Ode on a Grecian Urn

John Keats


Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legendhaunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heiferlowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
--May 1819

希臘古甕頌



你委身「寂靜」的、完美的處子，
受過了「沉默」和「悠久」的撫育，
呵，田園的史家，你竟能鋪敘
一個如花的故事，比詩還瑰麗：
在你的形體上，豈非繚繞著
古老的傳說，以綠葉為其邊緣；
講著人，或神，敦陂或阿卡狄？
呵，是怎樣的人，或神！在舞樂前
多熱烈的追求！少女怎樣地逃躲！
怎樣的風笛和鼓謠！怎樣的狂喜！

聽見的樂聲雖好，但若聽不見
卻更美；所以，吹吧，柔情的風笛；
不是奏給耳朵聽，而是更甜，
它給靈魂奏出無聲的樂曲；
樹下的美少年呵，你無法中斷
你的歌，那樹木也落不了葉子；
鹵莽的戀人，你永遠、永遠吻不上，
雖然夠接近了——但不必心酸；
她不會老，雖然你不能如願以償，
你將永遠愛下去，她也永遠秀麗！

呵，幸福的樹木！你的枝葉
不會剝落，從不曾離開春天；
幸福的吹笛人也不會停歇，
他的歌曲永遠是那麼新鮮；
呵，更為幸福的、幸福的愛！
永遠熱烈，正等待情人宴饗，
永遠熱情地心跳，永遠年輕；
幸福的是這一切超凡的情態：
它不會使心靈饜足和悲傷，
沒有熾熱的頭腦，焦渴的嘴唇。

這些人是誰呵，都去趕祭祀？
這作犧牲的小牛，對天鳴叫，
你要牽它到哪兒，神秘的祭司？
花環綴滿著它光滑的身腰。
是從哪個傍河傍海的小鎮，
或哪個靜靜的堡寨山村，
來了這些人，在這敬神的清早？
呵，小鎮，你的街道永遠恬靜；
再也不可能回來一個靈魂
告訴人你何以是這麼寂寥。

哦，希臘的形狀！唯美的觀照！
上面綴有石雕的男人和女人，
還有林木，和踐踏過的青草；
沉默的形體呵，你像是「永恆」
使人超越思想：呵，冰冷的牧歌！
等暮年使這一世代都凋落，
只有你如舊；在另外的一些
憂傷中，你會撫慰後人說：
「美即是真，真即是美，」這就包括
你們所知道、和該知道的一切。


查良錚 譯


這是我最喜歡的詩歌之一了，喜歡它的哲理和禪味，
心情不好的時候，讀讀詩歌，會好很多，呵