拜伦《哀希腊》及各种译本The Isles of GreeceTHEislesofGreece!theislesofGreece!Where burning Sappho loved and sung,Where grew the arts of war and peace,---Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung!Eternal summer gilds them yet,But all, except their sun, is set.The Scian and the Teian muse,The hero's harp, the lover's lute,Have found the fame your shores refuse;Their place of birth alone is muteTo sounds which echo further westThan your sires' "Islands of the Blest."The mountains look on Marathon---And Marathon looks on the sea;And musing there an hour alone,I dream'd that Greece might yet be freeFor, standing on the Persians' grave,I could not deem myself a slave.A king sat on the rocky browWhich looks on sea-born Salamis;And ships, by thousands, lay below,And men in nations;---all were his!He counted them at break of day---And when the sun set, where were they?And where are they? and where art thou,My country? On thy voiceless shoreThe heroic lay is tuneless now---The heroic bosom beats no more!And must thy lyre, so long divine,Degenerate into hands like mine?'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,Though link'd among a fetter'd race,To feel at least a patriot's shame,Even as I sing, suffuse my face;For what is left the poet here?For Greeks a blush---for Greece a tear.Must we but weep o'er days more blest?Must we but blush?---Our fathers bled.Earth! render back from out thy breastA remnant of our Spartan dead!Of the three hundred grant but three,To make a new Thermopylae.What, silent still, and silent all?Ah! no; the voices of the deadSound like a distant torrent's fall,And answer, "Let one living head,But one arise,---we come, we come!"'Tis but the living who are dumb.In vain---in vain: strike other chords;Fill...
