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charmides and other-第7章

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Or spend my days within the voiceless cave of misery?



Nay! for perchance that poppy…crowned god

Is like the watcher by a sick man's bed

Who talks of sleep but gives it not; his rod

Hath lost its virtue; and; when all is said;

Death is too rude; too obvious a key

To solve one single secret in a life's philosophy。



And Love! that noble madness; whose august

And inextinguishable might can slay

The soul with honeyed drugs; … alas! I must

From such sweet ruin play the runaway;

Although too constant memory never can

Forget the arched splendour of those brows Olympian



Which for a little season made my youth

So soft a swoon of exquisite indolence

That all the chiding of more prudent Truth

Seemed the thin voice of jealousy; … O hence

Thou huntress deadlier than Artemis!

Go seek some other quarry! for of thy too perilous bliss。



My lips have drunk enough; … no more; no more; …

Though Love himself should turn his gilded prow

Back to the troubled waters of this shore

Where I am wrecked and stranded; even now

The chariot wheels of passion sweep too near;

Hence!  Hence!  I pass unto a life more barren; more austere。



More barren … ay; those arms will never lean

Down through the trellised vines and draw my soul

In sweet reluctance through the tangled green;

Some other head must wear that aureole;

For I am hers who loves not any man

Whose white and stainless bosom bears the sign Gorgonian。



Let Venus go and chuck her dainty page;

And kiss his mouth; and toss his curly hair;

With net and spear and hunting equipage

Let young Adonis to his tryst repair;

But me her fond and subtle…fashioned spell

Delights no more; though I could win her dearest citadel。



Ay; though I were that laughing shepherd boy

Who from Mount Ida saw the little cloud

Pass over Tenedos and lofty Troy

And knew the coming of the Queen; and bowed

In wonder at her feet; not for the sake

Of a new Helen would I bid her hand the apple take。



Then rise supreme Athena argent…limbed!

And; if my lips be musicless; inspire

At least my life:  was not thy glory hymned

By One who gave to thee his sword and lyre

Like AEschylos at well…fought Marathon;

And died to show that Milton's England still could bear a son!



And yet I cannot tread the Portico

And live without desire; fear and pain;

Or nurture that wise calm which long ago

The grave Athenian master taught to men;

Self…poised; self…centred; and self…comforted;

To watch the world's vain phantasies go by with unbowed head。



Alas! that serene brow; those eloquent lips;

Those eyes that mirrored all eternity;

Rest in their own Colonos; an eclipse

Hath come on Wisdom; and Mnemosyne

Is childless; in the night which she had made

For lofty secure flight Athena's owl itself hath strayed。



Nor much with Science do I care to climb;

Although by strange and subtle witchery

She drew the moon from heaven:  the Muse Time

Unrolls her gorgeous…coloured tapestry

To no less eager eyes; often indeed

In the great epic of Polymnia's scroll I love to read



How Asia sent her myriad hosts to war

Against a little town; and panoplied

In gilded mail with jewelled scimitar;

White…shielded; purple…crested; rode the Mede

Between the waving poplars and the sea

Which men call Artemisium; till he saw Thermopylae



Its steep ravine spanned by a narrow wall;

And on the nearer side a little brood

Of careless lions holding festival!

And stood amazed at such hardihood;

And pitched his tent upon the reedy shore;

And stayed two days to wonder; and then crept at midnight o'er



Some unfrequented height; and coming down

The autumn forests treacherously slew

What Sparta held most dear and was the crown

Of far Eurotas; and passed on; nor knew

How God had staked an evil net for him

In the small bay at Salamis; … and yet; the page grows dim;



Its cadenced Greek delights me not; I feel

With such a goodly time too out of tune

To love it much:  for like the Dial's wheel

That from its blinded darkness strikes the noon

Yet never sees the sun; so do my eyes

Restlessly follow that which from my cheated vision flies。



O for one grand unselfish simple life

To teach us what is Wisdom! speak ye hills

Of lone Helvellyn; for this note of strife

Shunned your untroubled crags and crystal rills;

Where is that Spirit which living blamelessly

Yet dared to kiss the smitten mouth of his own century!



Speak ye Rydalian laurels! where is he

Whose gentle head ye sheltered; that pure soul

Whose gracious days of uncrowned majesty

Through lowliest conduct touched the lofty goal

Where love and duty mingle!  Him at least

The most high Laws were glad of; he had sat at Wisdom's feast;



But we are Learning's changelings; know by rote

The clarion watchword of each Grecian school

And follow none; the flawless sword which smote

The pagan Hydra is an effete tool

Which we ourselves have blunted; what man now

Shall scale the august ancient heights and to old Reverence bow?



One such indeed I saw; but; Ichabod!

Gone is that last dear son of Italy;

Who being man died for the sake of God;

And whose unrisen bones sleep peacefully;

O guard him; guard him well; my Giotto's tower;

Thou marble lily of the lily town! let not the lour



Of the rude tempest vex his slumber; or

The Arno with its tawny troubled gold

O'er…leap its marge; no mightier conqueror

Clomb the high Capitol in the days of old

When Rome was indeed Rome; for Liberty

Walked like a bride beside him; at which sight pale Mystery



Fled shrieking to her farthest sombrest cell

With an old man who grabbled rusty keys;

Fled shuddering; for that immemorial knell

With which oblivion buries dynasties

Swept like a wounded eagle on the blast;

As to the holy heart of Rome the great triumvir passed。



He knew the holiest heart and heights of Rome;

He drave the base wolf from the lion's lair;

And now lies dead by that empyreal dome

Which overtops Valdarno hung in air

By Brunelleschi … O Melpomene

Breathe through thy melancholy pipe thy sweetest threnody!



Breathe through the tragic stops such melodies

That Joy's self may grow jealous; and the Nine

Forget awhile their discreet emperies;

Mourning for him who on Rome's lordliest shrine

Lit for men's lives the light of Marathon;

And bare to sun…forgotten fields the fire of the sun!



O guard him; guard him well; my Giotto's tower!

Let some young Florentine each eventide

Bring coronals of that enchanted flower

Which the dim woods of Vallombrosa hide;

And deck the marble tomb wherein he lies

Whose soul is as some mighty orb unseen of mortal eyes;



Some mighty orb whose cycled wanderings;

Being tempest…driven to the farthest rim

Where Chaos meets Creation and the wings

Of the eternal chanting Cherubim

Are pavilioned on Nothing; passed away

Into a moonless void; … and yet; though he is dust and clay;



He is not dead; the i
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