弗瑞诺的七首诗(全).doc

Philip Freneau(菲利浦弗瑞诺)On the Religion of NatureThe power, that gives with liberal handThe blessings man enjoys, while here,And scatters through a smiling landAbundant products of the year;That power of nature, ever blessed,Bestowed religion with the rest.Born with ourselves, her early swayInclines the tender mind to takeThe path of right, fair virtues way ts own felicity to make. This universally extends And leads to no mysterious ends.Religion, such as nature taught,With all divine perfection suits;Had all mankind this system soughtSophists would cease their vain disputes,And from this source would nations knowAll that can make their heaven below.This deals not curses on mankind,Or dooms them to perpetual grief,If from its aid-no joys they find,It damns them not for unbelief;Upon a more exalted planCreatress nature dealt with man-Joy to the day, when all agreeon such grand systems to proceed,From fraud, design, and error free,And which to truth and goodness lead:Then persecution will retreatAnd mans religion be complete.On the Emigration to America and Peopling the Western CountryTo western woods, and lonely plains,Palemon from the crowd departs,Where Natures wildest genius reigns,To tame the soil, and plant the arts-What wonders there shall freedom show,What might states successive grow!From Europes proud, despotic shoresHither the stranger takes his way,And in our new found world exploresA happier soil, a milder sway,Where no proud despot holds him down,No slaves insult him with a crown.What charming scenes attract the eye,On wild Ohios savage stream!There Nature reigns, whose works outvieThe boldest pattern art can frame;There ages past have rolled away,And forests bloomed but to decay.From these fair plains, these rural seats,So long concealed, so lately known,The unsocial Indian far retreats,To make some other clime his own,When other streams, less pleasing flow,And darker forests round him grow.Great Sire of floods! whose varied waveThrough climes and countries take its way,To whom creating Nature gaveTen thousand streams to swell thy sway!No longer shall they useless prove,Nor idly through the forests rove;Nor longer shall your princely floodFrom distant lakes be swelled in vain,Nor longer through a darksome woodAdvance, unnoticed to the main,Far other ends, the heavens decree-And commerce plans new freights for thee.While virtue warms the generous breast,There heaven-born freedom shall reside,Nor shall the voice of war molest,Nor Europes all-aspiring pride-There Reason shall new laws devise,And order from confusion rise.Forsaking kings and regal state,With all their pomp and fancied bliss,The traveller owns, convinced though late,No realm so free, so blest as this-The east is half to slaves consigned,Where kings and priests enchain the mind.O come the time, and haste the day,When man shall man to longer crush,When Reason shall enforce her sway,Nor these fair regions raise our blush,Where still the African complains,And mourns his yet unbroken chains.Far brighter scenes a future age,The muse predicts, these States will hail,Whose genius may the world engage,Whose deeds may over death prevail,And happier systems bring to viewThan all the eastern sages knew. To Sir Toby,If there exists a hell the case is clear Sir Tobys slaves enjoy that portion here:Here are no blazing brimstone lakes tis true;But kindled Rum too often burns as blue;In which some fiend, whom nature must detest,Steeps Tobys brand, and marks poor Cudjoes breast.Here whips on whips excite perpetual fears,And mingles howlings vibrate on my ears:Here natures plagues abound, to fret and teaze,Snakes, scorpions, despots, lizards, centipees No art, no care escapes the busy lash; All have their dues - and all are paid in cash -The eternal driver keeps a steady eyeOn a black herd, who would his vengeance fly,But chained, imprisoned, on a burning soil,For the mean avarice of a tyrant, toil!The lengthy cart-whip guards this monsters reign And cracks, like pistols, from the fields of cane.Ye powers! who formed these wretched tribes, relate,What had they done, to merit such a fate!Why were they brought from Eboes sultry waste,To see that plenty which they must not taste Food, which they cannot buy, and dare not steal;Yams and potatoes many a scanty meal! One, with a gibbet wakes his negros fears,One to the windmill nails him by the ears;One keeps his slave in darkened dens, unfed,One puts the wretch in pickle ere hes dead:This, from a tree suspends him by the thumbs,That, from his table grudges even the crumbs!Oer yond rough hills a tribe of females go,Each with her gourd, her infant, and her hoe;Scorched by a sun that has no mercy here,Driven by a devil, whom men call overseer In chains, twelve wretches to their labours haste;Twice twelve I saw, with iron collars graced! Are such the fruits that spring from vast domains?Is wealth, thus got, Sir Toby, worth your pains! Who would your wealth on terms, like these, possess,Where all we see is pregnant with distress Angolas natives scourged by ruffian hands, And toils hard product shippd to foreign lands. Talk not of blossoms, and your endless spring; What joy, what smile, can scenes of misery bring? Though Nature, here, has every blessing spread, Poor is the labourer and how meanly fed! Here Stygian paintings light and shade renew, Pictures of hell, that Virgils pencil drew: Here, surly Charons make their annual trip, And ghosts arrive in every Guinea ship, To find what beasts these western isles afford , Plutonian scourges, and despotic lords: - Here, they, of stuff determined to be free, Must climb the rude cliffs of the Liguanee; Beyond the clouds, in sculking haste repair, And hardly safe from brother traitors there. The Indian Student: or, Force of NatureFROM Susquehannas farthest springs,Where savage tribes pursue their game,(His blanket tied with yellow strings,)A shepherd of the forest came. Not long before, a wandering priest Expressd his wish with visage sad“Ah, why (he cried) in Satans waste,Ah, why detain so fine a lad? “In white mans land there stands a town,Where learning may be purchased low Exchange his blanket for a gown,And let the lad to college go.” From long debate the council rose,And viewing Shalums tricks with joy,To Cambridge Hall, oer wastes of snows, They sent the copper-colord boy. One generous chief a bow supplied,This gave a shaft, and that a skin;The feathers, in vermilion dyed,Himself did from a turkey win: Thus dressd so gay, he took his wayOer barren hills, alone, alone!His guide a star, he wanderd far,His pillow every night a stone. At last he came, with foot so lame, Where learned men talk heathen Greek,And Hebrew lore is gabbled oer,To please the muses,twice a week. Awhile he writ, awhile he read,Awhile he connd their grammar rules (An Indian savage so well bredGreat credit promised to the schools.) Some thought he would in law excel,Some said in physic he would shine;And one that knew him passing well, Beheld in him a sound divine. But those of more discerning eye,Even then could other prospects show,And saw him lay his Virgil by,To wander with his dearer bow. The tedious hours of study spent,The heavy moulded lecture done,He to the woods a hunting went,Through lonely wastes he walkd, he run. No mystic wonders fired his mind; He sought to gain no learnd degree,But only sense enough to findThe squirrel in the hollow tree. The shady bank, the purling stream,The woody wild his heart possessd, The dewy lawn, his morning dreamIn fancys gayest colors drest. “And why,” he cried, “did I forsakeMy native wood for gloomy walls;The silver stream, the limpid lake For musty books, and college halls. “A little could my wants supplyCan wealth and honor give me more;Or, will the sylvan god denyThe humble treat he gave before? “Let seraphs gain the bright abode,And heavens sublimest mansions seeI only bow to Natures GodThe land of shades will do for me. “These dreadful secrets of the sky Alarm my soul with chilling fearDo planets in their orbits fly,And is the earth, indeed, a sphere? “Let planets still their course pursue,And comets to the centre run In him my faithful friend I view,The image of my Godthe sun. “Where natures ancient forests grow,And mingled laurel never fades,My heart is fixd and I must go To die among my native shades.” He spoke, and to the western springs,(His gown discharged, his money spent,His blanket tied with yellow strings,)The shepherd of the forest went. The Wild Honey-Suckle 野金银花Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,Hid in this silent,dull retreat,Untouched thy honeyed blossoms blow,Unseen thy little branches greet:No roving foot shall crush thee here,No busy hand provoke a tear.By Natures self in white arrayed,She bade thee shun the vulger eye,And planted here the guardian shade,And sent soft waters murmuring by;Thus quietly thy summer goes,Thy days declining to repose.Smit with those chams,that must decay,I grieve to see your future doom;They died-nor were those flowers more gay,The flowers that did in Eden bloom;Unpitying frosts,and Autumns powerShall leave no vestige of this flower.From morning suns and evening dewsAt first thy little being came:If nothing once,you nothing lose,For when you die you are the same;The space between,is but an hour,The frail duration of flower. 野忍冬花菲利浦弗瑞诺 (黄杲炘译)美好的花呀，你长得：这么秀丽，却藏身在这僻静沉闷的地方甜美的花儿开了却没人亲昵，招展的小小枝梢也没人观赏；没游来荡去的脚来把你踩碎，没东攀西摘的手来催你落泪。大自然把你打扮得一身洁白，她叫你避开庸俗粗鄙的目光，她布置下树荫把你护卫起来，又让潺潺的柔波淌过你身旁；你的夏天就这样静静地消逝，这时候你日见萎蔫终将安息。那些难免消逝的美使我销魂，想起你未来的结局我就心疼，别的那些花儿也不比你幸运虽开放在伊甸园中也已凋零，无情的寒霜再加秋风的威力，会叫这花朵消失得一无踪迹。朝阳和晚露当初曾把你养育，让你这小小的生命来到世上，原来若乌有，就没什么可失去，因为你的死让你同先前一样；这来去之间不过是一个钟点这就是脆弱的花享有的天年。 The Indian Burying GroundIn spite of all the learned have said,I still my old opinion keep;The posture, that we give the dead,Points out the souls eternal sleep.Not so the ancients of these lands -The Indian, when from life released,Again is seated with his friends,And s