第1个回答 2021-07-27
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。
第2个回答 2016-01-06
《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?