再不能唤醒他们在地下的长眠。
在他们，熊熊的炉火不再会燃烧，
忙碌的管家妇不再会赶她的夜活；
孩子们不再会“牙牙”的报父亲来到，
为一个亲吻爬倒他膝上去争夺。
往常是：他们一开镰就所向披靡，
顽梗的泥板让他们犁出了垄沟；
他们多么欢欣地赶牲口下地！
他们一猛砍，树木就一棵棵低头！
“雄心”别嘲讽他们实用的操劳，
家常的欢乐，默默无闻的命运；
“豪华”也不用带着轻蔑的冷笑
来听讲穷人的又短有简的生平。
门第的炫耀，有权有势的煊赫，
凡是美和财富所能赋予的好处，
前头都等待着不可避免的时刻：
光荣的道路无非是引导到坟墓。
骄傲人，你也不要怪这些人不行，
“怀念”没有给这些人建立纪念堂，
没有让悠长的廊道、雕花的拱顶
洋溢着洪亮的赞美歌，进行颂扬。
栩栩的半身像，铭刻了事略的瓮碑，
难道能恢复断气，促使还魂？
“荣誉”的声音能激发沉默的死灰？
“献媚”能叫死神听软了耳根？
也许这一块地方，尽管荒芜，
就埋着曾经充满过灵焰的一颗心；
一双手，本可以执掌到帝国的王芴
或者出神入化地拨响了七弦琴。
可是“知识”从不曾对他们展开
它世代积累而琳琅满目的书卷；
“贫寒”压制了他们高贵的襟怀，
冻结了他们从灵府涌出的流泉。
世界上多少晶莹皎洁的珠宝
埋在幽暗而深不可测的海底；
世界上多少花吐艳而无人知晓，
把芳香白白地散发给荒凉的空气。
也许有乡村汉普顿在这里埋身，
反抗过当地的小霸王，胆大，坚决；
也许有缄口的米尔顿，从没有名声；
有一位克伦威尔，并不曾害国家流血。
要博得满场的元老雷动的鼓掌，
无视威胁，全不顾存亡生死，
把富庶，丰饶遍播到四处八方，
打从全国的笑眼里读自己的历史——
他们的命运可不许：既不许罪过
有所放纵，也不许发挥德行；
不许从杀戮中间涉登宝座
从此对人类关上仁慈的大门；
不许掩饰天良在内心的发作，
隐瞒天真的羞愧，恬不红脸；
不许用诗神的金焰点燃了香火
锦上添花去塞满“骄”“奢”的神龛。
远离了纷纭人世的勾心斗角，
他们有清醒愿望，从不学糊涂，
顺着生活的清凉僻静的山坳，
他们坚持了不声不响的正路。
可是叫这些尸骨免受到糟踏，
还是有脆弱的碑牌树立在近边，
点缀了拙劣的韵语、凌乱的刻划，
请求过往人就便献一声婉叹。
无闻的野诗神注上了姓名、年份，
另外再加上地址和一篇悼词；
她在周围撒播了一些经文，
教训乡土道德家怎样去死。
要知道谁甘愿舍身哑口的“遗忘”，
坦然撇下了忧喜交织的此生，
谁离开风和日暖的明媚现场
而能不依依地回头来顾盼一阵？
辞世的灵魂还依傍钟情的怀抱，
临闭的眼睛需要尽哀的珠泪，
即使坟冢里也有“自然”的呼号
他们的旧火还点燃我们的新灰。
至于你，我关心这些默默的陈死人，
用这些诗句讲他们质朴的故事，
假如在幽思的引导下，偶然有缘分，
一位同道来问起你的身世——
也许会有白头的乡下人对他说，
“我们常常看见他，天还刚亮，
就用匆忙的脚步把露水碰落，
上那边高处的草地去会晤朝阳；
“那边有一棵婆娑的山毛榉老树，
树底下隆起的老根盘错在一起，
他常常在那里懒躺过一个中午，
悉心看旁边一道涓涓的小溪。
“他转游到林边，有时候笑里带嘲，
念念有词，发他的奇谈怪议，
有时候垂头丧气，像无依无靠，
像忧心忡忡或者像情场失意。
“有一天早上，在他惯去的山头，
灌木丛，他那棵爱树下，我不见他出现；
第二天早上，尽管我走下溪流，
上草地，穿过树林，他还是不见。
“第三天我们见到了送葬的行列，
唱着挽歌，抬着他向坟场走去——
请上前看那丛老荆棘底下的碑碣，
（你是识字的）请念念这些诗句”：
墓 铭
这里边，高枕地膝，是一位青年，
生平从不曾受知于“富贵”和“名声”；
“知识”可没轻视他出身的微贱，
“清愁”把他标出来认作宠幸。
他生性真挚，最乐于慷慨施惠，
上苍也给了他同样慷慨的报酬：
他给了“坎坷”全部的所有，一滴泪；
从上苍全得了所求，一位朋友。
别再想法子表彰他的功绩，
也别再把他的弱点翻出了暗窖
（他们同样在颤抖的希望中休息）。
那就是他的天父和上帝的怀抱。
译者未知
作者介绍
托马斯·格雷(1716—1771 ),是英国新古典主义后期的重要诗人，“墓畔派”的代表人物。他出生在伦敦的一个经纪人家庭，一生的大部分时间在剑桥大学从事教学与研究工作。他的生活可谓中规中矩，捷足而又稳健。
格雷一生作诗不多，仅十余首传世，其中以《墓园挽歌》最为著名。此诗创作长达8年之久，最初是为了哀悼他在伊顿公学读书时的好友里查德 ·韦斯特，至少诗末所附的“墓志铭”是为他而作。但纵观全诗，其内容已经明显超越了对某个具体人物的哀思，而是通过对乡村一处墓地的描写，表达对下层默默无闻的人民的深切同情。对他们纯朴善良品质的赞扬，为他们没有机会施展天赋和才华而惋惜，同时也表现了对权贵、人间虚荣的蔑视和嘲讽，对大人物傲慢奢侈生活的谴责。这首诗充分体现了格雷的民主思想。由于贫困，农民不能发挥自己的才能，不能成为像弥尔顿那样的文学家，像克伦威尔那样的政治家。但是从另一方面说，在他们身上没有“野心”，“傲慢”，“骄”“奢”和“谄媚”。他们虽然“贫瘠”，没有知识，但却有“德性”和“天良”，他们是自然本身。这样的思想和弥漫于全诗的感伤情调，使《墓园挽歌》成为18 世纪后期感伤主义诗歌的典范之作。
《墓园挽歌》之所以是历代注评家青睐的对象。是因为“第一，它凝聚了一个时期中的某种社会情绪；其次，它有比较完整的形式表达了这种情绪，在一定程度上解决了如何革新旧传统的问题，具有较高的艺术成就”。（杨周翰语）
从《墓园挽歌》这首诗中，我们可以看到英国诗人从新古典主义向浪漫主义的国度。一方面，格雷的诗歌语言精雕细琢，符合新古典主义推崇的诗歌词藻要求，另一方面，他的诗歌表现了浪漫的对自然以及对人与人之间和谐关系的渴望。这两者的结合用以表达深一层的感伤，使古典主义者所追求的对永恒真理的描述，这一古往今来始终如此的叹惋被精美的诗歌形式架构起来，更有着动人心弦的力量。
摘自百度百科：[url]http://baike.baidu.com/view/692699.htm[/url]
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http://gb.udndata.com/gb/blog.udn.com/ctiao/4221160
英国诗人汤玛斯．葛雷 (Thomas Gray,1716-1771) 在1750年写了这首诗，时年34岁。次年发行后，脍炙人口，传颂一时。据闻在1759年，英国七年战争时的名将詹姆士．沃尔夫(James Wolfe）在某重大战役前夕，对其军官朗读了这首诗，并说道：「先生们，我宁可写了这首诗而非明天去拿下魁北克。」
翻译这首32诗节,隔行押尾韵的四行诗（共128行），除了在模棱的字义中，尽力追索诗人的意念与情绪外，我认为中文也必须依原诗的型式押尾韵，才可能符合诗人所欲营造的气氛。隔行换韵，一返一往，读者遂随之蹇步于阴阳虚实间，徘徊在信与疑，从与逆，喜与惧，记忆与遗忘的情绪里。
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
By Thomas Gray
作于乡村教堂墓园的哀歌
汤玛斯·葛雷 作
刁卿蕙 译
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o‘er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
晚钟敲出离别之日的噩讯,
低呜牛群蜿蜒缓缓上草坡,
返家的农夫步履蹒跚倦沉,
把世界留给了黑暗以及我。
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
此刻景色朦胧从眼前渐黯黑,
一股肃静将所有的空气凝结,
除了甲虫在嗡嗡绕着圈子飞,
催眠铃当声在远处羊棚间歇;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such, as wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
除了远方藤蔓覆盖的楼塔,
那郁鸣夜枭可真招月娘怨
如此梭巡靠近她神秘闺闼,
侵犯了她古老的寂寞辖苑。
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree’s shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
粗硬的榆树下, 紫杉树荫底,
许多荒冢上的草皮起伏舒卷,
各自永卧在其狭仄的墓穴里,
村落粗野众先祖在安息长眠。
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
炉香飘动清晨里的微风轻吟,
来自草筑窝巢中的燕子呢喃,
公鸡澈亮尖啼, 或者号角回音,
再不能使他们从下榻处醒转。
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
No children run to lisp their sire’s return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
壁炉里的烈焰将不再为他们烧燃,
忙碌的主妇也不再夜来频添薪木;
没有黄口小儿奔告其父祖的归返,
或者攀上其膝分得一吻备受羡慕。
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
过去他们的镰下屡有丰获,
其犁常使顽抗旱地裂了口;
当他们成队驱原时,有多么乐活!
在他们坚毅打击下,森林低了头!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.
野心之士别嘲弄他们实用的辛劳,
他们的家常趣味, 和幽微的命运;
显贵之族听时也莫带鄙夷的微笑
穷人的编年史简短且单纯。
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all the wealth e’er gave,
Awaits alike the inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
家徽的夸耀,权力的华饰,
所有的美,所有曾赋予的财富,
同样等候那不可避免的一时。
荣显之径条条通往坟墓。
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If Memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
你可别, 骄傲的你,归咎这些为错误,
假如记忆之神未在他们的坟上树立奖牌,
那么在通过绵延长廊和细工雕饰的穹窿处,
轰然的颂歌会盈满赞美的节拍。
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honor’s voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
画有故事的骨灰坛 或 诩诩如生的胸像
可会召唤逃逸了的呼吸重返其华寓?
荣誉的呼声可会令沉默的尘土激扬?
或可取悦死神迟钝冷酷之耳以阿谀?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
或许在此不起眼的一角埋有
曾经孕育天火的某颗心;
一双帝国权杖也会回避的手,
或撩动狂喜以生命之弦琴。
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time did ne’er unroll;
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
但在他们眼里,知识女神的丰页
富含时光劫毁之美实未曾展露;
寒冷的贫穷压抑其高尚之诗跃,
冻结了灵魂中那股亲和的暖流。
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
有多少宝石散发最纯净清澈的光线,
却是长在深黝不可测的海洋洞穴丛;
有多少花朵生就可令未见者羞红脸.
却是浪掷了其香甜于沙漠的空气中。
Some village Hampton, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s blood.
某汉普敦村人, 挺着无畏的胸臆
对抗了横行在他田庄的小霸主;
某哑巴无名弥尔顿可能安息此地,
某个克伦威尔令其家园之血无辜。
The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation’s eyes,
倾听议会的掌声在主导,
蔑视痛苦和毁灭的威胁,
在这片微笑的土地上播洒丰饶,
且读他们的历史以一国之眼格。
Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
他们的命运禁绝: 也非独然划规
其茁长中的美,连带其罪愆亦受碍,
禁绝经屠杀以登王位,
并拒人类于慈悲之门外,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame.
藏起觉察真理的痛苦挣扯,
浇熄天真腼腆的羞赧红颜,
否则就堆积起骄奢的神社
以缪思之焰来点燃炉香卷。
Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray;
Along the cool sequestered vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
远离疯狂群众的卑贱营汲,
他们清醒的愿望从未学会迷失,
沿着冷凉偏僻的生命低谷
他们维持了路程寂静以其方式。
Yet even these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth thymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
然而即令这些枯骨免于受凌厄
某衰败碑铭仍在附近兀立,
饰有古怪韵文和不成形的雕刻,
恳求路过者付予一声叹息。
Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
他们的姓名,生年,由不识字的缪思读拼,
补充以名声之地及哀歌挽诗:
她在周遭散布许多神圣经文,
教导不文的卫道者如何辞世。
For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e’er resigned,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.
离世魂魄所依的胸膛慈悲温暖,
某虔敬者依要求垂下紧闭的眼;
即使从墓中也听到自然女神哭喊,
即使在我们灰烬里也续存其故焰。
For thee, who mindful of the unhonored dead
Does in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,
而你,如此关切那些无荣之亡魂,
在此诗行中可链接其质朴小传?
如有契机,藉由孤独暝思的导引,
某志同的幽灵将探索你的因缘,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
“Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
或许某个白发乡绅会说,
「 我们经常看到他在破晓之际,
快步疾走将露珠抖落,
迎见太阳在高坡上的草地。
“There at foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
「在远处遥曳的山榉脚旁,
神奇的老树根盘旋升高,
正午他会伸展慵懒身长,
对着潺潺流过的河水思考。
“Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.
「 傍彼处之林,今微笑似轻睨,
喃喃低语恣意幻象的他在徘徊,
现渐垂丧,悲惨阴郁,如遭遗弃,
或忧虑发狂,或苦于无望的爱。
“One morn I missed him on the customed hill,
Along the heath and near his favorite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
「有天早晨, 我没见着他在惯常的坡上,
沿着石楠和他所喜爱的树附近;
又一个早晨,既不在小河旁,
不在草地上,也不见他在那树林;
“The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church way path we saw him borne.
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.”
「次日悲伤队伍哀悼当其时
我们见他缓缓被抬向教堂的小径。
走近并请念(给能读的你)这短诗,
镌刻石上在彼下方古老荆棘丛。」
THE EPITAPH
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and Fame unknown.
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.
墓志铭
于当前位置大地膝上枕首
乃一财富与名声两不识的青年。
美善学识之神对其卑微出身不蹙眉头,
忧郁女神却予以青眼捡选。
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven (‘twas all he wished) a friend.
他何其慷慨大度, 他的灵魂何其真诚无欺,
天堂于是大大地予以报酬:
他倾其所有都给了苦难之神, 泪珠一滴,
他得到来自天堂(这曾是他最期望的)一个朋友。
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.
毋需再深入找寻他的优点来展现,
或拉出他那薄弱意志自其可怖的居所
(在那儿他们亦同样打着哆嗦希望安眠)
自他的天父和他的上帝的心窝。
