英国雪莱的《致云雀》《西风颂》的原文

求雪莱的《致云雀》《自由颂》《西风颂》的英文原文~

To a Skylark by Percy Bysshe Shelley雪莱 致云雀

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven
In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight:

Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see--we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud.
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.

What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
Its aerial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves.

Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus hymeneal
Or triumphal chaunt
Matched with thine, would be all
But an empty vaunt--
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then, as I am listening now!




自由颂by Percy Bysshe Shelley


[Composed early in 1820, and published, with “Prometheus Unbound”, in the same year. A transcript in Shelley’s hand of lines 1-21 is included in the Harvard manuscript book, and amongst the Boscombe manuscripts there is a fragment of a rough draft (Garnett). For further particulars concerning the text see Editor’s Notes.]

Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying,
Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind.—BYRON.

1.
A glorious people vibrated again
The lightning of the nations: Liberty
From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o’er Spain,
Scattering contagious fire into the sky,
Gleamed. My soul spurned the chains of its dismay,
And in the rapid plumes of song
Clothed itself, sublime and strong;
As a young eagle soars the morning clouds among,
Hovering inverse o’er its accustomed prey;
Till from its station in the Heaven of fame
The Spirit’s whirlwind rapped it, and the ray
Of the remotest sphere of living flame
Which paves the void was from behind it flung,
As foam from a ship’s swiftness, when there came
A voice out of the deep: I will record the same.

2.
The Sun and the serenest Moon sprang forth:
The burning stars of the abyss were hurled
Into the depths of Heaven. The daedal earth,
That island in the ocean of the world,
Hung in its cloud of all-sustaining air:
But this divinest universe
Was yet a chaos and a curse,
For thou wert not: but, power from worst producing worse,
The spirit of the beasts was kindled there,
And of the birds, and of the watery forms,
And there was war among them, and despair
Within them, raging without truce or terms:
The bosom of their violated nurse
Groaned, for beasts warred on beasts, and worms on worms,
And men on men; each heart was as a hell of storms.

3.
Man, the imperial shape, then multiplied
His generations under the pavilion
Of the Sun’s throne: palace and pyramid,
Temple and prison, to many a swarming million
Were, as to mountain-wolves their ragged caves.
This human living multitude
Was savage, cunning, blind, and rude,
For thou wert not; but o’er the populous solitude,
Like one fierce cloud over a waste of waves,
Hung Tyranny; beneath, sate deified
The sister-pest, congregator of slaves;
Into the shadow of her pinions wide
Anarchs and priests, who feed on gold and blood
Till with the stain their inmost souls are dyed,
Drove the astonished herds of men from every side.

4.
The nodding promontories, and blue isles,
And cloud-like mountains, and dividuous waves
Of Greece, basked glorious in the open smiles
Of favouring Heaven: from their enchanted caves
Prophetic echoes flung dim melody.
On the unapprehensive wild
The vine, the corn, the olive mild,
Grew savage yet, to human use unreconciled;
And, like unfolded flowers beneath the sea,
Like the man’s thought dark in the infant’s brain,
Like aught that is which wraps what is to be,
Art’s deathless dreams lay veiled by many a vein
Of Parian stone; and, yet a speechless child,
Verse murmured, and Philosophy did strain
Her lidless eyes for thee; when o’er the Aegean main

5.
Athens arose: a city such as vision
Builds from the purple crags and silver towers
Of battlemented cloud, as in derision
Of kingliest masonry: the ocean-floors
Pave it; the evening sky pavilions it;
Its portals are inhabited
By thunder-zoned winds, each head
Within its cloudy wings with sun-fire garlanded,—
A divine work! Athens, diviner yet,
Gleamed with its crest of columns, on the will
Of man, as on a mount of diamond, set;
For thou wert, and thine all-creative skill
Peopled, with forms that mock the eternal dead
In marble immortality, that hill
Which was thine earliest throne and latest oracle.

6.
Within the surface of Time’s fleeting river
Its wrinkled image lies, as then it lay
Immovably unquiet, and for ever
It trembles, but it cannot pass away!
The voices of thy bards and sages thunder
With an earth-awakening blast
Through the caverns of the past:
(Religion veils her eyes; Oppression shrinks aghast:)
A winged sound of joy, and love, and wonder,
Which soars where Expectation never flew,
Rending the veil of space and time asunder!
One ocean feeds the clouds, and streams, and dew;
One Sun illumines Heaven; one Spirit vast
With life and love makes chaos ever new,
As Athens doth the world with thy delight renew.

7.
Then Rome was, and from thy deep bosom fairest,
Like a wolf-cub from a Cadmaean Maenad,
She drew the milk of greatness, though thy dearest
From that Elysian food was yet unweaned;
And many a deed of terrible uprightness
By thy sweet love was sanctified;
And in thy smile, and by thy side,
Saintly Camillus lived, and firm Atilius died.
But when tears stained thy robe of vestal-whiteness,
And gold profaned thy Capitolian throne,
Thou didst desert, with spirit-winged lightness,
The senate of the tyrants: they sunk prone
Slaves of one tyrant: Palatinus sighed
Faint echoes of Ionian song; that tone
Thou didst delay to hear, lamenting to disown

8.
From what Hyrcanian glen or frozen hill,
Or piny promontory of the Arctic main,
Or utmost islet inaccessible,
Didst thou lament the ruin of thy reign,
Teaching the woods and waves, and desert rocks,
And every Naiad’s ice-cold urn,
To talk in echoes sad and stern
Of that sublimest lore which man had dared unlearn?
For neither didst thou watch the wizard flocks
Of the Scald’s dreams, nor haunt the Druid’s sleep.
What if the tears rained through thy shattered locks
Were quickly dried? for thou didst groan, not weep,
When from its sea of death, to kill and burn,
The Galilean serpent forth did creep,
And made thy world an undistinguishable heap.

9.
A thousand years the Earth cried, ‘Where art thou?’
And then the shadow of thy coming fell
On Saxon Alfred’s olive-cinctured brow:
And many a warrior-peopled citadel.
Like rocks which fire lifts out of the flat deep,
Arose in sacred Italy,
Frowning o’er the tempestuous sea
Of kings, and priests, and slaves, in tower-crowned majesty;
That multitudinous anarchy did sweep
And burst around their walls, like idle foam,
Whilst from the human spirit’s deepest deep
Strange melody with love and awe struck dumb
Dissonant arms; and Art, which cannot die,
With divine wand traced on our earthly home
Fit imagery to pave Heaven’s everlasting dome.

10.
Thou huntress swifter than the Moon! thou terror
Of the world’s wolves! thou bearer of the quiver,
Whose sunlike shafts pierce tempest-winged Error,
As light may pierce the clouds when they dissever
In the calm regions of the orient day!
Luther caught thy wakening glance;
Like lightning, from his leaden lance
Reflected, it dissolved the visions of the trance
In which, as in a tomb, the nations lay;
And England’s prophets hailed thee as their queen,
In songs whose music cannot pass away,
Though it must flow forever: not unseen
Before the spirit-sighted countenance
Of Milton didst thou pass, from the sad scene
Beyond whose night he saw, with a dejected mien.

11.
The eager hours and unreluctant years
As on a dawn-illumined mountain stood.
Trampling to silence their loud hopes and fears,
Darkening each other with their multitude,
And cried aloud, ‘Liberty!’ Indignation
Answered Pity from her cave;
Death grew pale within the grave,
And Desolation howled to the destroyer, Save!
When like Heaven’s Sun girt by the exhalation
Of its own glorious light, thou didst arise.
Chasing thy foes from nation unto nation
Like shadows: as if day had cloven the skies
At dreaming midnight o’er the western wave,
Men started, staggering with a glad surprise,
Under the lightnings of thine unfamiliar eyes.

12.
Thou Heaven of earth! what spells could pall thee then
In ominous eclipse? a thousand years
Bred from the slime of deep Oppression’s den.
Dyed all thy liquid light with blood and tears.
Till thy sweet stars could weep the stain away;
How like Bacchanals of blood
Round France, the ghastly vintage, stood
Destruction’s sceptred slaves, and Folly’s mitred brood!
When one, like them, but mightier far than they,
The Anarch of thine own bewildered powers,
Rose: armies mingled in obscure array,
Like clouds with clouds, darkening the sacred bowers
Of serene Heaven. He, by the past pursued,
Rests with those dead, but unforgotten hours,
Whose ghosts scare victor kings in their ancestral towers.

13.
England yet sleeps: was she not called of old?
Spain calls her now, as with its thrilling thunder
Vesuvius wakens Aetna, and the cold
Snow-crags by its reply are cloven in sunder:
O’er the lit waves every Aeolian isle
From Pithecusa to Pelorus
Howls, and leaps, and glares in chorus:
They cry, ‘Be dim; ye lamps of Heaven suspended o’er us!’
Her chains are threads of gold, she need but smile
And they dissolve; but Spain’s were links of steel,
Till bit to dust by virtue’s keenest file.
Twins of a single destiny! appeal
To the eternal years enthroned before us
In the dim West; impress us from a seal,
All ye have thought and done! Time cannot dare conceal.

14.
Tomb of Arminius! render up thy dead
Till, like a standard from a watch-tower’s staff,
His soul may stream over the tyrant’s head;
Thy victory shall be his epitaph,
Wild Bacchanal of truth’s mysterious wine,
King-deluded Germany,
His dead spirit lives in thee.
Why do we fear or hope? thou art already free!
And thou, lost Paradise of this divine
And glorious world! thou flowery wilderness!
Thou island of eternity! thou shrine
Where Desolation, clothed with loveliness,
Worships the thing thou wert! O Italy,
Gather thy blood into thy heart; repress
The beasts who make their dens thy sacred palaces.

15.
Oh, that the free would stamp the impious name
Of KING into the dust! or write it there,
So that this blot upon the page of fame
Were as a serpent’s path, which the light air
Erases, and the flat sands close behind!
Ye the oracle have heard:
Lift the victory-flashing sword.
And cut the snaky knots of this foul gordian word,
Which, weak itself as stubble, yet can bind
Into a mass, irrefragably firm,
The axes and the rods which awe mankind;
The sound has poison in it, ’tis the sperm
Of what makes life foul, cankerous, and abhorred;
Disdain not thou, at thine appointed term,
To set thine armed heel on this reluctant worm.

16.
Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle
Such lamps within the dome of this dim world,
That the pale name of PRIEST might shrink and dwindle
Into the hell from which it first was hurled,
A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure;
Till human thoughts might kneel alone,
Each before the judgement-throne
Of its own aweless soul, or of the Power unknown!
Oh, that the words which make the thoughts obscure
From which they spring, as clouds of glimmering dew
From a white lake blot Heaven’s blue portraiture,
Were stripped of their thin masks and various hue
And frowns and smiles and splendours not their own,
Till in the nakedness of false and true
They stand before their Lord, each to receive its due!

17.
He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever
Can be between the cradle and the grave
Crowned him the King of Life. Oh, vain endeavour!
If on his own high will, a willing slave,
He has enthroned the oppression and the oppressor
What if earth can clothe and feed
Amplest millions at their need,
And power in thought be as the tree within the seed?
Or what if Art, an ardent intercessor,
Driving on fiery wings to Nature’s throne,
Checks the great mother stooping to caress her,
And cries: ‘Give me, thy child, dominion
Over all height and depth’? if Life can breed
New wants, and wealth from those who toil and groan,
Rend of thy gifts and hers a thousandfold for one!

18.
Come thou, but lead out of the inmost cave
Of man’s deep spirit, as the morning-star
Beckons the Sun from the Eoan wave,
Wisdom. I hear the pennons of her car
Self-moving, like cloud charioted by flame;
Comes she not, and come ye not,
Rulers of eternal thought,
To judge, with solemn truth, life’s ill-apportioned lot?
Blind Love, and equal Justice, and the Fame
Of what has been, the Hope of what will be?
O Liberty! if such could be thy name
Wert thou disjoined from these, or they from thee:
If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought
By blood or tears, have not the wise and free
Wept tears, and blood like tears?—The solemn harmony

19.
Paused, and the Spirit of that mighty singing
To its abyss was suddenly withdrawn;
Then, as a wild swan, when sublimely winging
Its path athwart the thunder-smoke of dawn,
Sinks headlong through the aereal golden light
On the heavy-sounding plain,
When the bolt has pierced its brain;
As summer clouds dissolve, unburthened of their rain;
As a far taper fades with fading night,
As a brief insect dies with dying day,
My song, its pinions disarrayed of might,
Drooped; o’er it closed the echoes far away
Of the great voice which did its flight sustain,
As waves which lately paved his watery way
Hiss round a drowner’s head in their tempestuous play.


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我认为《西风颂》明亮阳光、积极向上的味道更重，《致云雀》抒情意境更优美
一
剽悍的西风啊, 你是暮秋的呼吸,
因你无形的存在, 枯叶四处逃窜,
如同魔鬼见到了巫师, 纷纷躲避;
那些枯叶, 有黑有白, 有红有黄,
像遭受了瘟疫的群体, 哦, 你呀,
西风, 你让种籽展开翱翔的翅膀,
飞落到黑暗的冬床, 冰冷地躺下,
像一具具尸体深葬于坟墓, 直到
你那蔚蓝色的阳春姐妹凯旋归家,
向睡梦中的大地吹响了她的号角,
催促蓓蕾, 有如驱使吃草的群羊,
让漫山遍野注满生命的芳香色调;
剽悍的精灵, 你的身影遍及四方,
哦,听吧, 你既在毁坏, 又在保藏!
二
在你的湍流中, 在高空的骚动中,
纷乱的云块就像飘零飞坠的叶子,
你从天空和海洋相互交错的树丛
抖落出传送雷雨以及闪电的天使;
在你的气体波涛的蔚蓝色的表面,
恰似酒神女祭司的头上竖起缕缕
亮闪闪的青丝, 从朦胧的地平线
一直到苍天的顶端, 全都披散着
即将来临的一场暴风骤雨的发卷,
你就是唱给垂死岁月的一曲挽歌,
四合的夜幕, 是巨大墓陵的拱顶,
它建构于由你所集聚而成的气魄,
可是从你坚固的气势中将会喷迸
黑雨、电火以及冰雹; 哦, 请听!
三
你啊, 把蓝色的地中海从夏梦中
唤醒, 它曾被清澈的水催送入眠,
就一直躺在那个地方, 酣睡沉沉,
睡在拜伊海湾的一个石岛的旁边,
在睡梦中看到古老的宫殿和楼台
在烈日之下的海波中轻轻地震颤,
它们全都开满鲜花, 又生满青苔,
散发而出的醉人的芳香难以描述!
见到你, 大西洋的水波豁然裂开,
为你让出道路, 而在海底的深处,
枝叶里面没有浆汁的淤泥的丛林
和无数的海花、珊瑚, 一旦听出
你的声音, 一个个顿时胆战心惊,
颤栗着, 像遭了劫掠, 哦, 请听!
四
假如我是一片任你吹卷的枯叶,
假若我是一朵随你飘飞的云彩,
或是在你威力之下喘息的水波,
分享你强健的搏动, 悠闲自在,
不羁的风啊, 哪怕不及你自由,
或者, 假若我能像童年的时代,
陪伴着你在那天国里任意翱游,
即使比你飞得更快也并非幻想——
那么我绝不向你这般苦苦哀求:
啊, 卷起我吧! 如同翻卷波浪、
或像横扫落叶、或像驱赶浮云!
我跃进人生的荆棘, 鲜血直淌!
岁月的重负缚住了我这颗灵魂,
它太像你了:敏捷、高傲、不驯。
五
拿我当琴吧, 就像那一片树林,
哪怕我周身的叶儿也同样飘落!
你以非凡和谐中的狂放的激情
让我和树林都奏出雄浑的秋乐,
悲凉而又甜美。狂暴的精灵哟,
但愿你我迅猛的灵魂能够契合!
把我僵死的思想撒向整个宇宙,
像枯叶被驱赶去催促新的生命!
而且, 依凭我这首诗中的符咒,
把我的话语传给天下所有的人,
就像从未熄的炉中拨放出火花!
让那预言的号角通过我的嘴唇 。
向昏沉的大地吹奏! 哦, 风啊,
如果冬天来了, 春天还会远吗?
《致云雀》
你好啊，欢乐的精灵！
你似乎从不是飞禽，
从天堂或天堂的邻近，
以酣畅淋漓的乐音，
不事雕琢的艺术，倾吐你的衷心。
向上，再向高处飞翔，
从地面你一跃而上，
象一片烈火的轻云，
掠过蔚蓝的天心，
永远歌唱着飞翔，飞翔着歌唱。
地平线下的太阳，
放射出金色的电光，
晴空里霞蔚云蒸，
你沐浴着阳光飞行，
似不具形体的喜悦刚开始迅疾的远征。
淡的紫色黎明
在你航程周围消融，
象昼空里的星星，
虽然不见形影，
却可以听得清你那欢乐的强音——
那犀利无比的乐音，
似银色星光的利箭，
它那强烈的明灯，
在晨曦中暗淡，
直到难以分辨，却能感觉到就在空间。
整个大地和大气，
响彻你婉转的歌喉，
仿佛在荒凉的黑夜，
从一片孤云背后，
明月射出光芒，清辉洋溢宇宙。
我们不知，你是什么，
什么和你最为相似？
从霓虹似的彩霞
也降不下这样美的雨，
能和当你出现时降下的乐曲甘霖相比。
象一位诗人，隐身
在思想的明辉之中，
吟诵着即兴的诗韵，
直到普天下的同情
都被未曾留意过的希望和忧虑唤醒。
象一位高贵的少女，
居住在深宫的楼台，
在寂寞难言的时刻，
排遣她为爱所苦的情怀，
甜美有如爱情的歌曲，溢出闺阁之外；
象一只金色的萤火虫，
在凝露的深山幽谷，
不显露它的行踪，
把晶莹的流光传播，
在遮断我们视线的芳草鲜花丛中；
象一朵让自己的绿叶
阴蔽着的玫瑰，
遭受到热风的摧残，
直到它的芳菲
以过浓的香甜使鲁莽的飞贼沉醉；
晶莹闪烁的草地，
春霖洒落的声息，
雨后苏醒的花瓣，
称得上明朗，欢悦，
清新的一切，都不及你的音乐。
飞禽或是精灵，有什么
甜美的思绪在你心头？
我从没有听到过
爱情或是淳酒的颂歌
能够迸涌出这样神圣的极乐音流。
赞婚的合唱也罢，
凯旋的欢歌也罢，
和你的乐曲相比，
不过是空调的浮夸，
人们可以觉察，其中总有着贫乏。
什么样的物象或事件，
是你欢乐乐曲的源泉？
什么田野、波涛、山峦？
什么空中陆上的形态？
是你对同类的爱，还是对痛苦的绝缘？
有你明澈强烈的欢快。
倦怠永不会出现，
烦恼的阴影从来
近不得你的身边，
你爱，却从不知晓过分充满爱的悲哀。
是醒来或是睡去，
你对死的理解一定比
我们凡人梦想到的
更加深刻真切，否则
你的乐曲音流，怎能象液态的水晶桶泻？
我们瞻前顾后，为了
不存在的事物自扰，
我们最真挚的笑，
也交织着某种苦恼，
我们最美的音乐是最能倾诉哀思的曲调。
可是，即使我们能摈弃
憎恨、傲慢和恐惧，
即使我们生来不会
抛洒一滴眼泪，
我也不知，怎能接近于你的欢愉。
比一切欢乐的音律
更加甜蜜美妙，
比一切书中的宝库
更加丰盛富饶，
这就是鄙弃尘土的你啊，你的艺术技巧。
教给我一半，你的心
必定熟知的欢欣，
和谐、炽热的激情
就会流出我的双唇，
全世界就会象此刻的我——侧耳倾听。
不知道你是怎么想的，每个人的感觉因该都有所不同吧。
那张图是雪莱《致云雀》的手迹

To a Skylark by Percy Bysshe Shelley雪莱 致云雀

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven
In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight:

Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see--we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud.
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.

What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
Its aerial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves.

Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus hymeneal
Or triumphal chaunt
Matched with thine, would be all
But an empty vaunt--
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then, as I am listening now!

致云雀
雪莱

你好啊,欢乐的精灵!
你似乎从不是飞禽,
从天堂或天堂的邻近,
以酣畅淋漓的乐音,
不事雕琢的艺术,倾吐你的衷心。
向上,再向高处飞翔
从地面你一跃而上
,
像一片烈火的轻云,
掠过蔚蓝的天心,
永远歌唱着飞翔,飞翔着歌唱。
地平线下的太阳,
放射出金色的电光,
晴空里霞蔚云蒸,
你沐浴着明光飞行,
似不具形体的喜悦开始迅疾的远征。淡淡的紫色黄昏
在你航程周围消融。
像昼空里的星星。
虽然不见形影,
却可以听得清你那欢乐的强音
那犀利无比的乐音,
似银色星光的利箭,
它那强烈的明灯,
在晨曦中逐渐暗淡。
以至难以分辨,却能感觉到就在空间。
整个大地和大气,
响彻你婉转的歌喉,
仿佛在荒凉的黑夜,
从一片孤云背后,
明月放射出光芒,清辉洋溢遍宇宙。
我们不知,你是什么,
什么和你最为相似?
从霓虹似的彩霞
也降不下这样美的雨,
能和你出现时降下的乐曲甘霖相比。
像一位诗人,隐身
在思想的明辉之中,
吟诵着即兴的诗韵,
直到普天下的同情
都被未曾留意过的希望和忧虑唤醒;
像一位高贵的少女,
居住在深宫的楼台,
在寂寞难言的时刻,
排遣为爱所苦的情怀,
甜美有如爱情的歌曲,溢出闺阁之外;像一只金色的萤火虫,
在凝露的深山幽谷,
不显露它的行止影踪,
把晶莹的流光传播,
在遮断我们视线的芳草鲜花丛中;
像一朵让自己的绿叶
荫蔽着的玫瑰,
遭受到热风的摧残,
以至它的芳菲
以过浓的香甜使鲁莽的飞贼沉醉;
晶莹闪烁的草地,
春霖洒落的声息,
雨后苏醒的花蕾,
称得上明朗、欢悦、
清新的一切,全都不及你的音乐。
飞禽或是精灵,有什么
甜美的思绪在你心头?
我从来还没有听到过
爱情或是醇酒的颂歌
能够迸涌出这样神圣的极乐音流
赞婚的合唱也罢,
凯旋的欢歌也罢
和你的乐声相比
,
不过是空洞的浮夸。
人们可以觉察,其中总有着贫乏。
什么样的物象或事件,
是你欢乐乐曲的源泉?
什么田野、波涛、山峦?
什么空中陆上的形态?
是你对同类的爱,还是对痛苦的绝缘?有你明澈强烈的欢快,
倦怠永不会出现,
那烦恼的阴影,从来
近不得你的身边,
你爱,却从不知晓过分充满爱的悲哀。
是醒来,抑或是睡去,
你对死的理解一定比
我们凡人梦想到的
更加深刻真切,否则
你的乐曲音流怎能像液态的水晶涌泻?
我们瞻前顾后,为了
不存在的事物自扰,
我们最真挚的欢笑,
也交织着某种苦恼,
我们最美的音乐是最能倾诉哀思的曲调。
可是,即使我们能摈弃
憎恨、傲慢和恐惧,
即使我们生来不会
抛洒任何一滴眼泪,
我也不知,怎能接近于你的欢愉。
比一切欢乐的音律
更加甜蜜美妙,
比一切书中的宝库
更加丰盛富饶。
这就是鄙弃尘土的你啊你的艺术技巧。
交给我一半,你的心
必定熟知的欢欣,
和谐、炽热的激情
就会流出我的双唇,
全世界就会像此刻的我侧耳倾听。

1820年夏

①选自《雪莱诗选》(时代文艺出版社2012年版)江
枫译。需莱(17921822),英国诗人。代表作有
诗歌《西风颂》、诗剧《解放了的普罗米修斯》等。

　　《致云雀》是英国诗人雪莱的抒情诗代表作之一。诗歌运用浪漫主义的手法，热情地赞颂了云雀。在诗人的笔下，云雀是欢乐、光明、美丽的象征。诗人运用比喻、类比、设问的方式，对云雀加以描绘。
　　原文
　　Hail to thee, blithe Spirit！
　　Bird thou never wert，
　　That from Heaven, or near it，
　　Pourest thy full heart，
　　In profuse strains of unpremeditated art。
　　Higher still and higher，
　　From the earth thou springest，
　　Like a cloud of fire；
　　The blue deep thou wingest，
　　And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest。
　　In the golden lightning，
　　Of the sunken sun，
　　O‘er which clouds are bright’ning，
　　Thou dost float and run，
　　Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun。
　　The pale purple even，
　　Melts around thy flight；
　　Like a star of Heaven，
　　In the broad daylight，
　　Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight；
　　Keen as are the arrows，
　　Of that silver sphere，
　　Whose intense lamp narrows，
　　In the white dawn clear，
　　Until we hardly see--we feel that it is there。
　　All the earth and air，
　　With thy voice is loud。
　　As，when night is bare。
　　From one lonely cloud，
　　The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed。
　　What thou art we know not；
　　What is most like thee？
　　From rainbow clouds there flow not，
　　Drops so bright to see，
　　As from thy presence showers a rain of melody。
　　Like a poet hidden，
　　In the light of thought，
　　Singing hymns unbidden，
　　Till the world is wrought，
　　To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not；
　　Like a high-born maiden，
　　In a palace tower，
　　Soothing her love-laden，
　　Soul in secret hour，
　　With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower；
　　Like a glow-worm golden，
　　In a dell of dew，
　　Scattering unbeholden，
　　Its aerial hue。
　　Like a rose embowered，
　　In its own green leaves，
　　By warm winds deflowered，
　　Till the scent it gives，
　　Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves。
　　Sound of vernal showers，
　　On the twinkling grass，
　　Rain-awakened flowers，
　　All that ever was，
　　Joyous， and clear，and fresh，thy music doth surpass。.
　　Teach us，sprite or bird，
　　What sweet thoughts are thine，
　　I have never heard，
　　Praise of love or wine，
　　That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine。
　　Chorus hymeneal，
　　Or triumphal chaunt，
　　Matched with thine, would be all，
　　But an empty vaunt，
　　A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want。
　　What objects are the fountains，
　　Of thy happy strain？
　　What fields, or waves, or mountains？
　　What shapes of sky or plain？
　　What love of thine own kind？ what ignorance of pain？
　　With thy clear keen joyance，
　　Languor cannot be，
　　Shadow of annoyance，
　　Never came near thee。
　　Thou lovest，but ne'er knew love's sad satiety。
　　Waking or asleep，
　　Thou of death must deem，
　　Things more true and deep，
　　Than we mortals dream，
　　Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream？
　　We look before and after，
　　And pine for what is not，
　　Our sincerest laughter，
　　With some pain is fraught；
　　Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought。
　　Yet if we could scorn，
　　Hate ，and pride，and fear；
　　If we were things born，
　　Not to shed a tear，
　　I know not how thy joy we ever should come near。
　　Better than all measures，
　　Of delightful sound，
　　Better than all treasures，
　　That in books are found，
　　Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground！
　　Teach me half the gladness，
　　That thy brain must know，
　　Such harmonious madness，
　　From my lips would flow，
　　The world should listen then, as I am listening now！
《西风颂》是英国浪漫主义诗人雪莱的诗作。全诗共五节，始终围绕作为革命力量象征的西风来加以咏唱。
　　原文
　　第一节
　　O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
　　Thou, from whose unseen presence the leavesdead
　　Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
　　Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
　　Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
　　Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
　　The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
　　Each like a corpse within its grave, until
　　Thine azuresister of the Spring shall blow
　　Her clariono'er the dreaming earth, and fill
　　(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
　　With living hues and odours plain and hill:
　　Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
　　Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!
　　第二节
　　Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion,
　　Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
　　Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
　　Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
　　On the blue surface of thine aery surge,
　　Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
　　Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
　　Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
　　The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
　　Of the dying year, to which this closing night
　　Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
　　Vaulted with all thy congregated might
　　Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
　　Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!
　　第三节
　　Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
　　The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
　　Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams,
　　Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
　　And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
　　Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
　　All overgrownwith azure moss and flowers
　　So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
　　For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
　　Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
　　The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
　　The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
　　Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
　　And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!
　　第四节
　　If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
　　If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
　　A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
　　The impulse of thy strength, only less free
　　Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
　　I were as in my boyhood, and could be
　　The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
　　As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
　　Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven
　　As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
　　Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
　　I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
　　A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd
　　One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
　　第五节
　　Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
　　What if my leaves are falling like its own!
　　The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
　　Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
　　Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
　　My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
　　Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
　　Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth!
　　And, by the incantation of this verse,
　　Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
　　Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
　　Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
　　The trumpet of a prophecy! Oh Wind,
　　If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

致云雀LS已经列出来了，我就不说了西风颂我百度空间里有原文和中译 http://hi.baidu.com/helluin/blog/item/652071b5334dc2ca36d3caac.html

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万宁市18275384791： 求雪莱的《致云雀》《自由颂》《西风颂》的英文原文 - ？
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