eaven,

That very blackness yet doth fling

Light on the lightning's silver wing.

For, being an idle boy lang syne,

Who read Anacreon, and drank wine,

I early found Anacreon rhymes

Were almost passionate sometimes—

And by strange alchemy of brain

His pleasures always turn'd to pain—

His naivete to wild desire—

His wit to love—his wine to fire—

And so, being young and dipt in folly

I fell in love with melancholy,

And used to throw my earthly rest

And quiet all away in jest—

I could not love except where Death

Was mingling his with Beauty's breath—

Or Hymen, Time, and Destiny

Were stalking between her and me.

O, then the eternal Condor years

So shook the very Heavens on high,

With tumult as they thunder'd by;

I had no time for idle cares,

Thro' gazing on the unquiet sky!

Or if an hour with calmer wing

Its down did on my spirit fling,

That little hour with lyre and rhyme

To while away—forbidden thing!

My heart half fear'd to be a crime

Unless it trembled with the string.

But now my soul hath too much room—

Gone are the glory and the gloom—

The black hath mellow'd into grey,

And all the fires are fading away.

My draught of passion hath been deep—

I revell'd, and I now would sleep—

And after-drunkenness of soul

Succeeds the glories of the bowl—

An idle longing night and day

To dream my very life away.

But dreams—of those who dream as I,

Aspiringly, are damned, and die:

Yet should I swear I mean alone,

By notes so very shrilly blown,

To break upon Time's monotone,

While yet my vapid joy and grief

Are tintless of the yellow leaf—

Why not an imp the greybeard hath,

Will shake his shadow in my path—

And even the greybeard will o'erlook

Connivingly my dreaming-book.

(1831)

序 曲①

传奇，它喜欢打盹和唱歌,

耷拉着脑袋，把双翅叠合，

在青翠的树叶中，当树叶摇晃

在远方某个影子一般的湖上，

它对我是一只斑斓的鹦鹉，

一直是——一只最熟悉的鸟——

它曾教我开口牙牙学语——

曾教我吟出最初的诗句，

当我仰身躺在野外树林，

一个孩子——有双最聪明的眼睛。

后来一些年，对诗来说太吵，

隆隆滚过就像热带的风暴，

那儿，穿过太华丽的光，

那闪过忧虑的天空消失的光，

穿过雷电撕碎的记忆，赤裸裸

躺着整个天空的一片黑色，

可是那一团漆黑依然把光

投射到闪光那银色的翅膀。

因为，当我还是个闲散的稚童，

爱喝美酒，爱读阿那克