Percy Bysshe Shelley - Ode to the West Wind 汉译

 

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O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being  

Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead  

Are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,  

 

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,  

Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thou         

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed  

 

The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,  

Each like a corpse within its grave, until  

Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow  

 

Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill  

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)  

With living hues and odours plain and hill;  

 

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;  

Destroyer and preserver; hear, O hear!  

 

II 

 

Thou on whose stream, ‘mid the steep sky’s commotion,  

Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed,  

Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean,  

 

Angels of rain and lightning! there are spread  

On the blue surface of thine airy surge,  

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 

 

Of some fierce Mænad, even from the dim verge  

Of the horizon to the zenith’s height,  

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge  

 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night  

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,  

Vaulted with all thy congregated might  

 

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere  

Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: O hear!  

 

III

 

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams  

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,

Lull’d by the coil of his crystàlline streams,  

 

Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ’s bay,  

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers  

Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,  

 

All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers   35

So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou  

For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers  

 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below  

The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear  

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know  

 

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,  

And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!  

 

IV

 

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;  

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;  

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 

  

The impulse of thy strength, only less free  

Than thou, O uncontrollable! if even  

I were as in my boyhood, and could be  

 

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,  

As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed  

Scarce seem’d a vision—I would ne’er have striven  

 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.  

O! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!  

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!   

 

A heavy weight of hours has chain’d and bow’d 

One too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud.   

 

V

 

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:  

What if my leaves are falling like its own?  

The tumult of thy mighty harmonies  

 

Will take from both a deep autumnal tone,  

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,  

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!  

 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,  

Like wither’d leaves, to quicken a new birth;  

And, by the incantation of this verse,

 

Scatter, as from an unextinguish’d hearth  

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!  

Be through my lips to unawaken’d earth  

 

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,  

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

 

1819