3楼ououmama
(岂能尽如人意,但求无愧我心)
发表于 2012-3-9 10:48
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希腊群岛 拜伦
英国 乔治•戈登•拜伦 1788-1824
1
希腊群岛何辉煌,才女莎芙的故乡。
莎芙在此来热恋,莎芙也曾写诗忙。
战争和平的艺术,在这里诞生和发扬,
美丽多情迪罗岛,阿波罗神的故乡。
太阳依旧来照耀,一切荣光已消亡。
2
你的歌神思希恩,爱弹英雄大竖琴,
你的爱神黛依安,爱吹希腊毛竹笛,
他们早已离开你,远赴海外谋生存。
他们的祖国已沉默,不再有人歌颂您,
“海国乐园”之歌曲,我已多年未聆听。
3
群山守望马拉松,马拉松在大海旁,
在此沉思一时辰,幻想希腊已解放,
重拾往日的荣光。站在波斯陵墓旁,
先辈豪气满胸膛,岂能再把奴隶当。
4
红日冉冉照四方,国王端坐悬崖旁,遥望萨拉米思岛,港中帆船千万条,
各国人民如蚁聚,都为国王服务忙, 待到太阳落山时,他已一切丧失光。牐燶r
5
他们究竟去哪里,你身今夕在何方?古老文明已沉沦,左顾右盼若失魂。
你的神圣里拉琴,不再演奏英雄曲,莫非从此变平庸,落入吾辈俗手中?
6
如今人民被奴役,英雄豪杰在何方?犖羧杖俟饨癜苍冢人民个个在悲伤,
虽然我正在吟诗词,心怀惭愧怒满腔。
7
哭泣羞愧有何用,至此不能再彷徨,三百斯巴达勇士血,换来当年好风光。
恳请大地展胸怀,把那勇士放出来,三百勇士只要三,重新攻克温泉山。
8
活人何以都消沉,先烈正在召唤您, 如同远方惊雷声。“只要一人来反抗,
只要一人,一个人,我们就会帮助您。”活人个个不吱声。装聋作哑若失魂。
9
希腊人民已消沉,任何召唤不爱听。只爱痛畅饮沙面酒,麻痹自己失意心。
给我一杯沙面酒,不要麻烦希腊人, 把那艰难浴血战,留给土耳其雇佣兵。
10
你们还跳派力舞,派力兵法却遗忘, 兵法可以保家乡,为何把它扔一旁?
卡姆造字费精神,何曾想到有一年,堂堂优美希腊文,将要传给奴隶们?
11
给我一杯沙面酒!烦恼事情别挂心。 阿侬喝了沙面酒,方能唱出海豚音,
他为暴君唱赞歌,我们把他来批评,不过他的坏主人,仍然还是希腊人。
12
车松尼的大暴君,有颗勇敢自由心,他的芳名叫米泰,至今希腊传英名。
恳请上天发慈悲,赐给希腊一暴君,率领所有希腊人,重新获得自由身。
13
给我一杯面酒!在那苏里群山中,和那博加大海旁,有群多里野蛮人,
斯巴达克的子孙。战神何克的血液,流在他们血管里,凡夫俗子皆惊奇。
14
希腊古国要独立,不能指望欧洲人,欧洲国王只爱钱,如同精明犹太人。
土耳其的雇佣军,诈骗成性拉丁人,算盘打得实在精,关键时刻背叛您。
希腊人民要独立,不能依靠他族人, 自己拿起刀和枪,推翻暴政美名扬.
15
给我一杯沙面酒!窕窕少女舞蹈忙,大海岸边椰林里,凤眼含情放光芒,燶r
想到她们玉乳房,将把宝宝来喂养, 宝宝长大做奴隶,我心彷徨又悲伤。
16
惊涛骇浪来拍岸,我站在苏明悬崖上,我如天鹅般来歌唱,也愿如天鹅般死亡。
古国奴役非所愿,我要拔出毛瑟枪, 扔掉你的沙面酒,不自由宁母去死亡。
The Isles of Greece
by George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron. 1788–1824
The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece !
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of War and Peace,
Where Delos rose and Pheobus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their Sun, is set.
2
The Scian and Teian muse,
The Hero's harp, the Lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse:
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your Sires' "Islands of the Blest."
3
The mountains look on Marathon ---
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persians' grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.
4
A King sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations; --- all were his!
He counted them at break of day ---
And, when the Sun set, where were they?
5
And where are they? And where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now ---
The heroic bosom beats no more !
And must thy Lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?
6
'T is something, in the dearth of Fame,
Though linked among a fettered race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush --- for Greece a tear.
7
Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but blush? --- Our fathers bled.
Earth ! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead !
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylæ !
8
What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah ! no; --- the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, "Let one living head,
But one arise, --- we come, we come ! "
'T is but the living who are dumb.
9
In vain -- in vain: strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine !
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine !
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call ---
How answers each bold Bacchanal !
10
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The noblier and manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave ---
Think ye he meant them for a slave?
11
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine !
We will not think of themes like these !
It made Anacreon's song divine:
He served --- but served Polycrates ---
A Tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.
12
The Tyrant of the Chersonese
Was Freedom's best and bravest friend;
That tyrant was Miltiades !
Oh ! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind !
Such chains as his were sure to bind.
13
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine !
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,
Exists the remnant of a line
Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, such seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.
14
Trust not for freedom to the Franks ---
They have a king who buys and sells;
In native swords, and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
15
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine !
Our virgins dance beneath the shade ---
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
16
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die;
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine ---
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine !.