胡適哀希臘歌_學達書庫

哀希臘歌

　　一
　　嗟汝希臘之群島兮，
　　實文教武術之所肇始。
　　詩媛沙浮嘗詠歌於斯兮，
　　亦羲和素娥之故里。
　　今惟長夏之驕陽兮，
　　紛燦爛其如初。
　　我徘徊以憂傷兮，
　　哀舊烈之無餘！

　　二
　　悠悠兮，我何所思？
　　荷馬兮阿難。
　　慷慨兮歌英雄，
　　纏綿兮敘幽歡。
　　享盛名於萬代兮，
　　獨岑寂於斯土；
　　大聲起乎仙島之西兮，
　　何此邦之無語。

　　三
　　馬拉頓後兮山高，
　　馬拉頓前兮海號。
　　哀時詞客獨來遊兮，
　　猶夢希臘終自主也；
　　指波斯京觀以為正兮，
　　吾安能奴僇以終古也！

　　四
　　彼高崖何巉岩兮，
　　俯視沙拉米之濱；
　　有名王嘗踞坐其巔兮，
　　臨大海而點兵。
　　千檣兮照海，
　　列艦兮百里。
　　朝點兵兮，何紛紛兮，
　　日之入兮，無複存兮！

　　五
　　故國兮，汝魂何之？
　　俠子之歌，久銷歇兮，
　　英雄之血，難再熱兮，
　　古詩人兮，高且潔兮；
　　琴荒瑟老，臣精竭兮。

　　六
　　雖舉族今奴虜兮，
　　豈無遺風之猶在？
　　吾慨慷以悲歌兮，
　　耿憂國之磈磊。
　　吾惟余頳顏為希人羞兮，
　　吾惟有淚為希臘灑。

　　七
　　徒愧赧曾何益兮，
　　嗟雪涕之計拙；
　　獨不念我先人兮，
　　為自由而流血？
　　吾欲訴天閽兮，
　　還我斯巴達之三百英魂兮！
　　尚令百一存兮，
　　以再造我瘦馬披離之關兮！

　　八
　　沉沉希臘，猶無聲兮；
　　惟聞鬼語，作潮鳴兮。
　　鬼曰：「但令生者一人起兮，
　　吾曹雖死，終陰相爾兮！」
　　嗚咽兮鬼歌，
　　生者之喑兮奈鬼何！

　　九
　　吾嘵嘵兮終徒然！
　　已矣兮何言！
　　且為君兮彈別曲，
　　注美酒兮盈尊！
　　姑坐視突厥之跋扈兮，
　　聽其宰割吾胞與兮，
　　君不聞門外之簫鼓兮，
　　且赴此貝凱之舞兮！

　　十
　　汝猶能霹靂之舞兮，
　　霹靂之陣今何許兮？
　　舞之靡靡猶不可忘兮，
　　奈何獨忘陣之堂堂兮？
　　獨不念先人佉摩之書兮，
　　寧以遺汝庸奴兮？

　　十一
　　懷古兮徒煩冤，
　　注美酒兮盈尊！
　　一醉兮百憂泯！
　　阿難醉兮歌有神。
　　阿難蓋代詩人兮，
　　信嘗事暴君兮；
　　雖暴君兮，
　　猶吾同種之人兮。

　　十二
　　吾所思兮，
　　米爾低兮，
　　武且休兮，
　　保我自由兮。
　　吾撫昔而涕淋浪兮，
　　遺風誰其嗣昌？
　　誠能再造我家邦兮，
　　雖暴主其何傷？

　　十三
　　注美酒兮盈杯，
　　悠悠兮吾懷！
　　湯湯兮白階之岸，
　　崔巍兮修裡之崖，
　　吾陀離之民族兮，
　　實肇生於其間；
　　或猶有自由之種兮，
　　曆百劫而未殘。

　　十四
　　法蘭之人，烏可托兮，
　　其王貪狡，水可度兮。
　　所可托兮，希臘之刀；
　　所可任兮，希臘之豪。
　　突厥「忄票」兮，
　　拉丁狡兮，
　　雖吾盾之堅兮，
　　吾何以自全兮？

　　十五
　　注美酒兮盈杯！
　　美人舞兮低徊！
　　眼波兮盈盈，
　　一顧兮傾城；
　　對彼美兮，
　　淚下不能已兮；
　　子兮子兮，
　　胡為生兒為奴婢兮！

　　十六
　　置我乎須寧之岩兮，
　　狎波濤而與為伍；
　　且行吟以悲嘯兮，
　　惟潮聲與對語；
　　如鴻鵠之逍遙兮，
　　吾將於是老死：
　　奴隸之國非吾土兮，—
　　碎此杯以自矢！

　　The Isles of Greece

　　THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece!
　　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 mute
　　To sounds which echo further west
　　Than 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 free
　　For, standing on the Persians' grave,
　　I could not deem myself a slave.

　　A king sat on the rocky brow
　　Which 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 shore
　　The 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 breast
　　A 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 dead
　　Sound 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 high the cup of Samian wine!
　　Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
　　And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
　　Hark! rising to the ignoble call---
　　How answers each bold bacchanal!

　　You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
　　Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
　　Of two such lessons, why forget
　　The nobler and the manlier one?
　　You have the letters Cadmus gave---
　　Think ye he meant them for a slave?

　　Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
　　We will not think of themes like these!
　　It made Anacreon's song divine;
　　He served---but served Polycrates---
　　A tyrant; but our masters then
　　Were still, at least, our countrymen.

　　The tyrant of the Chersonese
　　Was freedom's best and bravest friend;
　　That tyrant was Miltiades!
　　Oh! that the present hour would lend
　　Another despot of the kind!
　　Such chains as his were sure to bind.

　　Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
　　On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,
　　Exists the remnant of a line
　　Such as the Doric mothers bore;
　　And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
　　The Heracleidan blood might own.

　　Trust not for freedom to the Franks---
　　They have a king who buys and sells:
　　In native swords and native ranks,
　　The only hope of courage dwells:
　　But Turkish force and Latin fraud
　　Would break your shield, however broad.

　　Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
　　Our virgins dance beneath the shade---
　　I see their glorious black eyes shine;
　　But, gazing on each glowing maid,
　　My own the burning tear-drop laves,
　　To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

　　Place me on Sunium's marble steep---
　　Where nothing, save the waves and I,
　　May hear our mutual murmurs sweep:
　　There, swan-like, let me sing and die;
　　A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine---
　　Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

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