谁有《墓地哀歌》的中文翻译？ 求格雷《墓地哀歌》全诗 钱钟书版
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"ELEGY WRITTEN IN
A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD"
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman 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 mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever 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 bow'd 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 th' 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 Honour'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 sway'd,
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 repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd 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.
Th' applause of list'ning 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 forbad: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbad 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 learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd 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 resign'd,
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;
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd 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 cross'd in hopeless love.
'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favourite 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 church-way 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 Melacholy 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 wish'd) 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.
By Thomas Gray (1716-71). \u81ea\u5df1\u7ffb\u8bd1\u5427
一
我由冬的残梦里惊醒，春正吻着我的睡靥低吟！晨曦照上了窗纱，望见往日令我醺
醉的朝霞，我想让丹彩的云流，再认认我当年的颜色。
披上那件绣着蛱蝶的衣裳，姗姗地走到尘网封锁的妆台旁。呵！明镜里照见我憔悴
的枯颜，像一朵颤动在风雨中苍白凋零的梨花。
我爱，我原想追回那美丽的皎容，祭献在你碧草如茵的墓旁，谁知道青春的残蕾已
和你一同殉葬。
二
假如我的眼泪真凝成一粒一粒珍珠，到如今我已替你缀织成绕你玉颈的围巾。
假如我的相思真化作一颗一颗的红豆，到如今我已替你堆集永久勿忘的爱心。
哀愁深埋在我心头。
我愿燃烧我的肉身化成灰烬，我愿放浪我的热情怒涛汹涌，天呵！这蛇似的蜿蜒，
蚕似的缠绵，就这样悄悄地偷去了我生命的青焰。
我爱，我吻遍了你墓头青草在日落黄昏；我祷告，就是空幻的梦吧，也让我再见见
你的英魂。
三
明知道人生的尽头便是死的故乡，我将来也是一座孤冢，衰草斜阳。有一天呵！我
离开繁华的人寰，悄悄入葬，这悲艳的爱情一样是烟消云散，昙花一现，梦醒后飞落在
心头的都是些残泪点点。
然而我不能把记忆毁灭，把埋我心墟上的残骸抛却，只求我能永久徘徊在这垒垒荒
冢之间，为了看守你的墓茔，祭献那茉莉花环。
我爱，你知否我无言的忧衷，怀想着往日轻盈之梦。梦中我低低唤着你小名，醒来
只是深夜长空有孤雁哀鸣！
四
黯淡的天幕下，没有明月也无星光这宇宙像数千年的古墓；皑皑白骨上，飞动闪映
着惨绿的磷花。我匍匐哀泣于此残锈的铁栏之旁，愿烘我愤怒的心火，烧毁这黑暗丑恶
的地狱之网。
命运的魔鬼有意捉弄我弱小的灵魂，罚我在冰雪寒天中，寻觅那雕零了的碎梦。求
上帝饶恕我，不要再惨害我这仅有的生命，剩得此残躯在，容我杀死那狞恶的敌人！
我爱，纵然宇宙变成烬余的战场，野烟都腥：在你给我的甜梦里，我心长系驻于虹
桥之中，赞美永生！
五
我镇天踟蹰于垒垒荒冢，看遍了春花秋月不同的风景，抛弃了一切名利虚荣，来到
此无人烟的旷野，哀吟缓行。我登了高岭，向云天苍茫的西方招魂，在绚烂的彩霞里，
望见了我沉落的希望之陨星。
远处是烟雾冲天的古城，火星似金箭向四方飞游！隐约的听见刀枪搏击之声，那狂
热的欢呼令人震惊！在碧草萋萋的墓头，我举起了胜利的金觥，饮吧我爱，我奠祭你静
寂无言的孤冢！
星月满天时，我把你遗我的宝剑纤手轻擎，宣誓向长空：
愿此生永埋了英雄儿女的热情。
六
假如人生只是虚幻的梦影，那我这些可爱的映影，便是你赠与我的全生命。我常觉
你在我身后的树林里，骑着马轻轻地走过去。常觉你停息在我的窗前，徘徊着等我的影
消灯熄。常觉你随着我唤你的声音悄悄走近了我，又含泪退到了墙角。常觉你站在我低
垂的雪帐外，哀哀地对月光而叹息！
在人海尘途中，偶然逢见个像你的人，我停步凝视后，这颗心呵！便如秋风横扫落
叶般冷森凄零！我默思我已经得到爱的之心，如今只是荒草夕阳下，一座静寂无语的孤
冢。
我的心是深夜梦里，寒光闪灼的残月，我的情是青碧冷静，永不再流的湖水。残月
照着你的墓碑，湖水环绕着你的坟，我爱，这是我的梦，也是你的梦，安息吧，敬爱的
灵魂！
七
我自从混迹到尘世间，便忘却了我自己；在你的灵魂我才知是谁？
记得也是这样夜里。我们在河堤的柳丝中走过来，走过去。我们无语，心海的波浪
也只有月儿能领会。你倚在树上望明月沉思，我枕在你胸前听你的呼吸。抬头看见黑翼
飞来掩遮住月儿的清光，你抖颤着问我：假如这苍黑的翼是我们的命运时，应该怎样？
我认识了欢乐，也随来了悲哀，接受了你的热情，同时也随来了冷酷的秋风。往日，
我怕恶魔的眼睛凶，白牙如利刃；我总是藏伏在你的腋下趑趄不敢进，你一手执宝剑，
一手扶着我践踏着荆棘的途径，投奔那如花的前程！
如今，这道上还留着你斑斑血痕，恶魔的眼睛和牙齿再是那样凶狠。但是我爱，你
不要怕我孤零，我愿用这一纤细的弱玉腕，建设那如意的梦境。
八
春来了，催开桃蕾又飘到柳梢，这般温柔慵懒的天气真使人恼！她似乎躲在我眼底
有意缭绕，一阵阵风翼，吹起了我灵海深处的波涛。
这世界已换上了装束，如少女般那样娇娆，她披拖着浅绿的轻纱，蹁跹在她那（姹）
紫嫣红中舞蹈。伫立于白杨下，我心如捣，强睁开模糊的泪眼，细认你墓头，萋萋芳草。
满腔辛酸与谁道？愿此恨吐向青空将天地包。它纠结围绕着我的心，像一堆枯黄的
蔓草，我爱，我待你用宝剑来挥扫，我待你用火花来焚烧。
九
垒垒荒冢上，火光熊熊，纸灰缭绕，清明到了。这是碧草绿水的春郊。墓畔有白发
老翁，有红颜年少，向这一杯黄土致不尽的怀忆和哀悼，云天苍茫处我将魂招；白杨萧
条，暮鸦声声，怕孤魂归路迢迢。
逝去了，欢乐的好梦，不能随墓草而复生，明朝此日，谁知天涯何处寄此身？叹漂
泊我已如落花浮萍，且高歌，且痛饮，拼一醉烧熄此心头余情。
我爱，这一杯苦酒细细斟，邀残月与孤星和泪共饮，不管黄昏，不论夜深，醉卧在
你墓碑傍，任霜露侵凌吧！我再不醒。
她写于十六年清明陶然亭畔
无语的观看“高石之恋”，转载一片凄美，复制我一片冰心。最凄美的结合夺走我已消失了很长岁月里的眼泪，泪中还有我未尽的灰。
我已情不自禁于凭吊一次这陶然亭旁的坟墓了。 坟墓，只是一个纸盒。我想。 纸盒里放着一片有字的红叶，一对象牙戒指。我小心翼翼的将纸盒展开，铺在我湿润的心田里。在伤心回忆上，那一字字流出血的散文。
从梦回到梦呓，又再次回到梦醒。
我转头，看到镜中还在阴霾里的自己，被自己那深陷的凹进入枯骨里的自己惊吓的退了又退。虽然也只是一面镜子。但镜子却照到了坟茔的土里。也只是坟墓。 久长的沉寂后，沉默里的感奋倾泄而出。所有的景仰早早化为了低头，沉重的垂到地面。一声泪，又一滴血。
当镜子的破碎声打破了死寂。我的脚下，平静的放着看见了龟裂的伤痕。镜子碎了，又小心翼翼的拼接用泪粘上。唉，镜子里面更加模糊了的自己。又用血写下了重生的名字：“石评梅”。
梅，象牙般的冰雪，红叶般的血红。化为石头般的沉没。
她比烟花还要寂寞，还要冷清。
肃立，自己突然不认识自己了，哀伤的我已难以辨认。坟墓旁人疏人散，只剩下我一人。
我只留下足印，然后轻轻走过。在轻轻擦拭我的足迹.........
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绛旓細A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,The ploughman 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 ...
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