4 Mélodies 詩:Francis Burdett Money-Coutts
第1曲In Sickness and Health
When you in sickness lie,
No more the field is green, nor blue the sky ;
No more invisible and lovely things
The forest haunt with songs and rustling wings ;
Back from my stricken sense the world recedes,
And beauty’s garden is a patch of weeds.
Then can I [catch] in music’s blithest tone
Nought but the closing cadence of a moan;
Then can I joy no more in sound unheard
Save in the silence of the written word;
The melodies that once could charm my ear
Forbode some final dissonance of fear.
Earth has no health, when health from you is fled;
No angel stands between the quick and death;
The awful unity of life and death
Is sacramental in your labouring breath;
And as I watch you I can hear Him call
Who is the king of Nothing or of All.
But ah! your nature surely cannot owe
To that grim tyrant such an overthrow;
You seem a creature of an alien strain
From force and fate, and unallied to pain;
Could you but meet their Master, little while
Would lapse ere you had won him to a smile.
There is a garden somewhere set,
Where singing birds abound,
And plashing founts the marble fret
With soft persistent sound;
Sorrow and sighing thence shall flee,
And none shall there intrude,
Save those who by simplicity
Have won beatitude.
The simple heart and simple mind,
Sincere in trust and troth,
From honest pleasure unconfin’d
For honest love unloth;
And there shall you be queen; but I,
Shall I find entrance too?
Or must I roam eternity,
To search, [sweetheart], for you?
I live no more in the outer world; for me
The rose is faded and the wine-cup dry;
Not that I fall to vainer apathy,
Nor sated with false pleasure, vainly sigh.
But having proved the world in all its ways,
With sense, with dignity, nor fond nor mad,
I find not there a single thing to praise,
No, nor a single thing to make me glad.
A staggering drunken animal I see,
Careering o’er bare mountains and bare plains,
Intent upon its own absurdity,
And loving pleasure only for its pains;
That is the world, ah, friend, let us retire
In to the spacious chamber of our mind
To sit and talk before the cosy fire
And listen to the winter, wailing wind!
第4曲Amor, Summa Injuria
Forgive me for the wrong I did,
To make you love me. Well I know
In that injurious hour were hid
Long hours of woe.
If judgment be pronounced on sin
Hereafter, then shall I be lost,
Because your love I [dared] to win
At such a cost;
At such a cost to you; ah, me,
How often have your eyes o’erbrimmed
By alien infelicity
When from my heart, without a sign,
Some random lightning of unrest,
Some folly or misword of mine,
Has pierced your breast.
Forgive me, dear! If you forgive,
Methinks I shall not wholly die;
For Love will surely let me live,
If you comply.