雙語(yǔ)·英美愛(ài)情詩(shī)歌選 114　烏鴉

114. The Raven

——E. A. Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary,

While I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious

Volume of forgotten lore;

While I nodded, nearly napping,

Suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping——

Rapping at my chamber-door.

“'Tis some visitor,”I muttered,

“Tapping at my chamber-door;

Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember,

It was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember

Wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;

Vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow——

Sorrow for the lost Lenore——

For the rare and radiant maiden

Whom the angels name Lenore——

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain

Rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me——filled me with fantastic

Terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating

Of my heart, I stood repeating,

“'Tis some visitor entreating

Entrance at my chamber-door;

This it is, and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger;

Hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,”said I,“or, Madam, truly

Your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is, I was napping,

And so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping——

Tapping at my chamber-door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”:

Here I opened wide the door:——

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering,

Long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals

Ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken,

And the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken

Was the whispered word“Lenore!”

This I whispered, and an echo

Murmured back the word“Lenore!”

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning,

All my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping

Something louder than before.

“Surely,”said I,“surely that is

Something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is,

And this mystery explore——

Let my heart be still a moment,

And this mystery explore;

Tis the wind, and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter,

When, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven

Of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he;

Not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady,

Perched above my chamber-door——

Perched upon a bust of Pallas

Just above my chamber-door——

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling

My sad fancy into smiling

By the grave and stern decorum

Of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,

Thou,”I said,“art sure no craven,

Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven,

Wandering from the Nightly shore;

Tell me what thy lordly name is

On the Night's Plutonian shore.”

Quoth the Raven,“Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly

Fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning

Little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing

That no living human being

Ever yet was blessed

With seeing bird above his chamber door

Bird or beast upon the sculptured

Bust above his chamber-door,

With such name as“Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on

That placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul

In that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered——

Not a feather then he fluttered——

Till I scarcely more than muttered,

“Other friends have flown before——

On the morrow he will leave me,

As my hopes have flown before.”

Then the bird said,“Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken

By reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,”said I,

“What it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy

Master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster

Till his songs one burden bore——

Till the dirges of his Hope

The melancholy burden bore

Of‘Never——nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling

All my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat

In front of bird, and bust, and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking,

I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking

What this ominous bird of yore——

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly,

Gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking“Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing,

But no syllable expressing

To the fowl, whose fiery eye

Now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining,

With my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining

That the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining

With the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser,

Perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by seraphim whose footfalls

Tinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,”I cried,“thy God hath lent thee——

By these angels he hath sent thee

Respite——respite and nepenthe,

From thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh, quaff this kind Nepenthe,

And forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven,“Nevermore.”

“Prophet!”said I,“thing of evil!——

Prophet still, if bird or devil!——

Whether tempter sent, or whether

Tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate, yet all undaunted,

On this desert land enchanted——

On this home by Horror haunted——

Tell me truly, I implore——

Is there——is there balm in Gilead?——

Tell me, tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Raven,“Nevermore.”

“Prophet!”said I,“thing of evil!——

Prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that heaven that bends above us——

By that God we both adore——

Tell this soul, with sorrow laden,

If within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden

Whom the angels name Lenore?”

Quoth the Raven,“Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting,

Bird or fiend!”I shrieked, upstarting——

“Get thee back into the tempest

And the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token

Of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!——

Quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart,

And take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Raven,“Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting,

Still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas,

Just above my chamber-door;

And his eyes have all the seeming

Of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming

Throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow

That lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted——nevermore!