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[专题]怀念济慈

[b]我不知道发在这里是否合适，但也只能是在这里了。我真心希望这里可以容得下这样一个伟大的英国诗人。感谢。有一些我自己写的东西，无法用英文来表达透彻，所以请允许我用自己的母语来说。但我保证这个专题里会有英文出现的，使它不至于那样的不合要求。[/b]

往常每到10月31日我总是会先想起巴斯滕，是他最早让这个原本普通的日子留在我的脑子里。其他生于10月31日的人我全部是按照“与巴斯滕同天”来记忆的。比如蒋介石，比如古蒂，比如维尔科克，是的，还有济慈。然而2004年的10月31日，我首先选择向这位伟大的诗人致敬。可能会很奇怪，在这样一个有整有零的年头——209。其实理由也是很奇怪的。星期二早晨出门的时候，人少得出奇。我在那条可以直面太阳的小道上骑行，忽然听到前面响起男人撕心裂肺的咳嗽声，然后是一种吐血的声音，极其惨烈。因为在想问题我并没有十分注意，但那时我的前面是没有人的。等我回神开始琢磨这件事情的时候，同样的声音在身后响起，比第一次还要剧烈。就在那一刻我的心忽然震动了一下——我想到了济慈。虽然这可能很荒唐，但这样的想法开始让我的心颤抖，久久不能平静。我想到在那些美好的诗歌里寻求庇护尽情幻想的日子，想到他的生平曾经让我怎样地感怀过以至于一想起来就要泪流满面，我甚至想起了那本《济慈书信选》被遗忘在我那比雪莱大学宿舍还要混乱的房间的哪一个角落。这些勾起了我悼念伟人的情怀，急切需要排遣。而这版块无疑提供了最好的场所。也许这里相比之下显得冷清，以至于没有人会注意，但这样更好。像他的墓地处于安静平和、“让人爱恋死亡”的环境中那样，让我们静静的。
“哦！为阿多尼哭泣！”……

[[i] Last edited by Aimita on 2005-3-13 at 11:47 PM [/i]]

[专题]怀念济慈

[b]一.济慈生平[/b]
1795年10月31日，约翰·济慈诞生于伦敦芬斯伯里路一个马厩看守家中，是五个孩子中最年长的一个。济慈八岁进入埃菲尔德学校接受传统正规的教育。九岁那年，父亲意外坠马丧生。14岁时济慈喜爱上了文学，翻译了维吉尔的长诗《埃涅伊德》。次年母亲死于肺结核。祖母指定两位伦敦商人作他的监护人。由于家境窘迫，济慈离校跟随埃德蒙德阵的外科医生哈蒙德学徒，并于1814年完成了自己的第一首诗作《仿斯宾塞》。1815年考入伦敦盖尔斯医学院学作药剂师。入学不满一年，会见了《观察家》主编李·亨特，被其介绍入文学圈，因此结识了雪莱、雷诺兹、海登等人，并受到他们的影响，弃医从文。1817年3月济慈出版了他的第一本诗集，受到一些好评，但同时也收到了一些苛刻的攻击性评论。但济慈并没有因此退缩，次年根据希腊神话写成了《安狄米恩》。1818年夏天，济慈在旅途中得知弟弟汤姆患上肺结核，赶到伦敦西北郊的汉普斯泰德镇照顾弟弟，在这里遇到并爱上了年轻的女邻居，即后来的未婚妻，芳妮·布劳恩。在此期间济慈开始写作《海披里恩》。年底汤姆去世，济慈搬入朋友在汉普斯泰德的房子居住。1819年是济慈高产的一年，写出大量优秀作品如《圣尼亚节前夕》、《夜莺颂》、《忧郁颂》、《希腊古瓮颂》等，并与布朗合作《奥托大帝》。由于身体和精神状况欠佳，济慈停止了《海披里恩》的写作。年底，他与芳妮·布劳恩正式订婚。1820年，济慈由于弟弟事业的不顺利，情人的不忠以及作品的不被认可而受到强烈的打击，身体状况迅速恶化，出现了严重的肺出血症状。医生建议他为健康着想找一处气候温暖的地方过冬。在好友塞温的陪同下，济慈搬入罗马著名的西班牙阶梯附近，期待这里温和的冬天能使他早日康复。然而次年二月便客死罗马，年仅25岁。三天后，济慈被葬在罗马英国新教徒公墓，墓碑上刻着他自己亲定的碑文：“这里躺着一个名字用水写成的人。”

[[i] Last edited by Aimita on 2005-3-13 at 11:48 PM [/i]]

[专题]怀念济慈

[这个贴子最后由Aimita在 2004/11/01 01:11am 第 2 次编辑]

[b]二.名家悼文[/b]
济慈的早逝无疑是英国文坛的巨大损失。他死后，不少名家纷纷写文章表示哀叹、惋惜。济慈便在这些人的理解与优美的文字中活了下来。
[b]I.《阿多尼》[/b]
拜伦像阿波罗，用他的黄金弓射杀一切恶毒；雪莱像普罗米修斯，用自己所受的苦难换取人民的自由。然而你，你像阿多尼，你的生命如玫瑰花一般的美好而短暂，你是爱与美的宠儿。
众多悼念济慈的文章里，最有名的恐怕就是雪莱的《阿多尼》。文章中哭泣的那个早夭的美少年，不正是济慈的化身吗？雪莱是赏识济慈的，是他出钱赞助济慈出版第一本诗集，他称赞《海披里恩》是“他那个年龄的一切作家所写作品中屈指可数的杰作”。雪莱也是理解济慈的，他身上同样背负着不被接受的命运，比济慈更甚。《阿多尼》不仅仅是对济慈的悼念，作者假借哭泣他人命运诉说着自己的不幸。这是首牧歌似的挽诗，是两个伟大灵魂间的共鸣。哀伤过后，令人振奋。
ADONAIS
                         ——AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS
Author of Endymion, Hyperion, etc.
[Greek:
Astaer prin men elampes eni zooisin eoos.
Nun de thanon lampeis esperos en phthimenois.]
PLATO.
PREFACE.
[Greek:
Pharmakon aelthe Bion poti son stoma, pharmakon eides.
Pos teu tois cheilessi potedrame kouk eglukanthae;
Tis de Brotos tossouton anameros ae kerasai toi,
Ae dounai laleonti to pharmakon; ekphugen odan.]
MOSCHUS, EPITAPH.  BION.
It is my intention to subjoin to the London edition of this poem a criticism upon the claims of its lamented object to be classed among the writers of the highest genius who have adorned our age. My known repugnance to the narrow principles of taste on which several of his earlier compositions were modelled proves at least that I am an impartial judge.  I consider the fragment of Hyperion as second to nothing that was ever produced by a writer of the same years.
John Keats died at Rome of a consumption, in his twenty-fourth year, on the [23rd] of [February] 1821; and was buried in the romantic and lonely cemetery of the protestants in that city, under the pyramid which is the tomb of Cestius, and the massy walls and towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed the circuit of ancient Rome.  The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies.  It might make one in love with death to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
The genius of the lamented person to whose memory I have dedicated these unworthy verses was not less delicate and fragile than it was beautiful; and, where canker-worms abound, what wonder if its young flower was blighted in the bud?  The savage criticism on his Endymion which appeared in the Quarterly Review produced the most violent effect on his susceptible mind.  The agitation thus originated ended in the rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs; a rapid consumption ensued; and the succeeding acknowledgments, from more candid critics, of the true greatness of his powers, were ineffectual to heal the wound thus wantonly inflicted.
It may be well said that these wretched men know not what they do.  They scatter their insults and their slanders without heed as to whether the poisoned shaft lights on a heart made callous by many blows, or one, like Keats’s, composed of more penetrable stuff.  One of their associates is, to my knowledge, a most base and unprincipled calumniator.  As to Endymion, was it a poem, whatever might be its defects, to be treated contemptuously by those who had celebrated with various degrees of complacency and panegyric Paris, and Woman and A Syrian Tale, and Mrs. Lefanu, and Mr. Barrett, and Mr. Howard Payne, and a long list of the illustrious obscure?  Are these the men who, in their venal good-nature, presumed to draw a parallel between the Rev. Mr. Milman and Lord Byron?  What gnat did they strain at here, after having swallowed all those camels?  Against what woman taken in adultery dares the foremost of these literary prostitutes to cast his opprobrious stone? Miserable man! you, one of the meanest, have wantonly defaced one of the noblest, specimens of the workmanship of God.  Nor shall it be your excuse that, murderer as you are, you have spoken daggers, but used none.
The circumstances of the closing scene of poor Keats’s life were not made known to me until the Elegy was ready for the press.  I am given to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received from the criticism of Endymion was exasperated by the bitter sense of unrequited benefits; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from the stage of life, no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise of his genius than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his care.  He was accompanied to Rome, and attended in his last illness, by Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been informed, ’almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend.’  Had I known these circumstances before the completion of my poem, I should have been tempted to add my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own motives.  Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from ’such stuff as dreams are made of.’  His conduct is a golden augury of the success of his future career. May the unextinguished spirit of his illustrious friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead against oblivion for his name!

[[i] Last edited by Aimita on 2005-3-13 at 11:48 PM [/i]]

[专题]怀念济慈

I
              1     I weep for Adonais--he is dead!
              2     Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears
              3     Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
              4     And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
              5     To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,
              6     And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me
              7     Died Adonais; till the Future dares
              8     Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
              9An echo and a light unto eternity!"
II
            10     Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay,
            11     When thy Son lay, pierc';d by the shaft which flies
            12     In darkness? where was lorn Urania
            13     When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,
            14     ';Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise
            15     She sate, while one, with soft enamour';d breath,
            16     Rekindled all the fading melodies,
            17     With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath,
            18He had adorn';d and hid the coming bulk of Death.
III
            19     Oh, weep for Adonais--he is dead!
            20     Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!
            21     Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed
            22     Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep
            23     Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
            24     For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
            25     Descend--oh, dream not that the amorous Deep
            26     Will yet restore him to the vital air;
            27Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.
IV
            28     Most musical of mourners, weep again!
            29     Lament anew, Urania! He died,
            30     Who was the Sire of an immortal strain,
            31     Blind, old and lonely, when his country';s pride,
            32     The priest, the slave and the liberticide,
            33     Trampled and mock';d with many a loathed rite
            34     Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified,
            35     Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite
            36Yet reigns o';er earth; the third among the sons of light.
V
            37     Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
            38     Not all to that bright station dar';d to climb;
            39     And happier they their happiness who knew,
            40     Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time
            41     In which suns perish';d; others more sublime,
            42     Struck by the envious wrath of man or god,
            43     Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;
            44     And some yet live, treading the thorny road,
            45Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame';s serene abode.
VI
            46     But now, thy youngest, dearest one, has perish';d,
            47     The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew,
            48     Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherish';d,
            49     And fed with true-love tears, instead of dew;
            50     Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
            51     Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last,
            52     The bloom, whose petals nipp';d before they blew
            53     Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste;
            54The broken lily lies--the storm is overpast.
VII
            55     To that high Capital, where kingly Death
            56     Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,
            57     He came; and bought, with price of purest breath,
            58     A grave among the eternal.--Come away!
            59     Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day
            60     Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still
            61     He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;
            62     Awake him not! surely he takes his fill
            63Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.
VIII
            64     He will awake no more, oh, never more!
            65     Within the twilight chamber spreads apace
            66     The shadow of white Death, and at the door
            67     Invisible Corruption waits to trace
            68     His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place;
            69     The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe
            70     Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface
            71     So fair a prey, till darkness and the law
            72Of change shall o';er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

[专题]怀念济慈

在这之前真的是不很了解这个人……
真的，我还是好喜欢雪莱，向普罗米修斯一样的雪莱……

[专题]怀念济慈

支持~~~~
我们接受这种帖子~~~

[专题]怀念济慈

[quote][b]下面引用由[u]萧然飞行[/u]在 [i]2004/11/01 02:01am[/i] 发表的内容：[/b]
在这之前真的是不很了解这个人……
真的，我还是好喜欢雪莱，向普罗米修斯一样的雪莱……
[/quote]
我爱雪莱。爱是不能忘记的，文学上的初恋也是一样。记得曾经，把手擦得干干净净的，很珍惜地捧起雪莱的诗集来读，眼睛是会发亮的，那种心潮澎湃的感觉我一辈子也忘不了。后来我读了雪莱的传记，那又是一种怎样的震撼啊，让我长期都处于一种恍惚之中，以至于到现在，我一听到《somewhere in time》的原声便会忍不住掉下泪来。我会想到当时伴着乐声读到结尾时那种心酸绝望的感觉。写老师布置的《与伟人偶遇》的作文，我写的是雪莱（其实也并不完全算是，我是变化角度写了他与夫人的偶遇，重现一个真实的事件）。我放船，我对自己凌乱的房间不以为然（事实上在这之前我便是如此），我在冬天不来暖气的时间想他生不起火的日子，我站在教室的座椅上高声吟颂《自由颂》。我把他视作精神导师，我曾那么坚定地想，要做个像雪莱一样的人。所以当我第一次读到保罗•约翰逊在《知识分子》中对雪莱的描述时，好象感觉有人用带着污泥的石块将那一尊完美的神像砸得粉碎，那种心痛像是利剑刺穿胸膛一样。我甚至无法控制泪水滑落。那在我看来是诋毁，是颠覆呀！然而我并不是容易动摇的人。在我分析，那是由于雪莱过于理想化，一心努力把“纯粹的婚姻自由”这一理论空想付诸实践。这也许损害了一些弱势妇女的利益，但这只是观念上的不完善，我并不视之为不道德。何况知识分子也并不是完美无暇的。我依然敬重雪莱，爱他的诗歌，爱他的灵魂，只是不再有完美的幻想，那不实际。但那些幻想着的、让清浅的欢乐与神圣的满足充溢着内心的日子，那些学会了爱的日子，它们是多么珍贵的财富呀。那些美妙到无法言说的感怀像溪流一样淌在心上，透彻明净。我依然心存感激。
或许我不应该说这么多，我的主题是怀念济慈。然而我又抑制不住地想要倾诉这些，它们太美好了。其实开始了解济慈便是因为雪莱的《阿多尼》，我曾在读那些诗句时流下泪水，使我迫切想要知道它们歌颂的应该是一个多么可爱的人。然后我读了济慈的诗，我拿到了那本书信选。我更感动于信中那个真实的济慈。记得有人说过，济慈在雪莱的诗里活了下来，某种意义上讲是这样。我会在这个专题即将完成时贴一些代表作，去读一下济慈吧，也许你会喜欢的。
L,我真诚地感谢你们的接受。我会尽快完成的，尽管最近比较忙。由于字数限制，我必须把《Adonais》分段贴出来，可能会耽误一些时间，对此感到抱歉。再次感谢你的支持。

[专题]怀念济慈

no worries, I will wait for the follow ups~~

[专题]怀念济慈

IX
            73     Oh, weep for Adonais! The quick Dreams,
            74     The passion-winged Ministers of thought,
            75     Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams
            76     Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught
            77     The love which was its music, wander not--
            78     Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain,
            79     But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot
            80     Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain,
            81They ne';er will gather strength, or find a home again.
X
            82     And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head,
            83     And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries,
            84     "Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead;
            85     See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes,
            86     Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies
            87     A tear some Dream has loosen';d from his brain."
            88     Lost Angel of a ruin';d Paradise!
            89     She knew not ';twas her own; as with no stain
            90She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.
XI
            91     One from a lucid urn of starry dew
            92     Wash';d his light limbs as if embalming them;
            93     Another clipp';d her profuse locks, and threw
            94     The wreath upon him, like an anadem,
            95     Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem;
            96     Another in her wilful grief would break
            97     Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem
            98     A greater loss with one which was more weak;
            99And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek.
XII
          100     Another Splendour on his mouth alit,
          101     That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath
          102     Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit,
          103     And pass into the panting heart beneath
          104     With lightning and with music: the damp death
          105     Quench';d its caress upon his icy lips;
          106     And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath
          107     Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips,
          108It flush';d through his pale limbs, and pass';d to its eclipse.
XIII
          109     And others came . . . Desires and Adorations,
          110     Winged Persuasions and veil';d Destinies,
          111     Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations
          112     Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies;
          113     And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs,
          114     And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam
          115     Of her own dying smile instead of eyes,
          116     Came in slow pomp; the moving pomp might seem
          117Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.
XIV
          118     All he had lov';d, and moulded into thought,
          119     From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound,
          120     Lamented Adonais. Morning sought
          121     Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound,
          122     Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground,
          123     Dimm';d the aëreal eyes that kindle day;
          124     Afar the melancholy thunder moan';d,
          125     Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay,
          126And the wild Winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.
XV
          127     Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
          128     And feeds her grief with his remember';d lay,
          129     And will no more reply to winds or fountains,
          130     Or amorous birds perch';d on the young green spray,
          131     Or herdsman';s horn, or bell at closing day;
          132     Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear
          133     Than those for whose disdain she pin';d away
          134     Into a shadow of all sounds: a drear
          135Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.
XVI
          136     Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down
          137     Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were,
          138     Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown,
          139     For whom should she have wak';d the sullen year?
          140     To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear
          141     Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both
          142     Thou, Adonais: wan they stand and sere
          143     Amid the faint companions of their youth,
          144With dew all turn';d to tears; odour, to sighing ruth.

[专题]怀念济慈

XVII
          145     Thy spirit';s sister, the lorn nightingale
          146     Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain;
          147     Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale
          148     Heaven, and could nourish in the sun';s domain
          149     Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain,
          150     Soaring and screaming round her empty nest,
          151     As Albion wails for thee: the curse of Cain
          152     Light on his head who pierc';d thy innocent breast,
          153And scar';d the angel soul that was its earthly guest!
XVIII
          154     Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone,
          155     But grief returns with the revolving year;
          156     The airs and streams renew their joyous tone;
          157     The ants, the bees, the swallows reappear;
          158     Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons'; bier;
          159     The amorous birds now pair in every brake,
          160     And build their mossy homes in field and brere;
          161     And the green lizard, and the golden snake,
          162Like unimprison';d flames, out of their trance awake.
XIX
          163     Through wood and stream and field and hill and Ocean
          164     A quickening life from the Earth';s heart has burst
          165     As it has ever done, with change and motion,
          166     From the great morning of the world when first
          167     God dawn';d on Chaos; in its stream immers';d,
          168     The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light;
          169     All baser things pant with life';s sacred thirst;
          170     Diffuse themselves; and spend in love';s delight,
          171The beauty and the joy of their renewed might.
XX
          172     The leprous corpse, touch';d by this spirit tender,
          173     Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath;
          174     Like incarnations of the stars, when splendour
          175     Is chang';d to fragrance, they illumine death
          176     And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath;
          177     Nought we know, dies. Shall that alone which knows
          178     Be as a sword consum';d before the sheath
          179     By sightless lightning?--the intense atom glows
          180A moment, then is quench';d in a most cold repose.
XXI
          181     Alas! that all we lov';d of him should be,
          182     But for our grief, as if it had not been,
          183     And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!
          184     Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene
          185     The actors or spectators? Great and mean
          186     Meet mass';d in death, who lends what life must borrow.
          187     As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,
          188     Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,
          189Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.
XXII
          190     He will awake no more, oh, never more!
          191     "Wake thou," cried Misery, "childless Mother, rise
          192     Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart';s core,
          193     A wound more fierce than his, with tears and sighs."
          194     And all the Dreams that watch';d Urania';s eyes,
          195     And all the Echoes whom their sister';s song
          196     Had held in holy silence, cried: "Arise!"
          197     Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory stung,
          198From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendour sprung.
XXIII
          199     She rose like an autumnal Night, that springs
          200     Out of the East, and follows wild and drear
          201     The golden Day, which, on eternal wings,
          202     Even as a ghost abandoning a bier,
          203     Had left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear
          204     So struck, so rous';d, so rapt Urania;
          205     So sadden';d round her like an atmosphere
          206     Of stormy mist; so swept her on her way
          207Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay.
XXIV
          208     Out of her secret Paradise she sped,
          209     Through camps and cities rough with stone, and steel,
          210     And human hearts, which to her aery tread
          211     Yielding not, wounded the invisible
          212     Palms of her tender feet where';er they fell:
          213     And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they,
          214     Rent the soft Form they never could repel,
          215     Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of May,
          216Pav';d with eternal flowers that undeserving way.

[专题]怀念济慈

XXV
          217     In the death-chamber for a moment Death,
          218     Sham';d by the presence of that living Might,
          219     Blush';d to annihilation, and the breath
          220     Revisited those lips, and Life';s pale light
          221     Flash';d through those limbs, so late her dear delight.
          222     "Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless,
          223     As silent lightning leaves the starless night!
          224     Leave me not!" cried Urania: her distress
          225Rous';d Death: Death rose and smil';d, and met her vain caress.
XXVI
          226     "Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again;
          227     Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live;
          228     And in my heartless breast and burning brain
          229     That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive,
          230     With food of saddest memory kept alive,
          231     Now thou art dead, as if it were a part
          232     Of thee, my Adonais! I would give
          233     All that I am to be as thou now art!
          234But I am chain';d to Time, and cannot thence depart!
XXVII
          235     "O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert,
          236     Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men
          237     Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart
          238     Dare the unpastur';d dragon in his den?
          239     Defenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then
          240     Wisdom the mirror';d shield, or scorn the spear?
          241     Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when
          242     Thy spirit should have fill';d its crescent sphere,
          243The monsters of life';s waste had fled from thee like deer.
XXVIII
          244     "The herded wolves, bold only to pursue;
          245     The obscene ravens, clamorous o';er the dead;
          246     The vultures to the conqueror';s banner true
          247     Who feed where Desolation first has fed,
          248     And whose wings rain contagion; how they fled,
          249     When, like Apollo, from his golden bow
          250     The Pythian of the age one arrow sped
          251     And smil';d! The spoilers tempt no second blow,
          252They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low.
XXIX
          253     "The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn;
          254     He sets, and each ephemeral insect then
          255     Is gather';d into death without a dawn,
          256     And the immortal stars awake again;
          257     So is it in the world of living men:
          258     A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight
          259     Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when
          260     It sinks, the swarms that dimm';d or shar';d its light
          261Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit';s awful night."
XXX
          262     Thus ceas';d she: and the mountain shepherds came,
          263     Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent;
          264     The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame
          265     Over his living head like Heaven is bent,
          266     An early but enduring monument,
          267     Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song
          268     In sorrow; from her wilds Ierne sent
          269     The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong,
          270And Love taught Grief to fall like music from his tongue.
XXXI
          271     Midst others of less note, came one frail Form,
          272     A phantom among men; companionless
          273     As the last cloud of an expiring storm
          274     Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,
          275     Had gaz';d on Nature';s naked loveliness,
          276     Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray
          277     With feeble steps o';er the world';s wilderness,
          278     And his own thoughts, along that rugged way,
          279Pursu';d, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.
XXXII
          280     A pardlike Spirit beautiful and swift--
          281     A Love in desolation mask';d--a Power
          282     Girt round with weakness--it can scarce uplift
          283     The weight of the superincumbent hour;
          284     It is a dying lamp, a falling shower,
          285     A breaking billow; even whilst we speak
          286     Is it not broken? On the withering flower
          287     The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek
          288The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break.

[专题]怀念济慈

XXXIII
          289     His head was bound with pansies overblown,
          290     And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue;
          291     And a light spear topp';d with a cypress cone,
          292     Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew
          293     Yet dripping with the forest';s noonday dew,
          294     Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart
          295     Shook the weak hand that grasp';d it; of that crew
          296     He came the last, neglected and apart;
          297A herd-abandon';d deer struck by the hunter';s dart.
XXXIV
          298     All stood aloof, and at his partial moan
          299     Smil';d through their tears; well knew that gentle band
          300     Who in another';s fate now wept his own,
          301     As in the accents of an unknown land
          302     He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scann';d
          303     The Stranger';s mien, and murmur';d: "Who art thou?"
          304     He answer';d not, but with a sudden hand
          305     Made bare his branded and ensanguin';d brow,
          306Which was like Cain';s or Christ';s--oh! that it should be so!
XXXV
          307     What softer voice is hush';d over the dead?
          308     Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown?
          309     What form leans sadly o';er the white death-bed,
          310     In mockery of monumental stone,
          311     The heavy heart heaving without a moan?
          312     If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise,
          313     Taught, sooth';d, lov';d, honour';d the departed one,
          314     Let me not vex, with inharmonious sighs,
          315The silence of that heart';s accepted sacrifice.
XXXVI
          316     Our Adonais has drunk poison--oh!
          317     What deaf and viperous murderer could crown
          318     Life';s early cup with such a draught of woe?
          319     The nameless worm would now itself disown:
          320     It felt, yet could escape, the magic tone
          321     Whose prelude held all envy, hate and wrong,
          322     But what was howling in one breast alone,
          323     Silent with expectation of the song,
          324Whose master';s hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung.
XXXVII
          325     Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame!
          326     Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me,
          327     Thou noteless blot on a remember';d name!
          328     But be thyself, and know thyself to be!
          329     And ever at thy season be thou free
          330     To spill the venom when thy fangs o';erflow;
          331     Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee;
          332     Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow,
          333And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt--as now.
XXXVIII
          334     Nor let us weep that our delight is fled
          335     Far from these carrion kites that scream below;
          336     He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead;
          337     Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now.
          338     Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow
          339     Back to the burning fountain whence it came,
          340     A portion of the Eternal, which must glow
          341     Through time and change, unquenchably the same,
          342Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.
XXXIX
          343     Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,
          344     He hath awaken';d from the dream of life;
          345     ';Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
          346     With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
          347     And in mad trance, strike with our spirit';s knife
          348     Invulnerable nothings. We decay
          349     Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
          350     Convulse us and consume us day by day,
          351And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.
XL
          352     He has outsoar';d the shadow of our night;
          353     Envy and calumny and hate and pain,
          354     And that unrest which men miscall delight,
          355     Can touch him not and torture not again;
          356     From the contagion of the world';s slow stain
          357     He is secure, and now can never mourn
          358     A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain;
          359     Nor, when the spirit';s self has ceas';d to burn,
          360With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
XLI
          361     He lives, he wakes--';tis Death is dead, not he;
          362     Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,
          363     Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee
          364     The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;
          365     Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!
          366     Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air,
          367     Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown
          368     O';er the abandon';d Earth, now leave it bare
          369Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!

[专题]怀念济慈

XLII
          370     He is made one with Nature: there is heard
          371     His voice in all her music, from the moan
          372     Of thunder, to the song of night';s sweet bird;
          373     He is a presence to be felt and known
          374     In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,
          375     Spreading itself where';er that Power may move
          376     Which has withdrawn his being to its own;
          377     Which wields the world with never-wearied love,
          378Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
XLIII
          379     He is a portion of the loveliness
          380     Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear
          381     His part, while the one Spirit';s plastic stress
          382     Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there
          383     All new successions to the forms they wear;
          384     Torturing th'; unwilling dross that checks its flight
          385     To its own likeness, as each mass may bear;
          386     And bursting in its beauty and its might
          387From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven';s light.
XLIV
          388     The splendours of the firmament of time
          389     May be eclips';d, but are extinguish';d not;
          390     Like stars to their appointed height they climb,
          391     And death is a low mist which cannot blot
          392     The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought
          393     Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair,
          394     And love and life contend in it for what
          395     Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there
          396And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.
XLV
          397     The inheritors of unfulfill';d renown
          398     Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought,
          399     Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton
          400     Rose pale, his solemn agony had not
          401     Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought
          402     And as he fell and as he liv';d and lov';d
          403     Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot,
          404     Arose; and Lucan, by his death approv';d:
          405Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reprov';d.
XLVI
          406     And many more, whose names on Earth are dark,
          407     But whose transmitted effluence cannot die
          408     So long as fire outlives the parent spark,
          409     Rose, rob';d in dazzling immortality.
          410     "Thou art become as one of us," they cry,
          411     "It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long
          412     Swung blind in unascended majesty,
          413     Silent alone amid a Heaven of Song.
          414Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!"
XLVII
          415     Who mourns for Adonais? Oh, come forth,
          416     Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright.
          417     Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth;
          418     As from a centre, dart thy spirit';s light
          419     Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might
          420     Satiate the void circumference: then shrink
          421     Even to a point within our day and night;
          422     And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink
          423When hope has kindled hope, and lur';d thee to the brink.
XLVIII
          424     Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre,
          425     Oh, not of him, but of our joy: ';tis nought
          426     That ages, empires and religions there
          427     Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought;
          428     For such as he can lend--they borrow not
          429     Glory from those who made the world their prey;
          430     And he is gather';d to the kings of thought
          431     Who wag';d contention with their time';s decay,
          432And of the past are all that cannot pass away.
XLIX
          433     Go thou to Rome--at once the Paradise,
          434     The grave, the city, and the wilderness;
          435     And where its wrecks like shatter';d mountains rise,
          436     And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress
          437     The bones of Desolation';s nakedness
          438     Pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead
          439     Thy footsteps to a slope of green access
          440     Where, like an infant';s smile, over the dead
          441A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread;

[专题]怀念济慈

L
          442     And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time
          443     Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand;
          444     And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime,
          445     Pavilioning the dust of him who plann';d
          446     This refuge for his memory, doth stand
          447     Like flame transform';d to marble; and beneath,
          448     A field is spread, on which a newer band
          449     Have pitch';d in Heaven';s smile their camp of death,
          450Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguish';d breath.
LI
          451     Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet
          452     To have outgrown the sorrow which consign';d
          453     Its charge to each; and if the seal is set,
          454     Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind,
          455     Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find
          456     Thine own well full, if thou returnest home,
          457     Of tears and gall. From the world';s bitter wind
          458     Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb.
          459What Adonais is, why fear we to become?
LII
          460     The One remains, the many change and pass;
          461     Heaven';s light forever shines, Earth';s shadows fly;
          462     Life, like a dome of many-colour';d glass,
          463     Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
          464     Until Death tramples it to fragments.--Die,
          465     If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!
          466     Follow where all is fled!--Rome';s azure sky,
          467     Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak
          468The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.
LIII
          469     Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?
          470     Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
          471     They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!
          472     A light is pass';d from the revolving year,
          473     And man, and woman; and what still is dear
          474     Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.
          475     The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near:
          476     ';Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither,
          477No more let Life divide what Death can join together.
LIV
          478     That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,
          479     That Beauty in which all things work and move,
          480     That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse
          481     Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
          482     Which through the web of being blindly wove
          483     By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
          484     Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
          485     The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me,
          486Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
LV
          487     The breath whose might I have invok';d in song
          488     Descends on me; my spirit';s bark is driven,
          489     Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
          490     Whose sails were never to the tempest given;
          491     The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!
          492     I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;
          493     Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,
          494     The soul of Adonais, like a star,
          495Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

[专题]怀念济慈

Notes
1] Keats, with whom Shelley had been acquainted in England, died at Rome on February 23, 1821, without having taken advantage of Shelley';s invitation to visit him. Shelley composed his elegy in the spring and it was printed in July. He called it "a highly wrought piece of art" and "the least imperfect of my compositions." His indignant Preface spreads the exaggerated report of his friends in England that Keats';s violent agitation at the wanton attack in the Quarterly Review caused the rupture of a vessel in the lungs, which in turn led to the consumption of which he died. The title is followed by an epigram of Plato which Shelley elsewhere translates:
Thou wert the morning star among the living,
Ere thy fair light had fled;
Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving
New splendour to the dead.
Like Milton in Lycidas, Shelley follows the conventions of the pastoral elegy, of which the chief classical models are Bion';s elegy on Adonis, the elegy on Bion (attributed to Moschus), and Virgil';s Eclogue X. Fragments of all three survive among Shelley';s translations. The unusual form of Shelley';s title may derive from a combination of the Greek forms Adonis and Adonai or from the formula of lament in Bion';s elegy (as in the line which Shelley translates: "The oaks and mountains cry, Ai! Ai! Adonis!"). In the Greek myth, the beautiful youth Adonis is slain by a boar and mourned by his lover, Venus; from her tears over his bleeding corpse spring out of the ground red windflowers or anemones; he is thought to revive and die annually like a vegetation spirit. Shelley';s Adonais is killed by the vicious attack of the Quarterly and mourned by his Muse. Urania, the name here given to Venus, is that of Plato';s higher Venus, of the classical Muse of astronomy, and of Milton';s Heavenly Muse. In his first line Shelley follows closely the opening of Bion';s Lament for Adonis. For other places where Shelley uses his classical predecessors, see the Notes to W. M. Rossetti';s edition of Adonais.
10] Where wert thou, mighty Mother. Compare Milton';s Lycidas, 51, "where were ye, nymphs." which, in turn, echoes classical pastorals.

29] Sire of an immortal strain: Milton.

36] Third among the sons of light. In A Defence of Poetry (also written in 1821) Shelley defines an epic poet and calls Homer the first, Dante the second, and Milton the third. The numbering seems to be merely chronological.

48] pale flower by some sad maiden cherish';d: apparently an allusion to Keat';s Isabella.

55] high Capitol: Rome.

64-117] "He reclines, the delicate Adonis, in his raiment of purple, and around him the Loves are weeping, and groaning aloud, clipping their locks for Adonis. And one upon his shafts, another on his bow is treading, and one hath loosed the sandal of Adonis, and another hath broken his own feathered quiver, and one in a golden vessel bears water, and another laves his wound, and another from behind with wings is fanning Adonis" (Lament for Adonis, trans. Lang).

127] Lost Echo. Echo, in classical myth, was in love with Narcissus and wasted away to a mere voice when her love was unrequited.

136-37] young Spring ... threw down/Her kindling buds. Keats died on February 23 in Rome; the first shoots of spring are abortive, but spring nevertheless comes in stanza xviii.

140] To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear/Nor to himself Narcissus. Hyacinth, beloved of Phoebus Apollo, was accidentally slain by him with a discus; Narcissus pined away with love of his own reflection in the water.

145] the lorn nightingale: possibly an allusion to Keats';s Ode to a Nightingale.

147-49] the eagle who ... could nourish ... Her mighty youth with morning. In legend the eagle was reputed to renew itself and purge its sight by flying into the sun.

154-62] "Ah me, when the mallows wither in the garden, and the green parsley, and the curled tendrils of the anise, on a later day they live again, and spring in another year; but we men, we, the great and mighty, or wise, when once we have died, in hollow earth we sleep, gone down into silence; a right long, and endless, and unawakening sleep" (Lament for Bion, trans. Lang).

234] But I am chain';d to Time, and cannot thence depart! Notably altered from Bion';s "while wretched I yet live, being a goddess, and may not follow thee!"

250] The Pythian of the age one arrow sped. The periodical reviewers (depicted in this stanza as wolves, ravens and vultures) were castigated by Byron (depicted here as Apollo the Python slayer) in English Bards and Scotch Reviewers after their harsh treatment of his Hours of Idleness. They praised his next book, Childe Harold';s Pilgrimage.

262] mountain shepherds: contemporary British poets mourning the death of Keats.

264] Pilgrim of Eternity: Byron (see Childe Harold';s Pilgrimage, III, lxx).

268-69] Ierne sent/The sweetest lyrist. Ireland sent Thomas Moore (author of Irish Melodies).

271] one frail form: Shelley himself.

276] Actaeon-like. The huntsman Actaeon intruded on a favourite retreat of the goddess Diana where she was bathing. She turned him into a stag and he was pursued and killed by his own hounds.

291-92] light spear topped with a cyprus cone,/Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew. The thyrus, a staff tipped with a pine cone and wreathed with ivy, was an emblem of Dionysus (or Bacchus), whose cult in Greece was distinguished by its possessed, intoxicated, and wildly demonstrative worshippers.

307-15] The poet, editor, and friend of both Keats and Shelley, Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) is the last of the group of poet-mourners.

316-24] reviewer of Keats';s Endymion, whom Shelley supposed to be his own hated enemy, Southey, but who was in fact John Wilson Croker (1780-1857).

397] inheritors of unfulfill';d renown. Chatterton died at seventeen, Sidney at thirty-one, and Lucan (Roman epic poet required to commit suicide by Nero in 65 A.D.) at twenty-six.

439] slope of green access. Keats was buried in the old Protestant cemetery in Rome. Shelley wrote to T. L. Peacock on December 22, 1818: "the English burying-place is a green slope near the walls under the pyramidal tomb of Cestius and is, I think, the most beautiful and solemn cemetery I ever beheld." Shelley too was ultimately buried in the shadow of that pyramid. Cestius was a Roman tribune.

444] one keen pyramid: see note on line 439.

[专题]怀念济慈

[这个贴子最后由Aimita在 2004/11/02 08:38pm 第 1 次编辑]

[b]II.《约翰·济慈》以及《唐璜》十一章六十节[/b]
雪莱在《阿多尼》中提到的“The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame over his living head like Heaven is bent, an early but enduring monument, came, veiling all the lightnings of his song in sorrow”指的便是诗人拜伦了。拜伦对济慈的《海披里恩》颇为欣赏：“《海披里恩》的片段似乎真是从泰坦人取得的灵感，写得像埃斯库罗斯一样宏伟。”当时的评论季刊曾经对济慈的《安狄米恩》做出恶毒攻击，认为文章文理不通，无一可取之处，“回到药罐子前，去做个失败的药剂师吧！好过做一个失败的诗人。”这样的话无疑给济慈素质纤弱的心胸以致命的打击。拜伦甚至认为这篇评论是杀害济慈的凶手。于是在济慈逝世后写作《约翰·济慈》一诗，诗中点名痛斥《季刊》，以及骚塞、密尔曼、巴罗等人。他未完成的巨著《唐璜》中的十一章六十节也是写济慈的。设想如果济慈看得开一点，像拜伦当年那样以一种辛辣的嘲讽态度去回击恶意的攻击，假设他懂得一些自我保护，也许就不至于耿耿于怀郁闷致死了。但这仅仅是假设。那些“耳聋的凶手”是应当痛斥的！

[b]John Keats[/b]
by George Gordon, Lord Byron
(composed: July 1821)
  Who killed John Keats?
     “I,” says the Quarterly,
     So savage and Tartarly;
  “‘Twas one of my feats.”
  Who shot the arrow?
     “The poet-priest Milman
     (So ready to kill man),
  Or Southey or Barrow.”

[b]Don Juan[/b]
Canto the Eleventh
60.John Keats, who was kill';d off by one critique,
Just as he really promised something great,
If not intelligible, without Greek
Contrived to talk about the gods of late,
Much as they might have been supposed to speak.
Poor fellow! His was an untoward fate;
';T is strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff';d out by an article.

[[i] Last edited by Aimita on 2005-3-13 at 11:49 PM [/i]]

[专题]怀念济慈

[b]III.《济慈幕》[/b]
去罗马的时候，由于时间关系我没能到新教徒墓地去看一看，这是我深感遗憾的。但我早已在心里把那墓园勾勒过无数次。我记得霍顿勋爵说，那是“人的眼和心可以歇息的最美丽的地方之一”；我记得雪莱在《阿多尼》的前言里提到，“想到一个人竟可以安葬在如此甜美的地方，真叫人爱恋死亡”（然后他自己便葬在那里）；我记得王尔德把它描述得那样美——那是一片绿茵茵的洒满阳光的山坡，在它的旁边立着一座大理石金字塔，历史似比这“不朽城”还要久远。黄昏时候，塔影便会落在一个人的暮上，幕旁丛生着紫罗兰、雏菊和罂粟，四季不败，墓碑上刻着这样的字：“这里躺着一个名字用水写成的人”。这是个永远用甜美声音吟唱着的歌者。他的名字叫做约翰·济慈。
（由于网上无法找到这篇文章，我只得逐字打出。若有疏漏请大家谅解并指正。）

                                [b]The Tomb of Keats[/b]
                                                       by OSCAR WILDE
As one enters Rome from the Via Ostiensis by the Porta San Paolo, the first object that meets the eye is a marble pyramid which stands close at hand on the left.
There are many Egyptian obelisks in Rome, tall, snake-like spires of red sandstone, mottled with strange writing, which led the children of Israel through the desert away from the land of Pharaohs; but more wonderful than these to look upon is this gaunt, wedge-shaped pyramid standing here in this Italian city, unshattered amid the ruins and wrecks of time, looking older than the Eternal City itself, like terrible impassiveness turned to stone. And so in the middle ages men supposed this to be the sepulchre of Remus, who was slain by his own brother at founding of the city, so ancient and mysterious it appears; but we have now, perhaps unfortunately more accurate information about it, and know that it is the tomb of one Caius Cestius, a Roman gentleman of small note, who died about 30 BC.
Yet though we cannot care much for the dead man who lies in lonely state beneath it, and who is only known to the world through his sepulchre, still this pyramid will be ever dear to the eyes of all English-speaking people, because at evening its shadow falls on the tomb of one who walks with Spenser and Shakespeare, and Byron, and Shelley, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in the great procession of the sweet singers of England.
For at its foot there is a green sunny slope, known as the Old Protestant cemetery, and on this a common-looking grave, which bears the following inscription:—
[i]This grave contains all that was mortal of a young English poet, who, on his death-bed, in the bitterness of his heart, desired these words to be engraven on his tomb-stone: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” February 24, 1821.[/i]
And the name of the young English poet is John Keats.
Lord Houghton calls this cemetery “one of the most beautiful spots on which the eye and heart of man can rest”, and Shelley speaks of it as “making one in love with death, to think one should be buried in so sweet a place.”; and indeed when I saw the violets, and the daisies, and the poppies that overgrow the tomb, I remembered how the dead poet had once told his friend that he thought the “intensest pleasures he had received in life was watching the growth of flowers”, and how another time, after lying a while quite still, he murmured in some strange prescience of early death, “I feel the flowers growing over me.”
But this time-worn stone and these wild flowers are but poor memorials of one so great as Keats; most of all, too, on this city of Rome, which pays such honour to her dead; where popes, and emperors, and saints and cardinals, lie hidden in “porphyry wombs”, or couched in baths of jasper and chalcedony, and malachite, ablaze with precious stones and metals, and tended with continual service. For very noble is the site, and worthy of a noble monument; behind looms the gray pyramid, symbol of the world’s age, and filled with memories of the sphinx, and lotus leaf, and the glories of old Nile; in front is the Monte Testaccio built, it is said, with the broken fragments of the vessels in which all the nations of the East and the West brought their tribute to Rome; and a little distance off, along the slope of the hill under the Aurelian wall, some tall gaunt cypresses rise, like burnt-out funeral torches, to mark the spot where Shelley’s heart(that “heart of hearts!”) lies in the earth; and above all, the soil on which we tread is very Rome!
As I stood beside the mean grave of the divine boy I thought of him as of a Priest of Beauty slain before his time, and the vision of Guido’s St Sebastian came before my eyes as I saw him at Genoa a lovely brown boy, with crisp, clustering hair and red lips, bound by his evil enemies to a tree, and, though pierced by arrows, raising his eyes with divine, impassioned gaze towards the Eternal Beauty of the opening heavens. And thus my thoughts shaped themselves to rhyme:—
[i]HEU MISERANDE PUER
Rid of the world’s injustice and its pain,
He rests as last beneath God’s veil of blue;
Taken from life while life and love were new
The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,
Fair as Sebastian and as foully slain,
No cypress shades his grave, nor funeral yew,
But red-lipped daisies, violets drenched with dew,
And sleepy poppies, catch the evening rain.
O proudest heart that broke for misery!
O saddest poet that the world hath seen!
O sweetest singer of the English lan!
Thy name was writ in water on the sand,
But our tears shall keep thy memory green,
And make it flourish like a Basil-tree.[/i]

[[i] Last edited by Aimita on 2005-3-13 at 11:50 PM [/i]]

[专题]怀念济慈

英国的诗人都有一种特殊的气质...
济慈,雪莱,华兹华斯...
都让我感动...

[专题]怀念济慈

你又让我想起我的english literature了
好伤心
我们学乔叟的the pardoner';s tale,学iain banks的the wasp factory,这一切都让我特别怀念

[专题]怀念济慈

之前我没听说过这个人,不过听了楼主的介绍,真好!请以后多出些这样的贴子.