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There is a hill near my home that I often
climb at night. The noise of the city is a far-off
murmur.
In the hush of dark I share the
cheerfulness of crickets and the confidence of
owls. But it is the
drama of the
moonrise that Ci come to see. For that restores in
me a quiet and clarity that the city
spends too freely. From this hill I
have watched many moons rise. Each one had its won
mood.
There have been broad, confident
harvest moons in autumn; shy, misty moons in
spring; lonely,
white winter moons
rising into the utter silence of an ink-black sky
and smoke-smudged orange
moons over the
dry fields of summer. Each, like fine music,
excited my heart and then calmed my
soul. But we, who live indoors, have
lost contact with the moon. The glare of street
lights and dust
of pollution veil the
night sky. Though men have walked on the moon, it
grows less familiar. Few
of us can say
what time the moon will rise tonight. Still, it
tugs at our minds. If we unexpectedly
encounter the full moon, he and yellow
over the horizon, we are helpless but to stare
back at its
commanding presence. And
the moon has gifts to bestow upon those who watch.
Moonlight shows
us none of
life
’
s harder edges.
Hillsides seem silken and silvery, the oceans
still and blue in its
light. In
moonlight we become less calculating, more drawn
to our feeling.
译文
在我家的附近有座小山，
我常在晚间爬上山去。此时，城市的喧嚣成了遥远的低语。在这黑
夜的
静谧中，我尽情地分享蟋蟀的欢乐，感受猫头鹰的自信。不过，我上山是来看月出的。
因
为这可以让我的内心重新感到被城市消耗殆尽的平静与清新。
在这座山上，
我欣赏过许多
次月亮升起的景象。每一次月的姿容性情都不同。秋天，满月如
轮，充满自信；春天，月亮
清雾迷蒙羞羞答答；冬天，银白色的月亮挂在漆黑的、悄无声
息的夜空中，显得那样孤寂；
夏天，橘黄色的月似被烟尘笼罩，俯瞰干燥的田野。每一种
月亮，都像美妙的音乐，颤动我
的心灵，令我的灵魂平静。但我们
这些深居简出的人，已与月亮失去了联系。城市中耀眼
的街
灯和污染性烟尘遮住了夜空。
虽然人类已在月亮上行走过，
但月
亮对我们却更加陌生了。
现在已很少有人能说出今晚月亮何时升起，
但无论怎样，
月亮依然打动我们的心灵。
如果我
们在不经意间与地平线上的满月相遇，
我们别无他法，
唯有欣赏其气势逼人的美。
月亮对于
那些赏月的人有礼物相
赠。
月色下，
我们看不到生活中坚硬的棱角。
< br>山坡在月光下如同笼上
了一层柔和的银纱，
大海在月光下
宁明碧蓝。
我们在月光下也不再像白日那般心计来往，
而
是沉醉与自然的情感中。
Today I have read
The Tempest
…Among the many
reasons which make me glad to have been born
in England, one of the first is that I
read Shakespeare in my
mother tongue.
If
I try to imagine
myself
as one who cannot know him face to face, who hears
him only speaking from afar, and that
in accents which only through the
labouring intelligence can touch the living soul,
there comes
upon me a sense of
chill discouragement, of dreary
deprivation
.
I
am
wont to
think that I can read
Homer, and, assuredly, if any man
enjoys him, it is I; but can I for a moment dream
that Homer
yield
s me all his
music, that his word is to me as to him who walked
by the
Hellenic shore
when
Hellas
lived? I know that
there reaches me across the vast of time no more
than a faint and broken
echo; I know
that it would be fainter still, but for its
blending with those memories of
youth
which
are
as a glimmer of the world
’
s
primeval glory. Let every land have joy of its
poet; for the poet is
the land itself,
all its greatness and its sweetness, all that
incommunicable heritage for which men
live and die. As I close the book, love
and reverence possess me. Whether does my full
heart turn
to the great Enchanter, or
to the island upon which he has
laid
his spell
? I know not. I cannot think
of
them
apart
.
In
the
love
and
reverence
awakened
by
that
voice
of
voices
,
Shakespeard
and
England are but one.
译文：
今天我读了
< br>《暴风雨》
……在使我感到有幸生于英格兰的诸多理由中，
最主要的一个是，
我能用自己的母语读莎士比亚。
假如让我试
着想象自己与他面对面都不认识，
只能听见他在
遥远的地方说着
只有通过艰难的智慧才能触动生命灵魂的另一种语言，这让我感到灰心丧
气，
四肢发凉，
感到一种被剥夺的痛苦。
我总是相信我
能够读懂荷马，
如果有谁喜欢他的话，
那就是我。但是，我能幻
想着，哪怕是一分钟，希望自己可以领会荷马的所有音乐、希望他
的每个字词对我和对一
个自古希腊存在就漫步希腊海滨的人产生同等的魅力吗？不能。
在穿
越漫长的时间之后，
到达我这儿的不过是一个微弱而断断续续的回音罢了。
我知道，
这回音
若不是凝聚了青春时期的记忆，
它还会变得更加微弱，
那段时期映射出了世界早期历史的辉
煌成就。
让每片土地都为有自己的诗人而欢乐吧，
< br>因为诗人就是土地，
代表了它所有的伟大
和可爱，代表了
人类为之生、为之死却难以言传的传统。
当我合上书本，我的心里充满了热
爱和敬重。
是我的整个灵魂此刻都转向了这位伟大的施魔法者，
还是转向了被他施了魔法的
这个岛屿？我不知道，
我
不能把他们分开。
在被那万音之音而唤醒的热爱和敬重中，
莎士
比
亚和英格兰是个同一体。
The Cardinal Virtue of Prose
Prose of its very nature is longer than
verse, and the virtues peculiar to it manifest
themselves
gradually.
If
the
cardinal
virtue
of
poetry
is
love,
the
cardinal
virtue
of
prose
is
justice,
and,
whereas love makes you act and speak on
the spur of the moment, justice needs inquiry,
patience,
and
a
control
even
of
the
noblest
passions
…
By
justice
here
I
do
not
mean
justice
only
to
particular people or
ideas, but a habit of justice in all the processes
of thought, a style tranquillized
and a
form moulded by that habit.
The master of prose is not cold, but he will not
let any word
or image inflame him with
a heat irrelevant to his purpose.
Unhasting, unresting, he pursues it,
subduing all the riches of his mind to
it, rejecting all beauties that all not germane to
it; Making his
own beauty out of the
very accomplishment of it, out of the whole work
and its proportions, so
that you must
read to the end of before you know that it is
beautiful. But he has his reward, for he
is
trusted
and
convinces,
as
those
who
are at
the
mercy
of
their
own
eloquence do
not;
and
he
gives a
pleasure all the greater for being hardly noticed.
In the best prose, whether narrative or
argument, we are so led on as we read,
that we do not stop to applaud the writer, nor do
we stop to
question him.
译文：
散文的首要本质
亚瑟·克拉顿—布罗克
散文就
其本身而言比韵文长，散文所特有的本质是通过文章逐渐显露的。如果说，诗
歌的首要本
质是热情，那么散文的首要本质是公允。热情使你即刻有所抒发，有所行动，而
公允需要
求索，
需要耐心，
甚至需要压制最高尚的情感……这里的公允并
非仅指对特殊人物
或特定思想的公允，
而是指思维过程中的一种
公允习惯，
以及由此形成的一种平和的风格和
形式。
散文作者并非冷漠，
而是不愿令任何字词或任何形象引发与旨趣不相关的热
情。
行文
时，他不急不忙，不松不弛；他压抑自身的情感，弃绝
所有不相关的华美；就在作品的最后
成型时，在整个作品，以及作品的平衡中，他才创造
出自己的美，因此，只有读到最后，你
才知道，它是美的。当然他有所报酬，因为他受到
信任，令人信服，而那些完全听任自我才
情发泄的人却没有；正因为他几乎隐去了自我，
反而带来更伟大的愉悦。在最好的散文里，
无论叙事还是说理，
我们边读边随着它的铺叙，
以至既不停下来为他叫好，
也不停下
来向他
发问。
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