Thomas Gray
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such, as wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion , or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike the inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray;
Along the cool sequestered vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet even these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who mindful of the unhonored dead
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn , Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. One morn I missed him on the customed hill,
Along the heath and near his favorite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
The Epitaph
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty , and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose ,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.
* * *
[nel] n.
丧钟
[ˈhəumwəd] adv.
在归途上，向家地
[ˈɡlimə] v.
隐约出现
[ˈbiːtl] n.
甲虫
[ˈsɔlitəri] adj.
孤独的
[biˈniːθ] prep.
在…之下
[ˈməuldə] vi.
朽坏，变为荒废
[ˈhæmlit] n.
小村，部落
[ˈbriːzi] adj.
有微风的，活泼的，轻松愉快的
[ˈklæriən] n.
号角
-lisp
[lisp] v.
咬着舌儿说
[ˈhɑːvist] n.
收获，收割的庄稼
[ˈstʌbən] adj.
坚定的，坚硬的，难应付的
[ˈdʒɔkənd] adj.
欢乐的，高兴的
[æmˈbiʃən] n.
野心，雄心
-mock
[mɔk] v.
讥笑，嘲弄
[əbˈskjuə] adj.
暗的，默默无闻的
[disˈdeinful] adj.
轻蔑的，倨傲的
[inˈevitəbl] adj.
不可避免的，必然的
[ˈɡlɔːri] n.
荣誉，光荣
[imˈpjuːt] vt.
归罪于，归咎于
[ˈmænʃən] n.
大厦，宅邸
[niˈɡlekt] vt.
忽视，疏忽
[ˈpreɡnənt] adj.
怀孕的，孕育的
[siˈlestjəl] adj.
天上的，神的
[ˈekstəsi] n.
迷醉
[ˈdʒiːnjəl] adj.
亲切的，温煦的
[ˈʌnˈfæðəmd] adj.
未探测深度的，无法了解的
[blʌʃ] v.
呈现红色
[ˈtaiərənt] n.
暴君
[inˈɡlɔːriəs] adj.
默默无闻的
[ˈsenit] n.
参议院，上院
[ˈslɔːtə] n.
屠杀，残杀
[ˈkɔnʃəs] adj.
有意识的，自觉的
[inˈdʒenjuəs] adj.
坦白的，直率的，天真的
[iɡˈnəubl] adj.
不光彩的
[siˈkwestəd] adj.
幽静的，隐蔽的
[miˈmɔːriəl] n.
纪念物
[raim] n.
韵，诗
[ˈelidʒi] n.
挽歌，挽词
[ˈrʌstik] adj.
乡村的
[ˈliŋɡəriŋ] adj.
延迟的，逗留不去的
[ˈmaindful] adj.
留心的，不忘的
[ˌkɔntemˈpleiʃən] n.
沉思，预期
[swein] n.
乡下佬
[ˈheisti] adj.
匆忙的
[fænˈtæstik] adj.
奇异的，稀奇古怪的
[ˈnuːntaid] n.
正午，白昼
[ˈwəuful] adj.
悲伤的，沮丧的
[fəˈlɔːn] adj.
被遗忘的
[ˈfeivərit] adj.
喜爱的，宠爱的
[ˈdəːdʒ] n.
挽歌，哀悼歌
[ˈepitɑːf] n.
墓志铭，碑文
[ˈhʌmble] adj.
卑微的
[ˈbaunti] n.
慷慨，宽大
[ˈrekəmpəns] n.
报偿
[disˈkləuz] vt.
揭示，透露
[ˈbuzəm] n.
胸怀，胸，胸部
* * *
格 雷
格雷（Thomas Gray，1716-1771），英国十八世纪一位有重要影响的诗人。他作品数量不多，生前仅发表过14首诗歌，且他写诗并不刻意发表，40岁时就不再进行创作，转而研究诗歌史、语言、音乐、植物学、古玩和建筑史等，在剑桥大学任历史学教授。但他在诗歌方面的声誉却非常高。诗作感情深沉而复杂，用词准确有力，具有多样化的特色；他的传世之作《墓畔哀歌》兼具古典诗歌的典雅风范，又有抒情和感伤的情调，代表了新古典主义诗歌的传统，并预示了浪漫主义诗潮的到来。
晚钟响了，为逝去的白昼报丧，
牛群哞哞叫，慢慢地绕过草野，
疲惫的农夫蹒跚在回家的路上，
把整个世界留给了我和暗夜。
眼前的景色消溶于苍茫的暮霭，
天地之间充盈着庄严的宁静，
只有甲虫们嗡嗡叫，飞去绕来，
铃声昏沉，催眠了远方的羊群。
还有在常春藤披盖的高塔那里，
阴郁的夜枭向月亮发出怨诉，
说有人随意走近它秘密的住地，
扰乱了它的古老幽僻的领土。
粗壮的榆树和紫杉的浓荫下面，
荒芜的草皮一堆连一堆隆起，
小村里简朴的先辈在这里安眠，
各自永远在窄坑中安放了遗体。
芬芳的清早，轻风活泼的呼叫，
茅草屋檐下，燕子的呢喃多话，
公鸡的打鸣，引发回声的羊角号
难唤醒他们起身于长眠的矮榻。
对他们来说，不再有炉火点燃，
黄昏里不再有主妇为家务操心
没儿女咬着舌迎接爸爸的回转，
或爬到膝上去分享妒羡的亲吻。
他们曾多次开镰叫庄稼倒卧，
他们破开了硬土，犁出了垄沟；
赶牲口下地，他们是多么快乐！
叫树木折腰，他们挥动着斧头！
愿“雄心”别讥笑他们有效的勤奋、
家常的娱乐、默默无闻的天数，
愿“富贵”别带着倨傲的微笑聆听
穷人们简短质朴的生平记录。
门阀纹章的夸耀，权势的威风，
美色和财富提供的一切享受，
到头来总是那无可逃避的时辰，
荣华的道路条条都通向坟头。
自鸣得意者，别怪罪这些村民，——
“怀念”没有在坟头放上纪念品，
没让教堂的走道和雕花的拱顶
包容赞美歌洪亮颂辞的共鸣。
生动的胸像，刻着传略的骨灰瓮，
岂能把元气追回来，重返躯壳？
“荣誉”的声音能敦促尸骸复生？
“谄媚”能说服死神冷酷的心窍？
也许就在这荒无人烟的地方
埋葬着一度孕育过圣火的心灵；
那双手，也许能掌握帝国的权杖，
或者会弹奏出令人迷醉的琴音：
但“知识”从来没有对他们展示
蕴藏着历史积累的丰富典籍；
冷酷的“贫穷”压折了凌云的壮志，
冻结了他们心中灵泉的流溢。
多少颗宝珠含着莹洁的光彩
沉埋在幽冥莫测的海底深处：
多少枝鲜花开放而无人理睬，
向荒漠空间浪掷了缤纷芳馥。
在这里也许埋着个汉普登村汉，
曾挺身而出，反抗本地的霸主，
或者沉默的弥尔顿，名不见经传，
或克伦威尔，不曾陷国家于屠戮。
想赢得恭听的议员们热烈鼓掌，
对痛苦和毁灭的威胁加以蔑视，
把富庶播撒到整个含笑的乡邦，
叫国人都来阅读他们的历史——
他们的命运不让：既不让美德
充分地发展，也不叫罪恶滋长；
不允许通过屠杀而登上王座，
从而对人类把仁慈的大门关上；
不允许掩盖良心承受的巨创，
不允许隐藏天真纯朴的羞惭，
不许拿缪斯的圣火点燃薰香
去塞满供奉“骄奢”“淫逸”的神龛。
远离着疯狂尘世的尔虞我诈，
他们的意志清醒，决不入歧途；
沿着人生的幽静从容的山洼，
他们默默地走着自己的道路。
可为了使这些骨殖免受轻侮，
旁边还是有粗拙的墓碑竖立，
点缀着蹩脚的诗文、走样的雕塑，
请求过往的路人送一声叹息。
浅陋的诗人拼写的姓名、年份
弥补了空缺的赫赫名声和挽词：
碑上还留下不少圣经的引文，
教导着乡野贤士怎样对待死。
是啊，谁愿被沉默的“遗忘”掳去，
永远舍弃这亦喜亦忧的平生，
离开这风和日丽的温馨地域，
而不恋恋不舍地回头望一程？
将离的灵魂依恋着深情的胸脯，
欲闭的眼睛需要真诚的泪水；
即使从坟里也响起“天性”的高呼，
他们的烈焰点燃着我们的尘灰。
至于你，挂念着这些无名的死者，
用诗行陈述他们质朴的事迹；
假如，凭个人偶然的深沉思索，
另一位诗人来询问你的遭际——
或许有一位白发乡下人会讲，
“在黎明时刻我们见到他时常
急匆匆走去把露珠拂落在一旁，
踏上高高的草场去迎接朝阳；
“那边有一株摇摆的老树山毛榉，
它奇形怪状的根株纠结着隆起，
午时在树脚他躺下慵倦的身躯，
凝视着旁边潺潺流过的清溪。
“他漫步到林边，笑着，像是在嘲讪，
他自言自语，抒发着奇思异想，
有时他神情沮丧，似孤立无援，
有时他困于失恋，或狂于忧伤。
“有一天早上，在他常去的山巅，
杜鹃前，他爱的树下，不见他影踪；
第二天早上，无论是沿着溪涧，
上草地，过树林，仍不见他的音容。
“第三天，我们见到了送葬的队伍
唱哀歌，抬着他缓缓地走向教堂，——
那边有碑铭，傍着古老的山楂树，
你识字，就请你上前读读那诗行。”
墓 铭
这里有一位青年头枕着大地，
他从未受到“财富”和“名声”的青睐；
“知识”却没有小看他卑微的门第，
“忧郁”选中他，给予特殊的宠爱。
他待人慷慨大方，他秉性真率，
上天也给他同样慷慨的报酬：
对“苦难”，他给予全部所有：一掬泪，
从上天他得了全部所求：好朋友。
再不用试图去表彰他的功德，
也别从黑穴里把他的弱点揭开，
（两者都在颤抖的希望中歇着，）
那黑穴就是天父和上帝的胸怀。