Ode to the West Wind [西 风 颂]

by P. B. Shelley


                西  风  颂

                  
                    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?


I

1     O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
2     Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
3     Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

4     Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
5     Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
6     Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

7     The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
8     Each like a corpse within its grave, until
9     Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

10   Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
11   (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
12   With living hues and odours plain and hill:

13   Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
14   Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!

II

15   Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion,
16   Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
17   Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

18   Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
19   On the blue surface of thine a{:e}ry surge,
20   Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

21   Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
22   Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
23   The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

24   Of the dying year, to which this closing night
25   Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
26   Vaulted with all thy congregated might

27   Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
28   Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!

III

29   Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
30   The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
31   Lull'd by the coil of his cryst{`a}lline streams,

32   Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
33   And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
34   Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

35   All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
36   So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
37   For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

38   Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
39   The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
40   The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

41   Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
42   And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!


IV

43   If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
44   If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
45   A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

46   The impulse of thy strength, only less free
47   Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
48   I were as in my boyhood, and could be

49   The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
50   As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
51   Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven

52   As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
53   Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
54   I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

55   A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd
56   One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.


V

57   Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
58   What if my leaves are falling like its own!
59   The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

60     Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
61   Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
62   My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

63   Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
64   Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth!
65   And, by the incantation of this verse,

66   Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
67   Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
68   Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth

69   The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
70   If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?


               - Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

雪莱

致 云 雀


        你好, 欢乐的精灵!
          你压根儿不像飞鸟,
        你从天堂或天堂附近
          毫不吝惜地倾倒
  如同行云流水一般的心灵的曲调。

        你就像一朵火云,
          从地面升腾而起,
        上升呵又复上升,
          飞到蓝色的天际,
  歌唱中不断翱翔, 翱翔中歌声不止。

        沉入西山的夕阳,
          喷散金色的光焰,
        把朵朵云霞映亮,
          你像无形的欢颜,
  刚刚踏上征途, 飘浮而又飞旋。

        淡淡的紫色的暮云
          在你航程周围消溶,
        你像天空的一颗星辰,
          在明亮的白昼之中,
  虽然隐形, 我却听到你强烈的欢腾,

        就像银色的天体
          射出一支支利箭,
        在清朗的曙色里,
          它的明灯渐渐变暗,
  直至看不见, 可我们感到它就在眼前。

        整个天空和大地
          响彻着你的歌声,
        恰似夜空明净之时,
          月亮透过一片孤云,
  洒下银光, 让清辉漫溢于整个天庭。

        我们不知你是什么;
          什么东西最像你?
        从彩虹般的云朵
          泻出的晶莹雨滴,
  也比不上你的甘霖一般的旋律。

        就像是一位诗人
          藏身于思想之光,
        以心甘情愿的歌吟,
          来把世界激荡,
  让它去同情它未曾注意的忧患和希望。

        就像是名门闺秀
          居住在深宫高阁,
        为排遣爱的忧愁,
          一到幽静的时刻,
  便让闺阁荡漾着甜如爱情的音乐。

        就像金色的萤火虫
          栖身凝露的山谷,
        它在花草丛中,
          扩散空灵的光束,
  它不为人们所见, 因为被花草遮住!

        又像一朵玫瑰花,
          她在绿叶中安睡,
        遇到热风的糟蹋,
          直至她的芳菲
  以过分的甜蜜灌醉了鲁笨的飞贼。

        春雨声响清脆,
          落在闪光的草地,
        被雨滴唤醒的花卉,
          还有其他的东西,
  虽然明澈、清新、欢愉, 却不及你的乐曲。

        无论你是精灵还是鸟雀,
          都请你把美妙的思想
        教给我们; 我从未领略:
          对爱情或美酒的赞扬
  会倾泻出潮水般的心荡神驰的欢畅。

        无论婚歌的欢快,
          或凯旋曲的豪放,
        比起你的歌来,
          不过是空洞的夸张,
  只让人们感到, 其中缺乏真情实感?
        什么样儿的物体
          是你欢歌的源泉?
        何种波涛、山峦、田地?
          怎样的天空或平原?
  是出自独特的爱情, 还是与痛苦无缘?

        有你清朗的欢欣,
          不会再有倦怠,
        烦恼郁闷的阴影
          决不会向你袭来;
  你爱, 但永不知道令人厌腻的爱的悲哀。

        无论沉睡还是苏醒,
          你对死的理解,
        比我们这些凡人
          更加透彻、真切,
  否则, 你的歌怎会流得这般晶莹清澈?

        我们左顾右盼,
          渴求虚无之物,
        我们最真诚的笑颜
          也包含几分凄楚,
  我们最甜美的歌曲倾诉最悲哀的思绪。

        纵然我们能够摈斥
          仇恨、傲慢和恐惧,
        纵然从出生之日,
          就不曾抛洒泪滴,
  我也不知怎样才能够贴近你的欢愉。

        一切诗歌的韵律
          都比不上你的音响,
        一切书本的知识
          都比不上你的宝藏,
  地面的蔑视者啊, 你的诗艺举世无双。

        你必定熟知的欢愉
          哪怕教给我一半,
        那么, 和谐的狂喜
          就会在我唇边弥漫,
  世界将会侧耳细听, 就像我现在这般。


TO A SKYLARK

        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!





               - Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

这些是老查翻译的，比“后起之秀”江枫的逊色许多。为力帮忙帮到底吧。