John Milton
Hence vain deluding Joys,
The brood of Folly without father bred,
How little you bestead,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys;
Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sunbeams ,
Or likest hovering dreams,
The fickle pensioners of Morpheus'train.
But hail thou Goddess sage and holy ,
Hail, divinest Melancholy,
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue;
Black, but such as in esteem ,
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,
Or that starred Ethiope queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above
The sea nymphs , and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended ;
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she (in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain).
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast , and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable stole of cypress lawn
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward cast
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar sing.
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The cherub Contemplatiòn ;
And the mute Silence hist along,
Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight ,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o'er th'accustomed oak;
Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy !
Thee chantress oft the woods among
I woo to hear thy evensong;
And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heaven's wide pathless way;
And oft as if her head she bowed,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off curfew sound
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or if the air will not permit,
Some still removèd place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman's drowsy charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm;
Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato to unfold
What words or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook;
And of those demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptered pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine,
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the buskined stage.
But, O sad virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball and of Algarsife,
And who had Canacee to wife,
That owned the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horse of brass,
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of tourneys and of trophies hung,
Of forests and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited Morn appear,
Not tricked and frounced as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kerchiefed in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ushered with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of pine or monumental oak,
Where the rude ax with heaved stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
There in close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honeyed thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feathered sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
of lively portraiture displayed
softly on my eyelids laid.
And as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath ,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or th'unseen genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high embowèd roof,
With antic pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow
To the full-voiced choir below,
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies ,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew,
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
* * *
-idle
[ˈaidl] adj.
懒惰的，无用的
[ˈfænsi] n.
想象出来的事物
[ˈsʌnbiːm] n.
阳光光束
[ˈpenʃənə(r)] n.
受雇者，跟班
-holy
[ˈhəuli] adj.
神圣的
[ˈvizidʒ] n.
面貌，容貌
[isˈtiːm] n.
尊敬，尊重
[nimf] n.
［希神］居于山林水泽中的仙女
[diˈsend] vi.
作为后裔
[ˈsɔlitəri] adj.
孤独的
[ˈɡlimə] v.
发出微光，隐现
[diˈvaut] adj.
虔诚的，诚恳的
[ˈstedfəst] adj.
坚定的
[məˈdʒestik] adj.
宏伟的，庄严的
[ˈsaipris] n.
柏树枝（象征哀悼，黑色）
[ˌkɔntemˈpleiʃən] n.
沉思
[plait] n.
情况，状态
[ˈdræɡən] n.
龙，凶暴的人
[əˈkʌstəmd] adj.
通常的，常见的
[ˈmelənkəli] adj.
忧郁的
[əsˈtrei] adv.
迷途地，入歧途地
[ˈfliːsi] adj.
蓬松的，羊毛似的
[ˈkəːfjuː] n.
晚钟声，打晚钟的时刻
[ˈembə] n
灰烬，余烬
[ˈkauntəfit] vi.
仿造
[ˈkrikit] n.
蟋蟀
[ʌnˈsfiə] vt.
使离开所在范围
[iˈmɔːtl] adj.
不朽的
[ˈfleʃli] adj.
肉体的，肉的
[ˈɡɔːdʒəs] adj.
雄壮的
[ˈseptə] n.
节杖，王权
[ˈbʌskin] n.
悲剧
[ˈsɔləm] adj.
庄严的，隆重的，严肃的
[ˈtuəni] n.
马上比武
[inˈtʃɑːntmənt] n.
迷惑，妖术，魔法
[ˈkəːtʃif] vt.
为…所遮盖
[ˈtwailait] adj.
微明的
[ˈʃædəu] n.
阴影，影子
[ˌmɔnjuˈmentl] adj.
纪念碑式的，不朽的
[ˈhæləu] vt.
使…神圣，视为神圣
[ˈɡæriʃ] adj.
耀眼的，刺目的
[ˈməːmə] vi.
低声说，低语
[misˈtiəriəs] adj.
神秘的，奇异的
[ˌʌndəˈniːθ] adv.
在下面
[ˈmɔːtl] n.
凡人，人类
[emˈbəu] v.
使成穹形
[ˈpilə] n.
柱子，栋梁
[riˈlidʒəs] adj.
宗教的，宗教上的
[ˈɔːɡən] n.
风琴，管风琴
[ˈsəːvis] n.
宗教仪式
[ˈekstəsi] n.
入迷，狂喜
[ˈmɔsi] adj.
生苔的，青苔状的
[prəˈfetik] adj.
预言的，先知的
* * *
弥尔顿
去吧，徒然骗人的“欢愉”，
“愚昧”的产儿，没有父亲的孽障！
把你所有的玩意儿全呈上
也难以使得坚定的心胸满意！
你可以住进懒散的脑袋，
幻想出愚蠢而花哨的种种造形，
光怪陆离，千姿百态，
像太阳光线里无数快活的微尘，
更像那飘忽的梦境在摇摆，
做睡神行列里反复无常的侍臣。
但是，欢迎你，神圣的女神！
无比庄严的“忧郁”，欢迎！
你仪容圣洁，光芒太强烈，
怕射伤世人敏感的眼睫，
你于是给我们柔弱的视觉
加上稳重的“智慧”的暗色，
但是这暗色，被认为尊贵，
可媲美门农王子的妹妹，
也像那埃塞俄比亚王后——
她夸耀自己美丽俊秀
超过海仙女，把她们得罪：
可是你出身远为高贵：
金发的威斯塔，在远古时代，
她跟萨土恩生下你来，
她本是萨土恩之女，那时，
这样的结合不算可耻：
朦胧的树荫下，枝叶扶苏，
伊达山隐秘的密林深处，
他时常在这里跟她幽会，
那时还不用怕约夫作祟。
来吧，沉思的修女，你虔诚，
纯洁，清醒，坚贞，娴静，
全身裹一件暗色的袍服，
身后拖曳着庄严的裙裾，
一条深黑色透明的纱巾
披上你庄重的双肩正合身。
来吧，保持你往常的尊严，
要神态沉吟，步履平缓，
你仰面朝天，与诸天交接，
你灵魂在你的眼睛里欢跃：
请牢固坚持圣洁的情操，
忘掉你自己，成一座石雕，
直到你忧伤地转移视线
牢牢地凝视着地上人间：
跟“和平”“宁静”的联谊要保持，
斋戒时，跟诸神一同节食，
聆听缪斯们围成个圆圈
唱歌，绕着约夫的神坛：
还要添一份退隐的闲适，
到雅园秀苑，看赏心乐事：——
但是首要的事情却是
请来那拍动金翅的天使
带领有火轮的宝座到此，
他的名字就叫做“沉思”：
还有那“静寂”不许声音响，
除非夜莺能屈尊唱一唱，
夜莺那凄楚动听的歌喉
能舒展“黑夜”深锁的眉头，
辛西娅收紧驭龙的丝缰，
缓行在常见的橡树顶上。
好鸟啊，你躲开愚蠢的喧嚷，
你的歌鸣最悦耳，最忧伤！
女歌手！我常到树林中去
追踪你，听你唱黄昏之曲；
我没找到你，就悄悄步行，
走上干爽而平坦的草坪，
抬头仰望那浪游的明月
正驾车驶近她最高的天阙，
仿佛她已经被引入迷途，
行经那浩茫无路的天宇，
她似乎常常低下头来，
穿过白云，俯身徘徊。
我时常站在高坡平台上，
倾听那晚钟来自远方，
钟声震荡在大水之湄，
音调沉郁，凄恻低回：
假如天时不许我踟蹰，
我便另找个幽僻的去处，
屋内炉子里馀火未熄，
火光暗淡，成一片阴翳：
对一切欢娱，都远远离开，
只有炉边的蟋蟀除外，
或者听更夫催眠的咒语
在消灾祛祟，替家家祝福。
或让我在午夜时分举灯
从高塔放出孤傲的光明，
我时常倚塔观测熊星座，
研读赫耳墨斯的巨作，
或唤醒柏拉图的魂灵来阐述
是什么广阔的宇宙或疆土
包容着永生不朽的心灵，
那舍弃肉体皮囊的精神：
或请他讲解水与土、火与风，
其中隐藏着什么精灵，
而这些精灵有何等神力
跟行星和元素和谐相契。
有时我阅读雄壮的悲剧，
看权杖和王袍来往急遽，
演出忒拜城，佩洛普斯族，
或者神圣的特洛亚掌故；
也让我偶尔看一下近代
有什么悲剧登上舞台。
可是，忧郁的贞女啊，愿你能
立即把缪秀斯从卧室唤醒，
或命令俄耳甫斯的魂灵
随琴弦起伏而婉转歌吟，
这样的歌曲，叫冥王眼泪流，
叫冥府答应爱情的要求！
或唤起说故事人，继续讲完
那故事，描述勇猛的坎宾斯汗，
描述坎巴罗，阿尔加西夫，
讲讲谁娶了卡纳丝做媳妇，
卡纳丝赢得了神戒指、魔镜；
讲讲那铜马有神奇的本领，
鞑靼王骑着它到处驰骋：
还要唤起其他的大诗人，
他们曾唱过庄严的圣曲，
歌唱比武会，缴获的兵器，
唱出森林和瘆人的妖术，
歌里的弦外之音要领悟。
夜啊！你挥洒青光看着我，
直到素衣的“黎明”喷薄，
她一如往常，不打扮，不梳妆，
随雅典少年去打猎那样，
头上的鬓鬟在云中半掩，
任大风回旋奏响弦管，
等到那狂飙已经吹够，
也可以来一阵豪雨急骤，
雨将歇还落上窸窣的树叶，
听屋檐滴水一声声不歇。
这时候太阳升起来，放射
万丈光芒，女神啊！请带我
到丛林深处阴蔽的小径，
看林神钟爱的松柏浓影，
或者参天的橡树高耸，
听不见丁丁砍伐的斧声，
不会使山林女神们受惊，
使她们离开神圣的幽境。
请把我藏在溪边隐蔽处，
不让鄙俗的眼睛来偷睹，
躲避开太阳刺眼的光芒，
任腿沾花粉的蜜蜂来往，
唱着歌在花木丛中忙碌，
听条条溪涧潺潺低诉，
种种轻声成一片和音
引来轻如羽绒的睡神；
让睡神带来奇异的梦幻
如生动鲜活的画面展现，
在他的羽翼上流水般潋滟，
轻轻地印上我的眼帘：
我醒来，有音乐无比美妙，
从上，从下，从四周涌到，
由林间无形的善心神灵
或精怪送来给凡人聆听。
但是我不会收起步履，
我走访沉静的教堂小区，
我爱那崇高的穹形屋顶，
古老的石柱，粗壮坚挺，
装饰着五彩故事的高窗，
放进宗教的幽暗微光：
这里有风琴响亮地奏鸣，
下面的唱诗班合唱和声，
虔诚的圣诗，清亮的颂歌，
在我的耳朵里美妙谐和，
使我销魂于狂喜极乐，
在我的眼前便出现天国。
但愿我能在衰老的晚年
找到一座宁静的修道院，
粗拙的袍服，生苔的小屋，
我坐在那里，专心研读
一个个星象在天上争辉，
一棵棵草木吸饮露水；
直到成熟的经验累积，
能获得类似先知的品质。
假如你提供这些佳趣，
“忧郁”啊，我愿意跟你共居。