英汉互译--------见闻札记选段
From the birth-place of Shakspeare a few paces brought me to his
grave. He lies buried in the chancel of the parish church, a large and
venerable pile, mouldering with age, but richly ornamented. It
stands on the banks of the Avon, on an embowered point, and
separated by adjoining gardens from the suburbs of the town. Its
situation is quiet and retired: the river runs murmuring at the foot
of the churchyard, and the elms which grow upon its banks droop
their branches into its clear bosom.
On returning to my inn, I could not but reflect on the singular gift
of the poet; to be able thus to spread the magic of his mind over
the very face of nature; to give to things and places a charm and
character not their own, and to turn this "working-day world" into a
perfect fairy land. He is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell
operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.
grave. He lies buried in the chancel of the parish church, a large and
venerable pile, mouldering with age, but richly ornamented. It
stands on the banks of the Avon, on an embowered point, and
separated by adjoining gardens from the suburbs of the town. Its
situation is quiet and retired: the river runs murmuring at the foot
of the churchyard, and the elms which grow upon its banks droop
their branches into its clear bosom.
On returning to my inn, I could not but reflect on the singular gift
of the poet; to be able thus to spread the magic of his mind over
the very face of nature; to give to things and places a charm and
character not their own, and to turn this "working-day world" into a
perfect fairy land. He is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell
operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.
Under the wizard influence of Shakspeare I had been walking all day in
a complete delusion. I had surveyed the landscape through the prism of
poetry, which tinged every object with the hues of the rainbow.
As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return, I paused to
contemplate the distant church in which the poet lies buried, and
could not but exult in the malediction, which has kept his ashes
( ) undisturbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults. What honor could his
name have derived from being mingled in dusty companionship with the
epitaphs and escutcheons and venal eulogiums of a titled multitude?
What would a crowded corner in Westminster Abbey have been, compared
with this reverend pile, which seems to stand in beautiful
loneliness as his sole mausoleum! The solicitude about the grave may
be but the offspring of an over-wrought sensibility; but human
nature is made up of foibles and prejudices; and its best and
tenderest affections are mingled with these factitious feelings. He
a complete delusion. I had surveyed the landscape through the prism of
poetry, which tinged every object with the hues of the rainbow.
As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return, I paused to
contemplate the distant church in which the poet lies buried, and
could not but exult in the malediction, which has kept his ashes
( ) undisturbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults. What honor could his
name have derived from being mingled in dusty companionship with the
epitaphs and escutcheons and venal eulogiums of a titled multitude?
What would a crowded corner in Westminster Abbey have been, compared
with this reverend pile, which seems to stand in beautiful
loneliness as his sole mausoleum! The solicitude about the grave may
be but the offspring of an over-wrought sensibility; but human
nature is made up of foibles and prejudices; and its best and
tenderest affections are mingled with these factitious feelings. He
who has sought renown about the world, and has reaped a full harvest
of worldly favor, will find, after all, that there is no love, no
admiration, no applause, so sweet to the soul as that which springs up
in his native place. It is there that he seeks to be gathered in peace
and honor among his kindred and his early friends. And when the
weary heart and failing head begin to warn him that the evening of
life is drawing on, he turns as fondly as does the infant to the
mother's arms, to sink to sleep in the bosom of the scene of his
childhood.
How would it have cheered the spirit of the youthful bard when,
wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world, he cast back a
heavy look upon his paternal home, could he have foreseen that, before
many years, he should return to it covered with renown; that his
name should become the boast and glory of his native place; that his
ashes should be religiously guarded as its most precious treasure; and
of worldly favor, will find, after all, that there is no love, no
admiration, no applause, so sweet to the soul as that which springs up
in his native place. It is there that he seeks to be gathered in peace
and honor among his kindred and his early friends. And when the
weary heart and failing head begin to warn him that the evening of
life is drawing on, he turns as fondly as does the infant to the
mother's arms, to sink to sleep in the bosom of the scene of his
childhood.
How would it have cheered the spirit of the youthful bard when,
wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world, he cast back a
heavy look upon his paternal home, could he have foreseen that, before
many years, he should return to it covered with renown; that his
name should become the boast and glory of his native place; that his
ashes should be religiously guarded as its most precious treasure; and
that its lessening spire, on which his eyes were fixed in tearful
contemplation, should one day become the beacon, towering amidst the
gentle landscape, to guide the literary pilgrim of every nation to his
tomb!
contemplation, should one day become the beacon, towering amidst the
gentle landscape, to guide the literary pilgrim of every nation to his
tomb!
从莎士比亚的出生地再走几步就来到了他的墓前。他葬在教区教堂的圣坛之中，这个巨大而庄严的坟墓本该随着时间的流逝而逐渐腐朽，它却愈加华丽。它矗立于埃文河畔的树木之中，同时毗邻的花园又把它与城郊隔开。它所处的环境宁静而闲适，河水潺潺地流过教堂的墓地，岸边的榆树的纸条低垂伸向明净的水面。
回旅馆的路上，我不禁开始思考诗人非凡的才华，竟能将这种思想神奇地传播到所有自然的表象，并给予事物和地点它们不曾拥有的魅力与特，将这个庸碌的世界化为完美的童话世界。他是位真正的巫师，他的咒语并不作用于感官，而是作用在想象与心灵。在莎士比亚的魔力的影响下，我彻彻底底的在幻觉中漫步了一整天。我透过诗的棱镜游览风景，它为所有的事物都染上了彩虹般的彩。
在归途中穿过埃文河桥的时候，我停下注视着远处埋葬了诗人的教堂，不禁为能让他的遗骨
不受打扰并躺在静静的，神圣的墓地的咒语而欢欣。倘若他的名字混杂在众人的墓志铭、铭牌和阿谀的颂文之中，那还有什么荣耀可言？他被葬在这个庄严的地方，好像这就是他的坟墓，拥有独树一帜的凄美，若是在威斯敏斯特大教堂挤在一个拥挤的小角落里，怎么能与之相比！对葬身之地的担忧也许是出于过分的敏感，但人生来就带有缺点和偏见，人类最美好温柔的感情中也掺杂着这些虚假的感情。人追求功名声望，赢得举世青睐，那他终归会发现只有来自于故乡的热爱，赞美与欢呼对他的灵魂来说才是最甜美的。正是那里，他期盼在亲人及早年的朋友间获得安宁与荣耀。当身心俱疲警告他晚年将至的时候，他会像天真的婴孩一样躺在母亲的臂弯，沉睡在儿时熟悉的地方。
当年轻的吟游诗人满怀屈辱地走入一个前途未卜的世界，他沉痛地回望他的故乡，如果他能预知不出几年他便可以衣锦还乡，他的名字变成故乡的骄傲和荣耀，他的遗骨被当做珍宝一样加以神圣的保卫，他当初含泪凝视的教堂塔尖有天会变成矗立于怡人风景中的灯塔，并且指引着世界各地前来他的墓地的文学朝圣者，他会是多么的欢欣鼓舞啊！
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