LESSON 29

NAPOLEON AT REST

躺下的拿破仑

John Pierpont, 1785-1866, was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, and graduated from Yale College in 1804. The next four years he spent as a private tutor in the family of Col. William Allston, of South Carolina. On his return, he studied law in the law school of his native town. He entered upon practice, but soon left the law for mercantile pursuits, in which he was unsuccessful. Having studied theology at Cambridge, in 1819 he was ordained pastor of the Hollis Street Unitarian Church, in Boston, where he continued nearly twenty years. He afterwards preached four years for a church in Troy, New York, and then removed to Medford, Massachusetts. At the age of seventy-six, he became chaplain of a Massachusetts regiment; but, on account of infirmity, war soon obliged to give up the position. Mr. Pierpont published a series of school readers, which enjoyed a well-deserved popularity for many years.

His poetry is smooth, musical, and vigorous. Most of his pieces were written for special occasions.

His falchion flashed along the Nile;

His hosts he led through Alpine snows;

O’er Moscow’s towers, that blazed the while,

His eagle flag unrolled,—and froze.

Here sleeps he now, alone! Not one

Of all the kings, whose crowns he gave,

Bends o’er his dust;—nor wife nor son

Has ever seen or sought his grave.

Behind this seagirt rock, the star,

That led him on from crown to crown,

Has sunk; and nations from afar

Gazed as it faded and went down.

High is his couch;—the ocean flood,

Far, far below, by storms is curled;

As round him heaved, while high he stood,

A stormy and unstable world.

Alone he sleeps! The mountain cloud,

That night hangs round him, and the breath

Of morning scatters, is the shroud

That wraps the conqueror’s clay in death.

Pause here! The far-off world, at last,

Breathes free; the hand that shook its thrones,

And to the earth its miters cast,

Lies powerless now beneath these stones.

Hark! comes there from the pyramids,

And from Siberian wastes of snow,

And Europe’s hills, a voice that bids

The world he awed to mourn him? No:

The only, the perpetual dirge

That’s heard there is the sea bird’s cry,—

The mournful murmur of the surge,—

The cloud’s deep voice, the wind’s low sigh.

【中文阅读】

他沿尼罗河挥舞着大刀；

他带领军队踏过阿尔卑斯山上的雪地；

火焰在莫斯科高塔上燃起，

他的雄鹰旗帜迎风飘扬——然而冻住了。

现在，他孤独地长眠于此！不是一个

万王之王，他赐予王冠的那个人，

拜倒在他威仪之下；妻儿

不曾看到或觅到他的坟墓。

就在这块四面环海的岩石后面！这颗星星，

指引他从一顶王冠到加冕另一个王冠，

已经陨落；远方的国家

凝视着它隐去和陨落。

他的长榻那么高——海洋咆哮翻滚，

在大下方，暴风雨翻卷；

他站在高处之际，他的周围起伏着，

一个暴躁和反复无常的世界。

他独自入眠！高山云颠，

那晚萦绕于他，

清晨的微风尽吹散，成了

包裹征服者尸体的尸布。

就在这里停下！遥远的世界最后

自由呼吸；动摇了它宝座的手，

将主教法冠掸落尘埃，

如今在石下威风不再。

听啊！从金字塔来到那里，

从西伯利亚雪原，

还有欧洲的山丘，传出向这个

对他满怀敬畏和哀痛的世界致意的声音了吗？没有；

唯一而永恒的挽歌

在那里听到的是海鸥的哀鸣，

海浪悲伤地低声倾诉——

乌云发出深沉的声音，还有风低沉的哀叹。