Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)
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 winge′d 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!
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 Maenad, ev’n 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!
Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay
Lull’d by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
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!
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 skyey 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.
Make me thy lyre, ev’n 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?
西风颂
１
哦，狂暴的西风，秋之生命的呼吸！
你无形，但枯死的落叶被你横扫，
有如鬼魅碰到了巫师，纷纷逃避：
黄的，黑的，灰的，红得像患肺痨，
呵，重染疫疠的一群：西风呵，是你
以车驾把有翼的种子催送到
黑暗的冬床上，它们就躺在那里，
像是墓中的死穴，冰冷，深藏，低贱，
直等到春天，你碧空的姊妹吹起
她的喇叭，在沉睡的大地上响遍，
（唤出嫩芽，象羊群一样，觅食空中）
将色和香充满了山峰和平原。
不羁的精灵呵，你无处不远行；
破坏者兼保护者：听吧，你且聆听！
２
没入你的急流，当高空一片混乱，
流云象大地的枯叶一样被撕扯
脱离天空和海洋的纠缠的枝干。
成为雨和电的使者：它们飘落
在你的磅礴之气的蔚蓝的波面，
有如狂女的飘扬的头发在闪烁，
从天穹的最遥远而模糊的边沿
直抵九霄的中天，到处都在摇曳
欲来雷雨的卷发，对濒死的一年
你唱出了葬歌，而这密集的黑夜
将成为它广大墓陵的一座圆顶，
里面正有你的万钧之力的凝结；
那是你的浑然之气，从它会迸涌
黑色的雨，冰雹和火焰：哦，你听！
３
是你，你将蓝色的地中海唤醒，
而它曾经昏睡了一整个夏天，
被澄澈水流的回旋催眠入梦，
就在巴亚海湾的一个浮石岛边，
它梦见了古老的宫殿和楼阁
在水天辉映的波影里抖颤，
而且都生满青苔、开满花朵，
那芬芳真迷人欲醉！呵，为了给你
让一条路，大西洋的汹涌的浪波
把自己向两边劈开，而深在渊底
那海洋中的花草和泥污的森林
虽然枝叶扶疏，却没有精力；
听到你的声音，它们已吓得发青：
一边颤栗，一边自动萎缩：哦，你听！
４
哎，假如我是一片枯叶被你浮起，
假如我是能和你飞跑的云雾，
是一个波浪，和你的威力同喘息，
假如我分有你的脉搏，仅仅不如
你那么自由，哦，无法约束的生命！
假如我能像在少年时，凌风而舞
便成了你的伴侣，悠游天空
（因为呵，那时候，要想追你上云霄，
似乎并非梦幻），我就不致像如今
这样焦躁地要和你争相祈祷。
哦，举起我吧，当我是水波、树叶、浮云！
我跌在生活底荆棘上，我流血了！
这被岁月的重轭所制服的生命
原是和你一样：骄傲、轻捷而不驯。
５
把我当作你的竖琴吧，有如树林：
尽管我的叶落了，那有什么关系！
你巨大的合奏所振起的音乐
将染有树林和我的深邃的秋意：
虽忧伤而甜蜜。呵，但愿你给予我
狂暴的精神！奋勇者呵，让我们合一！
请把我枯死的思想向世界吹落，
让它像枯叶一样促成新的生命！
哦，请听从这一篇符咒似的诗歌，
就把我的话语，像是灰烬和火星
从还未熄灭的炉火向人间播散！
让预言的喇叭通过我的嘴唇
把昏睡的大地唤醒吧！要是冬天
已经来了，西风呵，春日怎能遥远？
1819年
查良铮 译
