30：写在教堂墓地的挽歌(mp3+lrc)

30 Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
Thomas Gray
30 写在教堂墓地的挽歌
托马斯·格雷
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
晚钟为告别的白昼敲起了丧钟，
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
咩咩羊群在草地上慢慢盘桓,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
农夫疲惫地蹒跚在回家途中，
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
把整个世界留给我与黑暗。
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
此刻的大地闪着微光慢慢消退，
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
四周弥漫着一片寂静和庄严，
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
只听见甲壳虫在空中嗡嗡乱飞，
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
沉沉铃声为远处的羊圈催眠。
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
只听见那边披着常春藤的塔楼上,
The moping owl does to the moon complain,
有只忧郁的猫头鹰对月抱怨，
Of such, as wandering near her secret bower,
怨有人在她秘密的深闺附近游逛，
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
打扰了她古老而幽静的庭院。
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
老苍的榆树下，紫杉的荫影里，
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
许多荒冢在烂草堆中隆起，
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
一个个在小窖里永远躺下躯体，
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
村里的粗鄙先辈在此安息。
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
芬芳四溢的晨风轻轻的呼唤，
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
茅草棚上燕子的细语呢喃，
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
回荡的号角，或公鸡的高声鸣啼
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
再也不能把他们从床上唤起。
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
熊熊炉火再也不会为他们燃烧，
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
主妇夜里也不会再为他们操劳，
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
孩子不再喊着跑去迎接爸爸回家，
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
不再趴到膝上去抢着亲吻撒娇。
Often did the harvest to their sickle yield,
昔日，他们用镰刀去夺取丰收，
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
板结的土块被犁成一条条垄沟；
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
赶着牲口下地，他们何等欢欣！
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
有力的砍伐使一根根树木低头！
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
别让“雄心”嘲笑他们有用的辛劳，
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
家常的欢乐和默默无闻的命运;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
也别让“华贵”带着蔑视的冷笑
The short and simple annals of the poor.
来倾听穷人简朴短暂的生平。
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
炫耀的门第，显赫的权势，
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
美和财富赋予的一切事物,
Awaits alike the inevitable hour.
都同样等待着不可避免之时:
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
光辉的道路终将导致坟墓。

背景知识：

托马斯·格雷(1716-1771)，英国18世纪重要诗人。他出生在伦敦的一个经纪人家庭，一生的大部分时间在剑桥大学从事教学与研究工作。他的生活可谓中规中矩，捷足而又稳健。《乡村墓园挽歌》《Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard》是其代表作，把伤感文学推向了顶峰。这首诗在文学史上具有划时代的意义。诗人在表达伤感内容的同时,在形式上又结合了古典主义的创作要求。《乡村墓园挽歌》不仅成为那个时代,而且是今天最完美的诗篇。

30 写在教堂墓地的挽歌
托马斯·格雷
晚钟为告别的白昼敲起了丧钟，
咩咩羊群在草地上慢慢盘桓,
农夫疲惫地蹒跚在回家途中，
把整个世界留给我与黑暗。
此刻的大地闪着微光慢慢消退，
四周弥漫着一片寂静和庄严，
只听见甲壳虫在空中嗡嗡乱飞，
沉沉铃声为远处的羊圈催眠。
只听见那边披着常春藤的塔楼上,
有只忧郁的猫头鹰对月抱怨，
怨有人在她秘密的深闺附近游逛，
打扰了她古老而幽静的庭院。
老苍的榆树下，紫杉的荫影里，
许多荒冢在烂草堆中隆起，
一个个在小窖里永远躺下躯体，
村里的粗鄙先辈在此安息。
芬芳四溢的晨风轻轻的呼唤，
茅草棚上燕子的细语呢喃，
回荡的号角，或公鸡的高声鸣啼
再也不能把他们从床上唤起。
熊熊炉火再也不会为他们燃烧，
主妇夜里也不会再为他们操劳，
孩子不再喊着跑去迎接爸爸回家，
不再趴到膝上去抢着亲吻撒娇。
昔日，他们用镰刀去夺取丰收，
板结的土块被犁成一条条垄沟；
赶着牲口下地，他们何等欢欣！
有力的砍伐使一根根树木低头！
别让“雄心”嘲笑他们有用的辛劳，
家常的欢乐和默默无闻的命运;
也别让“华贵”带着蔑视的冷笑
来倾听穷人简朴短暂的生平。
炫耀的门第，显赫的权势，
美和财富赋予的一切事物,
都同样等待着不可避免之时:
光辉的道路终将导致坟墓。
背景知识：
托马斯·格雷(1716-1771)，英国18世纪重要诗人。他出生在伦敦的一个经纪人家庭，一生的大部分时间在剑桥大学从事教学与研究工作。他的生活可谓中规中矩，捷足而又稳健。《乡村墓园挽歌》《Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard》是其代表作，把伤感文学推向了顶峰。这首诗在文学史上具有划时代的意义。诗人在表达伤感内容的同时,在形式上又结合了古典主义的创作要求。《乡村墓园挽歌》不仅成为那个时代,而且是今天最完美的诗篇。

30 Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
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 mouldering 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.
Often 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.