LESSON 53

LOCHIEL’S WARNING

洛切尔的警告

Thomas Campbell, 1777-1844, was a descendant of the famous clan of Campbells, in Kirnan, Scotland, and was born at Glasgow. At the age of thirteen he entered the university in that city, from which he graduated with distinction, especially as a Greek scholar; his translations of Greek tragedy were considered without parallel in the history of the university. During the first year after graduation, he wrote several poems of minor importance. He then removed to Edinburgh and adopted literature as his profession; here his “Pleasures of Hope” was published in 1799, and achieved immediate success. He traveled extensively on the continent, and during his absence wrote “Lochiel’s Warning,” “Hohenlinden,” and other minor poems. In 1809 he published “Gertrude of Wyoming;” from 1820 to 1830 he edited the “New Monthly Magazine.” In 1826 he was chosen lord rector of the University of Glasgow, to which office he was twice reelected. He was active in founding the University of London. During the last years of his life he produced but little of note. He died at Boulogne, in France. During most of his life he was in straitened pecuniary circumstances, and ill-health and family afflictions cast a melancholy over his later years. His poems were written with much care, and are uniformly smooth and musical.

Seer. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day

When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight.
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown;
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
’T is thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await
Like a love-lighted watch fire all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning,—no rider is there,—
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!
Oh, weep! but thy tears can not number the dead:
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,—
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.

Loch. Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!

Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

Seer. Ha! laugh’st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn?

Proud bird of the mountain thy plume shall be torn!
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north?
Lo! the death shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high!
Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh.
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
’T is the fire shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven
From his eyrie that beacons the darkness of heaven,
O crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlements’ height,
Heaven’s fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
And a wild mother scream o’er her famishing brood.

Loch. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshaled my clan,

Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one!
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland’s steed to the shock!
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock!
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws;
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array—

Seer. —Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day!

For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man can not cover what God would reveal:
’T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden’s dread echoes shall ring
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.
Lo! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath,
Behold where he flies on his desolate path!
Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight:
Rise, rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight!
’Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors;
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores.
But where is the ironbound prisoner? Where?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.
Say, mounts he the ocean wave, banished, forlorn,
Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding and torn?
Ah no! for a darker departure is near;
The war drum is muffled, and black is the bier;
His death bell is tolling; O mercy, dispel
Yon sight that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims.
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat,
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale—

Loch. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale:

For never shall Albin a destiny meet
So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat.
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore,
Like ocean weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field and his feet to the foe!
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to heaven from the deathbed of fame.

【中文阅读】

预言家 洛切尔！洛切尔！想想今天吧

当低地人在战场上队伍里与你相遇时！
死尸遍地的战场上映入我眼帘的是殷红的鲜血，
卡洛登的氏族为了战斗四下散去，
他们集合起来，他们鲜血直流，为了他们的王国和王座；
灾难，对骑手来说灾难就是将他们践踏！
骄傲的坎伯兰郡马昂首阔步，冒犯被杀戮的人，
他们被马蹄踢到的前胸给踩平了，
但是听着！在忽闪的战火里，
什么样的战马才像沙漠飞蝇一样发狂，奔向远方？
这是你的战马，啊，格兰纳林！
谁的新娘会像用爱点燃的火把那样，整晚等在门前。
清晨来了战马——可是没有骑手，
可它的缰绳染红了血污，象征着失望。
哭吧，阿尔宾！要么死了，要么做了俘虏！
啊，哭吧！可是你的眼泪也不能挽救死亡，
因为卡洛丹手上那柄无情的剑将要挥动——
卡洛丹！浑身散发出勇敢的血性。

洛切尔 去劝说那懦夫吧，你这一张嘴就离不了死亡的预言家！

要是沾满血腥的卡洛丹这么可怕，
老糊涂会围着你长吁短叹，
这件斗篷，遮盖的是惊骇的幽灵

预言家 哈！你太可笑了，洛切尔，我的预言那么值得嘲笑？

你这高山之巅骄傲的鸟儿翅膀会被折断！
再说，鲁莽的鹰兴高采烈地向前冲，
从他在北方乌云漫卷的家？
瞧啊！敌人那速度奇快的死神之弹，
没有同伴的伴随，他将毁灭置之度外，
但是，让他从上天的破坏弯腰屈从！
啊！让他跑回家园，因为破坏者已近在眼前。
为什么远方的高峰烈焰腾腾？为什么将那些
余烬射爆，就像苍穹陈列的星星？
这是废墟上的火浴，全都由他
能照亮黑暗苍穹的鹰巢发动的，
啊，有冠毛的洛切尔！威力无敌，
谁的旗帜会挂在城垛的高处，
天火就在你的四周，一阵爆炸后燃起；
回到你自己的鹰巢吧！孑然一身！
因为灰烬的黑色会标出它站的地方，
狂暴的妈妈冲着她嗷嗷待哺的幼崽咆哮。
真是假术士，滚开！我统领我的人马。
他们的剑有千万把，他们万众一心！
他们的血会流到最后，只要一息尚存。
就像收获死亡的收割机那样。
对坎伯兰郡战马的欢迎令人震惊！
让他打碎他骄傲的泡沫，就像岩石上的浪花！
但是，苦难与他的亲戚还有他的事业相伴，
当阿尔宾愤怒地拔出她的双刃大砍刀；
当她那戴着花帽的首领冲着欢呼胜利的人群招手时，
无畏的同宗，骄傲的海鳗，
大家都在他们花格呢衣服上饰以羽毛。

预言家 ——洛切尔，洛切尔，当心今天！

因为我的眼前一片漆黑和绝望，
但是人无法掩盖上帝的旨意
这是传授给我神秘学问的人生暮钟，
纷繁世事都会在发生前有预兆。
我告诉你，卡洛丹那可怕的回音
在冲逃跑的国王吼叫的猎犬的叫声中回荡。
看啊！上天愤怒地蘸了香油瓶来涂抹，
眼见他飞落到荒凉的小径上！
此刻，在黑暗和巨浪中间，他逃出我的视线
快起来，快起来！漫天的暴风雨一齐朝他袭来！
结束了。他们的雷电在荒野上变得寂寂无声；
卡洛丹失败了，我的国家举国悲叹。
可是，那缚着铁链的囚徒今安在？今安在？
只为那战争的血红眼睛失望地合上了。
再说，他坐在海浪上，凄凉地被放逐了，
难道像被他的国家抛弃的羔羊，流尽鲜血，泪水滂沱？
啊，不！因为更伤心的离别就在眼前；
战鼓哑了，黑魆魆的是棺材；
他的丧钟已经敲响；啊，万幸啊，
使我情绪凝固的视线会告诉一切！
生命的悸动在他颤抖的肢体里抽搐，
在被淹着的极大痛苦中，他的血顺着鼻孔流出。
诅咒那在他的脚下燃烧的柴把，
他的心在停止跳动之前就被扔掉，
用冒着烟的灰烬在风中投毒——

洛切尔 滚下来，恶毒的无礼之徒！我不相信瞎话

因为阿尔宾绝不会听从命运的安排
丢脸的事情他怎做，更不会做出败退肮脏的肮脏勾当。
尽管我那该死的地位会在他们以命相抵中
就像海草堆满波浪拍打的堤岸，
洛切尔，没有被逃跑或锁链所玷污，
在他心里生活之火还在燃烧，
胜利者欢呼雀跃，濒死者垂下头颅，
他背向战场，把脚冲着敌人！
从战场上离开时名誉没有半点污点，
从名誉的灵床上骄傲地仰望天上。