《墓地挽歌》by Thomas Gray(MP3+双语)

墓园派诗人托马斯·格雷是18世纪的英国诗歌大家，其代表作《墓园挽歌》常被解读为“感伤主义”的代表作。诗中描绘了一种静谧 、闲适的农村田园生活，表现出诗人超然豁达的生死观和淡泊名利的人生态度 ，其严谨的格式更展现出无穷的韵律美。用诗歌叹尽死亡的真谛。
Thomas Gray - Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard《墓地挽歌》 双语中英对照：
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.
沉沉暮钟鸣，霭霭白日远，
牛群哞哞吟，草上逶迤缓，
犁人步履艰，疲惫把家返，
此世唯留下，黑暗作我伴。
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;
山水方明灭，此时渐黯淡，
四周空气紧，安静似庄严，
唯有甲虫飞，嗡嗡在盘旋，
昏昏铃铛响，远处羊群安。
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
唯有在那边，高塔青藤满，
忧郁猫头鹰，对月发怨言，
怪他游荡近，冲撞其闺苑，
多年独处惯，如今遭冒犯。
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
嶙峋榆树下，紫杉投影暗，
堆堆腐朽上，草皮波浪翻，
各有狭窄间，永远躺里面，
小村粗鄙祖，其中享安眠。
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
清晨呼吸甜，微风轻轻唤，
草泥窝巢边，燕子声呢喃，
雄鸡嘹亮啼，猎人号角喧，
地下床上人，不可使其站。
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.
熊熊壁炉火，不再为其燃，
傍晚无家妇，忙碌弄衣饭，
亦无子女跑，咬舌念父返，
为得久盼吻，纷纷膝上攀。
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!
每当收获季，镰到庄稼断，
土地任硬顽，犁至土垄翻，
田中驱牛马，劳作何其欢，
挥斧奋力砍，众树把腰弯！
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.
此等劳作用，平凡喜乐欢，
无名人生路，雄心切勿叹，
穷人故事短，记录亦简单，
伟大听后笑，勿将鄙夷含。
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
家族地位显，权力盛极观，
美貌与财富，眷顾纵无边，
唯有那一时，无人可豁免，
繁华荣耀路，坟茔是终点。
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.
汝等骄傲人，见此勿刁难，
坟头缺碑像，无法引怀念，
教堂甬道长，雕花穹顶间，
圣歌响亮久，赞美曲调满。
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?
棺椁雕生平，塑像留容颜，
魂魄悠悠去，能召回身转？
荣勋若有声，可引骨灰言？
死亡冷漠耳，颂赞岂可安？
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.
在此荒僻地，何人埋其间？
其心或充满，浩荡天国焰，
其手或可揽，帝国权杖杆，
或令世间琴，激情乐曲翻。
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.
知识有万卷，卷卷充盈满，
时光所收揽，未展于其眼，
穷窘寒风吹，壮志热情减，
雄心滔滔水，冰冻流不前。
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.
几多珠玉奇，葳蕤柔光闪，
惜埋深海里，万丈洞窟暗，
几多鲜花艳，独放无人看，
沙漠空气中，芬芳徒消散。
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.
村中汉普登，勇武胸有胆，
当地小暴君，抗命他自敢。
无名弥尔顿，默默此地眠，
或称克伦威，护国血不沾。
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,
陈词国是院，言毕掌声喧，
痛苦与灾难，视之如等闲，
财货钱粮散，河山尽开颜，
举国众目下，丰功伟绩念。
Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their glowing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
命运未如此：非仅此遭蹇，
德行故难展，罪恶亦受限：
得免沃鲜血，杀戮通王权，
人间慈悲门，不会顺手关。
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.
真理了然胸，藏之痛苦翻，
耻辱自发起，难消羞涩颜，
缪斯圣火焰，点点熏香燃，
骄奢祭坛前，齐齐堆放满。
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 tenor of their way.
尘嚣何纷繁，争斗何微贱，
静心又节欲，矢志尘争远。
命中离世谷，从之清凉泛，
寂寂正道持，一生不违偏。
Yet ev'n 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.
枯骨虽平凡，不可任笑谈，
简朴碑与像，树立在旁边，
词句笨且拙，雕塑形难堪，
却把路人唤，且为轻声叹。
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.
粗陋缪斯刻，姓名生卒年，
事迹挽歌缺，空在内容换：
其中她涂写，诸多圣经卷，
生死诸道理，教与乡村汉。
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 ling'ring look behind?
沉默遗忘川，跌入故难免，
此生忧乐兼，放弃在一旦，
离开温暖界，辞去白日欢，
谁人不缠绵，怅惘回首看？
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires.
魂魄虽已去，犹赖热心肩，
若无字几行，死者难闭眼；
即从坟墓里，灵魂出声喊，
即在我灰中，其火惯常燃。
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,
死者虽平凡，君不视等闲，
以诗句行行，讲故事寡淡，
设若有一天，孤寂冥想牵，
有心类君者，将君命运探，
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.
白头乡村汉，或作如是言：
黎明头初探，我常将他见，
急急脚步赶，晨露尽踏翻，
高坡草地去，为会太阳面。
'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.
远处山毛榉，弯弯树下边，
古老奇异根，高高盘花环，
近午身体倦，他常躺伸展，
小河汩汩流，凝视眼不转。

'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
那边小树林，他常漫游遍，
有时笑带讽，奇思成喃喃，
有时低头哀，孤寂状悲惨，
或为思虑狂，或为失恋叹。
'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
清晨惯去山，一溜树丛边，
最爱大树旁，我未将他见；
又一清晨到，未在小溪前，
坡上草地无，也不在林间。
'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:'
翌晨哀乐响，支支悲痛挽，
遂见抬其棺，经过教堂缓。
那边老棘下，石上刻题款，
君当能识字，请君上前念：
THE EPITAPH.
墓志铭
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.120
地母膝弯上，青年把头放，
一生未聚财，亦未名声扬。
出身诚微贱，学识未弃放，
忧郁关注他，引为知己样。
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
灵魂既真诚，心胸且大方，
上天详体察，亦遣同样偿：
一滴苦眼泪，尽数付悲伤，
上天赐一友，正为他所望。
No farther seek his merits to disclose,125
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
德操或尚有，缺陷又何妨，
何必深处寻，皆已入大荒，
（到此无所异，唯愿安息躺，）
天父上帝胸，其中得安详。

墓园派诗人托马斯·格雷是18世纪的英国诗歌大家，其代表作《墓园挽歌》常被解读为“感伤主义”的代表作。诗中描绘了一种静谧 、闲适的农村田园生活，表现出诗人超然豁达的生死观和淡泊名利的人生态度 ，其严谨的格式更展现出无穷的韵律美。用诗歌叹尽死亡的真谛。
Thomas Gray - Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard《墓地挽歌》 双语中英对照：
沉沉暮钟鸣，霭霭白日远，
牛群哞哞吟，草上逶迤缓，
犁人步履艰，疲惫把家返，
此世唯留下，黑暗作我伴。
山水方明灭，此时渐黯淡，
四周空气紧，安静似庄严，
唯有甲虫飞，嗡嗡在盘旋，
昏昏铃铛响，远处羊群安。
唯有在那边，高塔青藤满，
忧郁猫头鹰，对月发怨言，
怪他游荡近，冲撞其闺苑，
多年独处惯，如今遭冒犯。
嶙峋榆树下，紫杉投影暗，
堆堆腐朽上，草皮波浪翻，
各有狭窄间，永远躺里面，
小村粗鄙祖，其中享安眠。
清晨呼吸甜，微风轻轻唤，
草泥窝巢边，燕子声呢喃，
雄鸡嘹亮啼，猎人号角喧，
地下床上人，不可使其站。
熊熊壁炉火，不再为其燃，
傍晚无家妇，忙碌弄衣饭，
亦无子女跑，咬舌念父返，
为得久盼吻，纷纷膝上攀。
每当收获季，镰到庄稼断，
土地任硬顽，犁至土垄翻，
田中驱牛马，劳作何其欢，
挥斧奋力砍，众树把腰弯！
此等劳作用，平凡喜乐欢，
无名人生路，雄心切勿叹，
穷人故事短，记录亦简单，
伟大听后笑，勿将鄙夷含。
家族地位显，权力盛极观，
美貌与财富，眷顾纵无边，
唯有那一时，无人可豁免，
繁华荣耀路，坟茔是终点。
汝等骄傲人，见此勿刁难，
坟头缺碑像，无法引怀念，
教堂甬道长，雕花穹顶间，
圣歌响亮久，赞美曲调满。
棺椁雕生平，塑像留容颜，
魂魄悠悠去，能召回身转？
荣勋若有声，可引骨灰言？
死亡冷漠耳，颂赞岂可安？
在此荒僻地，何人埋其间？
其心或充满，浩荡天国焰，
其手或可揽，帝国权杖杆，
或令世间琴，激情乐曲翻。
知识有万卷，卷卷充盈满，
时光所收揽，未展于其眼，
穷窘寒风吹，壮志热情减，
雄心滔滔水，冰冻流不前。
几多珠玉奇，葳蕤柔光闪，
惜埋深海里，万丈洞窟暗，
几多鲜花艳，独放无人看，
沙漠空气中，芬芳徒消散。
村中汉普登，勇武胸有胆，
当地小暴君，抗命他自敢。
无名弥尔顿，默默此地眠，
或称克伦威，护国血不沾。
陈词国是院，言毕掌声喧，
痛苦与灾难，视之如等闲，
财货钱粮散，河山尽开颜，
举国众目下，丰功伟绩念。
命运未如此：非仅此遭蹇，
德行故难展，罪恶亦受限：
得免沃鲜血，杀戮通王权，
人间慈悲门，不会顺手关。
真理了然胸，藏之痛苦翻，
耻辱自发起，难消羞涩颜，
缪斯圣火焰，点点熏香燃，
骄奢祭坛前，齐齐堆放满。
尘嚣何纷繁，争斗何微贱，
静心又节欲，矢志尘争远。
命中离世谷，从之清凉泛，
寂寂正道持，一生不违偏。
枯骨虽平凡，不可任笑谈，
简朴碑与像，树立在旁边，
词句笨且拙，雕塑形难堪，
却把路人唤，且为轻声叹。
粗陋缪斯刻，姓名生卒年，
事迹挽歌缺，空在内容换：
其中她涂写，诸多圣经卷，
生死诸道理，教与乡村汉。
沉默遗忘川，跌入故难免，
此生忧乐兼，放弃在一旦，
离开温暖界，辞去白日欢，
谁人不缠绵，怅惘回首看？
魂魄虽已去，犹赖热心肩，
若无字几行，死者难闭眼；
即从坟墓里，灵魂出声喊，
即在我灰中，其火惯常燃。
死者虽平凡，君不视等闲，
以诗句行行，讲故事寡淡，
设若有一天，孤寂冥想牵，
有心类君者，将君命运探，
白头乡村汉，或作如是言：
黎明头初探，我常将他见，
急急脚步赶，晨露尽踏翻，
高坡草地去，为会太阳面。
远处山毛榉，弯弯树下边，
古老奇异根，高高盘花环，
近午身体倦，他常躺伸展，
小河汩汩流，凝视眼不转。
那边小树林，他常漫游遍，
有时笑带讽，奇思成喃喃，
有时低头哀，孤寂状悲惨，
或为思虑狂，或为失恋叹。
清晨惯去山，一溜树丛边，
最爱大树旁，我未将他见；
又一清晨到，未在小溪前，
坡上草地无，也不在林间。
翌晨哀乐响，支支悲痛挽，
遂见抬其棺，经过教堂缓。
那边老棘下，石上刻题款，
君当能识字，请君上前念：
墓志铭
地母膝弯上，青年把头放，
一生未聚财，亦未名声扬。
出身诚微贱，学识未弃放，
忧郁关注他，引为知己样。
灵魂既真诚，心胸且大方，
上天详体察，亦遣同样偿：
一滴苦眼泪，尽数付悲伤，
上天赐一友，正为他所望。
德操或尚有，缺陷又何妨，
何必深处寻，皆已入大荒，
（到此无所异，唯愿安息躺，）
天父上帝胸，其中得安详。

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 tow'r
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring 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 twitt'ring 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 pow'r,
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 Flatt'ry 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 forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their glowing 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 learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet ev'n 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 ling'ring look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n 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,
Mutt'ring 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 fav'rite 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 frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.120
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,125
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.