William Blake
天真之歌（songs of innocence）
This article is about the William Blake poem. For other uses, see Lamb (disambiguation)
Blake's illustration of "The Lamb"
"The Lamb" is a poem by William Blake, published in Songs of Innocence in 1789. Like many of Blake's works, the poem is about Christianity.
Background
Like the other Songs of Innocence and Experience, The Lamb was intended to be sung; William Blake's original melody is now lost. It was made into a song by Vaughan Williams. It was also set to music by Sir John Tavener, who explained, "The Lamb came to me fully grown and was written in an afternoon and dedicated to my nephew Simon for his 3rd birthday." American poet Allen Ginsberg set the poem to music, along with several other of Blake's poems.[1]
The Lamb can be compared to a more grandiose Blake poem: The Tyger in Songs of Experience. Critical analysis suggests that both poems, "The Lamb" and "The Tyger," question the Christian belief that God is good; if God is responsible for creating both the good things in life (the lamb) and the evil things (the tyger), how can God be good and moral?[original research?]
The lamb in the poem may be compared to Jesus Christ, who is also known as "The Lamb of God".[2]
Poetic structure
This poem has a simple rhyme scheme : AA BB CC DD AA AA EF DD FE AA
The layout is set up by two stanzas with the refrain: "Little Lamb who made thee?/Dost thou know who made thee?"
In the first stanza, the speaker wonders who the lamb's creator is; the answer lies at the e
nd of the poem. Here we find a physical description of the lamb, seen as a pure and gentle creature.
In the second stanza, the lamb is compared with the infant Jesus, as well as between the lamb and the speaker's soul. In the last two lines the speaker identifies the creator: God.
Holy Thursday (Songs of Innocence)
Holy Thursday is a poem by William Blake, from his book of poems Songs of Innocence. (There is also a Holy Thursday poem in Songs of Experience, which contrasts this song.)
The poem depicts a religious event carried on on a Holy Thursday, in which rows of clean children dressed in cheerful clothes walk into Saint Paul cathedral in a sort of procession, guided by beadles. Citizens of London town, including the aged man, sit and observe the ceremony while thousands of little boys and girls elevate their hands and a song is raised to Heaven.
The poem is a criticism of the Foundling Hospital. Orphans at the hospital would be clean
ed and marched annually to Saint Paul cathedral to sing. This was seen as a treat for the orphans. The bleak reality of their lives is depicted in Holy Thursday (Songs of Experience).
The Chimney Sweeper is the title of two poems by William Blake, published in Songs of Innocence in 1789 and Songs of Experience in 1794.[1] In the earlier poem, a young chimney sweeper recounts a dream had by one of his fellows, in which an angel rescues the boys from coffins and takes them to a sunny meadow; in the later poem, an apparently adult speaker encounters a child chimney sweeper abandoned in the snow while his parents are at church.
The Poems
Songs of Innocence
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."
And so he was quiet; and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, -
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.
And by came an angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins and set them all free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.
Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;
And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.
And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,
And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm;
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.
经验之歌(Songs of Experience)（1）
2010年01月12日 星期二 上午 09:41
Introduction
Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who Present, Past, & Future sees
Whose ears have heard,
The Holy Word,
That walk'd among the ancient trees.
Calling the lapsed Soul
And weeping in the evening dew:
That might control,
The starry pole;
And fallen fallen light renew!
O Earth O Earth return!
Arise from out the dewy grass;
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the slumberous mass,
Turn away no more:
Why wilt thou turn away
The starry floor
The watry shore
Is giv'n thee till the break of day.
经验之歌序诗
听那行吟诗人的声音！
他看见现在、过去和未来。
他的耳朵听得见
那神圣的字眼
漫步在那古老的树林间。
呼唤那堕落的灵魂，
并且在夜晚的露珠中流泪；
也许可以支配
那灿烂的星座
又重新洒下、洒下光辉！
哦，大地！哦，大地醒来！
从那露珠沾湿的草地上升；
夜晚已消逝，
而黎明
从那困倦的人中起身。
不要再转身离去
你为什么要转身离去
那星光闪闪照射的地面
那湿漉漉的海岸
都给予了你，直至晨曦。
Earth's Answer
Earth rais'd up her head,
From the darkness dread & drear.
Her light fled:
Stony dread!
And her locks cover'd with grey despair.
Prison'd on watry shore
Starry jealousy does keep my tent
Cold and hoar
Weeping o'er
I hear the Father of the ancient men
Selfish father of men
Cruel jealous selfish fear
Can delight
Chain'd in night
The virgins of youth and morning bear.
Does spring hide its joy
When buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower?
Sow by night?
Or the plowman in darkness plow?
Break this heavy chain,
That does freeze my bones around
Selfish! vain!
Eternal bane!
That free Love with bondage bound.
大地的回答
大地抬起她的头，
从那可怕又阴郁的黑暗中抬起，
她的光辉已遁去：
僵硬的恐惧！
她的鬈发被灰灰的绝望遮蔽。
监禁在湿漉漉的海岸
繁星的嫉妒将我的小窝保存
冷酷又灰白
哭泣着走来
我听见古老人类的父亲
残酷的嫉妒的自私的胆战心惊
能够使得
在夜里锁着的
青春的处女与晨星欢欣，
春天可曾掩饰它的欢乐
当花苞和花朵都在成长？
播种者呢？
可在夜里播种？
或者庄稼汉也在夜间耕种？
打开这沉重的锁链，
它把我的周身骨头冻僵
自私！虚荣！
永久的灭亡！
将捆绑的爱情解放。
The Clod & the Pebble
Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.
So sang a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattles feet:
But a Pebble of the brook,
Warbled out these metres meet.
Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight:
Joys in anothers loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.
泥块和小石子
爱情并不想讨它的欢欣，
对它自己也丝毫不挂心；
只是为了别人才舍弃安宁，
在地狱的绝望中建立一座天庭。
一块小泥巴就这样唱着，
它被牛羊踩来踩去；
但是溪流里有一块小石子，
它用颤音唱出了合拍的诗句。
爱情只想讨它自己的欢欣，
随心所欲地去束缚别人：
他看到别人失去安宁就高兴，
建立一座地狱来对抗天庭。
Holy Thursday
Is this a holy thing to see,
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns.
It is eternal winter there.
For where-e'er the sun does shine,
And where-e'er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.
升天节
这难道是件神圣的事情，
在一个富饶的地方，
婴儿干瘦得十分凄惨，
竟让那冰冷的放债的手来喂养？
那颤抖的叫声可算是支歌？
它难道能是一曲欢快的歌唱？
还有那么多的穷苦孩子？
那原来是个穷瘠的地方！
他们的太阳永远不会发光。
他们的田野是光秃秃的一片荒原。
他们的道路荆棘丛生，
那里就是永无止境的冬天。
因为只要哪里有阳光照耀，
只要哪里会降下甘霖：
婴儿就不会在那里挨饿，
贫穷也不会威吓心灵。
The Little Girl Lost
In futurity
I prophetic see,
That the earth from sleep,
(Grave the sentence deep)
Shall arise and seek
For her maker meek:
And the desart wild
Become a garden mild.
In the southern clime,
Where the summers prime,
Never fades away;
Lovely Lyca lay.
Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told,
She had wanderd long,
Hearing wild birds song.
Sweet sleep come to me
Underneath this tree;
Do father, mother weep.—
Where can Lyca sleep.
Lost in desart wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep,
If her mother weep.
If her heart does ake,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.
Frowning frowning night,
O'er this desart bright,
Let thy moon arise,
While I close my eyes.
Sleeping Lyca lay;
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
View'd the maid asleep
The kingly lion stood
And the virgin view'd,
Then he gambold round
O'er the hallowd ground;
小女孩的迷失
在未来的时日
我预先看到，宛如先知，
大地从睡眠中苏醒，
（把这句话牢牢记在心）
将起身去寻觅
她和善的上帝：
那一片荒凉的沙漠
将变成温暖的花园一座。
在南方的地区
那里盛夏的时光，
永远不会消逝；
可爱的丽嘉躺卧在那方。
七个夏天已度过，
可爱的丽嘉说，
她一直在游荡
听着那野鸟歌唱。
甜蜜的睡眠来我吧
就在这棵树下；
爸爸妈妈会不会流泪——
“丽嘉能在哪儿安睡？”
你们的小孩子
在荒凉的沙漠中迷失。
丽嘉怎么能安睡，
若是她妈妈在流泪。
若是妈妈在心疼，
那就让丽嘉仍清醒；
若是我的妈妈在安睡，
丽嘉也就不会流泪。
愁苦的愁苦的黑夜啊
笼罩着这明亮的荒野，
让你的月亮升起，
当我把我的眼睛禁闭。
当丽嘉躺卧着安眠
从深深的山洞里面
许多猛兽跑出来
观察着这熟睡的女孩。
狮王站在那里
观察着这个童女，
然后他来回跳跃嬉戏
在这块神圣的土地：
豹子
豹子、老虎也在玩耍，
就在她身边围绕；
这时那只年长的狮子
垂下他那一头金的鬃毛，
便舔着她的胸膛，
他的眼睛灼灼有光，
流出红宝石般的眼泪，
滴落在她的颈项上；
这时母狮也来到身旁，
song松开她纤细的衣裳，
它们把这熟睡的女孩
赤裸裸地搬到洞里来。
The Little Girl Found
All the night in woe,
Lyca's parents go:
Over vallies deep,
While the desarts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan:
Arm in arm seven days,
They trac'd the desart ways.
Seven nights they sleep,
Among shadows deep:
And dream they see their child
Starv'd in desart wild.
Pale thro' pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famish'd, weeping, weak
With hollow piteous shriek
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman prest,
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
In his arms he bore,
Her arm'd with sorrow sore;
Till before their way,
A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain,
Soon his heavy mane,
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk'd around,
Smelling to his prey.
But their fears allay,
When he licks their hands;
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes
Fill'd with deep surprise:
And wondering behold,
A spirit arm'd in gold.
On his head a crown
On his shoulders down,
Flow'd his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
Follow me he said,
Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep,
Lyca lies asleep.
Then they followed,
Where the vision led:
And saw their sleeping child,
Among tygers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell
Nor fear the wolvish howl,
Nor the lions growl.
THE Chimney Sweeper
A little black thing among the snow:
Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
Where are thy father & mother? say?
They are both gone up to the church to pray.
Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil'd among the winter's snow:
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And because I am happy, & dance & sing,
They think they have done me no injury:
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King
Who make up a heaven of our misery.
扫烟囱孩子
风雪里一个满身乌黑的小东西
“扫呀，扫呀”在那里哭哭啼啼！
“你的爹娘上哪儿去了，你讲讲？”
“他们呀都去祷告了，上了教堂。
“因为我原先在野地里欢欢喜喜，
我在冬天的雪地里也总是笑嘻嘻，
他们就把我拿晦气的黑衣裳一罩，
他们还教我唱起了悲伤的曲调。
“因为我显得快活，还唱歌，还跳舞，
他们就以为并没有把我害苦，
就跑去赞美了上帝、教士和国王，
夸他们拿我们苦难造成了天堂。”
Nurse's Song
When the voices of children, are heard on the green
And whisprings are in the dale:
The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green and pale.
Then come home my children, the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise
Your spring & your day, are wasted in play
And your winter and night in disguise.
The Sick Rose
O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
病玫瑰
噢玫瑰，你病了！
那无形的飞虫
乘着黑夜飞来了
在风暴呼号中。
到了你的床
钻进红的欢欣；
他的黑暗而隐秘的爱
毁了你的生命。
The Fly
Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink & sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath:
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
苍蝇
小苍蝇，
你夏天的游戏
给我的手
无心地抹去。
我岂不象你
是一只苍蝇？
你岂不象我
是一个人？
因为我跳舞，
又饮又唱，
直到一只盲手
抹掉我的翅膀。
如果思想是生命
呼吸和力量，
思想的缺乏
便等于死亡，
那么我就是
一只快活的苍蝇，
无论是死，
无论是生。
The Angel
I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen:
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe, was ne'er beguil'd!
And I wept both night and day
And he wip'd my tears away
And I wept both day and night
And hid from him my hearts delight
So he took his wings and fled:
Then the morn blush'd rosy red:
I dried my tears & armed my fears,
With ten thousand shields and spears,
Soon my Angel came again;
I was arm'd, he came in vain:
For the time of youth was fled
And grey hairs were on my head.
The Tyger
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
老虎
老虎！老虎！黑夜的森林中
燃烧着的煌煌的火光，
是怎样的神手或天眼
造出了你这样的威武堂堂？
你炯炯的两眼中的火
燃烧在多远的天空或深渊？
他乘着怎样的翅膀搏击？
用怎样的手夺来火焰？
又是怎样的膂力，怎样的技巧，
把你的心脏的筋肉捏成？
当你的心脏开始搏动时，
使用怎样猛的手腕和脚胫？
是怎样的槌？怎样的链子？
在怎样的熔炉中炼成你的脑筋？
是怎样的铁砧？怎样的铁臂
敢于捉着这可怖的凶神？
星投下了他们的投。
用它们的眼泪润湿了穹苍，
他是否微笑着欣赏他的作品？
他创造了你，也创造了羔羊？
老虎！老虎！黑夜的森林中
燃烧着的煌煌的火光，
是怎样的神手或天眼
造出了你这样的威武堂堂？
My Pretty ROSE TREE
A flower was offerd to me;
Such a flower as May never bore.
But I said I've a Pretty Rose-tree:
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree;
To tend her by day and by night.
But my Rose turnd away with jealousy:
And her thorns were my only delight.
我漂亮的玫瑰树
有人送我一朵花，
五月里从没有这样的花。
但我说我有一棵漂亮的玫瑰树，
我就把这多可爱的花还给他。
然后我去看我漂亮的玫瑰树：
白天黑夜把她好好照应。
但我的玫瑰却嫉妒得掉头不顾；
而她的刺却成了我惟一的欢欣。

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