求hymn to the night,the secret of the sea,this is my letter to the world,I hear American singing 诗诗评

求hymn to the night,the secret of the sea,this is my letter to the world,I hear American singing 诗诗评
求hymn to the night,the secret of the sea,this is my letter to the world,I hear American singing 诗
诗评

求hymn to the night,the secret of the sea,this is my letter to the world,I hear American singing 诗诗评
猎人感言：在常人眼里夜晚是罪恶发生之时,所谓“月黑杀人夜”；是鬼魂出没之际,如hamlet中其父王之显灵.而中文诗歌中则鲜有对黑夜的歌颂!可是在longfellow笔下,黑夜却如此美丽动人：
　　hymn to the night黑夜赞歌 -henry wadswOrth longfellow
　　i heard the trailing garments of the night
　　sweep through her marble halls!
　　i saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
　　from the celestial walls!
　　黑夜拖曳着衣裾,
　　扫过她大理石的殿堂!
　　来自天幕的光,
　　将她黑裙的边绣成穗状!
　　i felt her presence,by its spell of might,
　　stoop o'er me from above；
　　the calm,majestic presence of the night,
　　as of the one i love.
　　我感到她的出现,因她符咒般的力量,
　　从天空俯于我身上.
　　黑夜降临,平静而端庄,
　　一如我钟爱的姑娘.
　　i heard the sounds of sOrrow And delight,
　　the manifold, soft chimes,
　　that fill the haunted chambers of the night
　　like some old poet's rhymes.
　　我听到声音－有喜悦有忧伤,
　　温柔和谐,多种多样,
　　如古老诗歌的韵律,
　　在黑夜鬼魂出没的房间回荡.
　　from the cool cisterns of the midnight air
　　my spirit drank repose；
　　the fountain of perpetual peace flows there,--
　　from those deep cisterns flows.
　　自午夜空中清凉的水池,
　　我的灵魂畅饮修眠.
　　那些深深的水池中,
　　流淌着永久平静的清泉.
　　o holy night! from thee i learn to bear
　　what man has bOrne befOre!
　　thou layest thy finger on the lips of care,
　　And they complain no mOre.
　　啊,神圣的黑夜!从你处我学会容忍,
　　容前人能容之事!
　　你把手指放在柔软的唇上,
　　而它们不抱怨,不声张.
　　peace! peace! Orestes-like i breathe this prayer!
　　descend with broad-winged flight,
　　the welcome, the thrice-prayed fOr, the most fair,
　　the best-beloved night!
　　安静!安静!像俄瑞斯忒斯那样,我祈求上苍!
　　寂静如鸟儿收翅缓缓从天降,
　　欢迎你,我三次祈祷,
　　把最美丽最心爱的黑夜颂扬!
　　(注：Orestes【希腊神话】agamemnon与clytemnestra子, electra之弟,
　　弑母及其情夫以报父仇)
　　Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me
　　As I gaze upon the sea!
　　All the old romantic legends,
　　All my dreams, come back to me.
　　Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,
　　Such as gleam in ancient lore;
　　And the singing of the sailors,
　　And the answer from the shore!
　　Most of all, the Spanish ballad
　　haunts me oft, and tarries long,
　　Of the noble Count Arnaldos
　　And the sailor's mystic song.
　　Like the long waves on a sea-beach,
　　Where the sand as silver Shines,
　　With a soft, monotonous cadence,
　　flow its unrhymed lyric lines;
　　Telling how the Count Arnaldos,
　　With his hawk upon his hand,
　　Saw a fair and stately galley,
　　Steering onward to the land;
　　How he heard the ancient helmsman
　　Chant a song so wild and clear,
　　That the sailing sea-bird slowly
　　Poised upon the mast to hear.
　　Till his soul was full of longing,
　　And he cried, with impulse strong,
　　"Helmsman, for the love of heaven,
　　Teach me, too, that wondrous song!"
　　"Wouldst thou," so the helmsman answered,
　　"Learn the secret of the sea?
　　Only those brave its dangers
　　Comprehend its mystery!"
　　In each sail it skims the horizon,
　　In each landward-blowing breeze,
　　Till my soul is full of longing
　　I behold that stately galley,
　　Hear those mournful melodies;
　　For the secret of the sea,
　　And the heart of the great ocean
　　Sends a thrilling pulse through me.
　　This is my Letter to the World
　　This is my Letter to the World
　　That never wrote to Me—
　　The simple News that Nature told—
　　With tender Majesty
　　Her Message is committed
　　To hands I can not see—
　　For love of Her—Sweet—countrymen—
　　Judge tenderly—of Me
　　I Hear America singing
　　by Walt Whitman
　　I Hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
　　Those of mechanics--each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
　　The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
　　The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
　　The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat--the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
　　The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench--the hatter singing as he stands;
　　The wood-cutter's song--the ploughboy's, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission,or at sundown;
　　The delicious singing of the mother--or of the young wife at work--or of the girl sewing or washing--Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
　　The day what belongs to the day--At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
　　Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.