letters to dead authors-第12部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


the　thrice　desirable；　be　with　thee　the　whole　year　through；　where　there　is　neither　frost；　nor　is　the　heat　so　heavy　on　men；　but　all　is　fruitful；　and　all　sweet　things　blossom；　and　evenly　meted　are　darkness　and　dawn。　　Space　is　wide；　and　there　be　many　worlds；　and　suns　enow；　and　the　Sun…god　surely　has　had　a　care　of　his　own。　　Little　didst　thou　need；　in　thy　native　land；　the　isle　of　the　three　capes；　little　didst　thou　need　but　sunlight　on　land　and　sea。　　Death　can　have　shown　thee　naught　dearer　than　the　fragrant　shadow　of　the　pines；　where　the　dry　needles　of　the　fir　are　strewn；　or　glades　where　feathered　ferns　make　〃a　couch　more　soft　than　Sleep。〃　The　short　grass　of　the　cliffs；　too；　thou　didst　love；　where　thou　wouldst　lie；　and　watch；　with　the　tunny　watcher　till　the　deep　blue　sea　was　broken　by　the　burnished　sides　of　the　tunny　shoal；　and　afoam　with　their　gambols　in　the　brine。　　There　the　Muses　met　thee；　and　the　Nymphs；　and　there　Apollo；　remembering　his　old　thraldom　with　Admetus；　would　lead　once　more　a　mortal's　flocks；　and　listen　and　learn；　Theocritus；　while　thou；　like　thine　own　Comatas；　〃didst　sweetly　sing。〃

There；　methinks；　I　see　thee　as　in　thy　happy　days；　〃reclined　on　deep　beds　of　fragrant　lentisk；　lowly　strewn；　and　rejoicing　in　new　stript　leaves　of　the　vine；　while　far　above　thy　head　waved　many　a　poplar；　many　an　elm…tree；　and　close　at　hand　the　sacred　waters　sang　from　the　mouth　of　the　cavern　of　the　nymphs。〃　　And　when　night　came；　methinks　thou　wouldst　flee　from　the　merry　company　and　the　dancing　girls；　from　the　fading　crowns　of　roses　or　white　violets；　from　the　cottabos；　and　the　minstrelsy；　and　the　Bibline　wine；　from　these　thou　wouldst　slip　away　into　the　summer　night。　　Then　the　beauty　of　life　and　of　the　summer　would　keep　thee　from　thy　couch；　and　wandering　away　from　Syracuse　by　the　sandhills　and　the　sea；　thou　wouldst　watch　the　low　cabin；　roofed　with　grass；　where　the　fishing…rods　of　reed　were　leaning　against　the　door；　while　the　Mediterranean　floated　up　her　waves；　and　filled　the　waste　with　sound。　　There　didst　thou　see　thine　ancient　fishermen　rising　ere　the　dawn　from　their　bed　of　dry　seaweed；　and　heardst　them　stirring；　drowsy；　among　their　fishing　gear；　and　heardst　them　tell　their　dreams。

Or　again　thou　wouldst　wander　with　dusty　feet　through　the　ways　that　the　dust　makes　silent；　while　the　breath　of　the　kine；　as　they　were　driven　forth　with　the　morning；　came　fresh　to　thee；　and　the　trailing　dewy　branch　of　honeysuckle　struck　sudden　on　thy　cheek。　　Thou　wouldst　see　the　Dawn　awake　in　rose　and　saffron　across　the　waters；　and　Etna；　grey　and　pale　against　the　sky；　and　the　setting　crescent　would　dip　strangely　in　the　glow；　on　her　way　to　the　sea。　　Then；　methinks；　thou　wouldst　murmur；　like　thine　own　Simaetha；　the　love…lorn　witch；　〃Farewell；　Selene；　bright　and　fair；　farewell；　ye　other　stars；　that　follow　the　wheels　of　the　quiet　Night。〃　　Nay；　surely　it　was　in　such　an　hour　that　thou　didst　behold　the　girl　as　she　burned　the　laurel　leaves　and　the　barley　grain；　and　melted　the　waxen　image；　and　called　on　Selene　to　bring　her　lover　home。　　Even　so；　even　now；　in　the　islands　of　Greece；　the　setting　Moon　may　listen　to　the　prayers　of　maidens。　　〃Bright　golden　Moon；　that　now　art　near　the　waters；　go　thou　and　salute　my　lover；　he　that　stole　my　love；　and　that　kissed　me；　saying　〃Never　will　I　leave　thee。〃　　And　lo；　he　hath　left　me　as　men　leave　a　field　reaped　and　gleaned；　like　a　church　where　none　cometh　to　pray；　like　a　city　desolate。〃

So　the　girls　still　sing　in　Greece；　for　though　the　Temples　have　fallen；　and　the　wandering　shepherds　sleep　beneath　the　broken　columns　of　the　god's　house　in　Selinus；　yet　these　ancient　fires　burn　still　to　the　old　divinities　in　the　shrines　of　the　hearths　of　the　peasants。　It　is　none　of　the　new　creeds　that　cry；　in　the　dirge　of　the　Sicilian　shepherds　of　our　time；　〃Ah；　light　of　mine　eyes；　what　gift　shall　I　send　thee；　what　offering　to　the　other　world？　　The　apple　fadeth；　the　quince　decayeth；　and　one　by　one　they　perish；　the　petals　of　the　rose。　I　will　send　thee　my　tears　shed　on　a　napkin；　and　what　though　it　burneth　in　the　flame；　if　my　tears　reach　thee　at　the　last。〃

Yes；　little　is　altered；　Theocritus；　on　these　shores　beneath　the　sun；　where　thou　didst　wear　a　tawny　skin　stripped　from　the　roughest　of　he…　goats；　and　about　thy　breast　an　old　cloak　buckled　with　a　plaited　belt。　　Thou　wert　happier　there；　in　Sicily；　methinks；　and　among　vines　and　shadowy　lime…trees　of　Cos；　than　in　the　dust；　and　heat；　and　noise　of　Alexandria。　　What　love　of　fame；　what　lust　of　gold　tempted　thee　away　from　the　red　cliffs；　and　grey　olives；　and　wells　of　black　water　wreathed　with　maidenhair？


The　music　of　thy　rustic　flute　Kept　not　for　long　its　happy　country　tone；　Lost　it　too　soon；　and　learned　a　stormy　note　Of　men　contention　tost；　of　men　who　groan；　Which　tasked　thy　pipe　too　sore；　and　tired　thy　throat　…　It　failed；　and　thou　wast　mute！


What　hadst　thou　to　make　in　cities；　and　what　could　Ptolemies　and　Princes　give　thee　better　than　the　goat…milk　cheese　and　the　Ptelean　wine？　　Thy　Muses　were　meant　to　be　the　delight　of　peaceful　men；　not　of　tyrants　and　wealthy　merchants；　to　whom　they　vainly　went　on　a　begging　errand。　　〃Who　will　open　his　door　and　gladly　receive　our　Muses　within　his　house；　who　is　there　that　will　not　send　them　back　again　without　a　gift？　　And　they　with　naked　feet　and　looks　askance　come　homewards；　and　sorely　they　upbraid　me　when　they　have　gone　on　a　vain　journey；　and　listless　again　in　the　bottom　of　their　empty　coffer　they　dwell　with　heads　bowed　over　their　chilly　knees；　where　is　their　drear　abode；　when　portionless　they　return。〃　　How　far　happier　was　the　prisoned　goat…herd；　Comatas；　in　the　fragrant　cedar　chest　where　the　blunt…faced　bees　from　the　meadow　fed　him　with　food　of　tender　flowers；　because　still　the　Muse　dropped　sweet　nectar　on　his　lips！

Thou　didst　leave　the　neat…herds　and　the　kine；　and　the　oaks　of　Himera；　the　galingale　hummed　over　by　the　bees；　and　the　pine　that　dropped　her　cones；　and　Amaryllis　in　her　cave；　and　Bombyca　with　her　feet　of　carven　ivory。　　Thou　soughtest　the　City；　and　strife　with　other　singers；　and　the　learned　write　still　on　thy　quarrels　with　Apollonius　and　Callimachus；　and　Antagoras　of　Rhodes。　　So　ancient　are　the　hatreds　of　poets；　envy；　jealousy；　and　all　unkindness。

Not　to　the　wits　of　Courts　couldst　thou　teach　thy　rural　song；　though　all　these　centuries；　more　than　two　thousand　years；　they　have　laboured　to　vie　with　thee。　　There　has　come　no　new　pastoral　poet；　though　Virgil　copied　thee；　and　Pope；　and　Phillips；　and　all　the　buckram　band　of　the　teacup　time；　and　all　the　modish　swains　of　France　have　sung　against　thee；　as　the　SOW　CHALLENGED　ATHENE。　　They　never　knew　the　shepherd's　life；　the　long　winter　nights　on　dried　heather　by　the　fire；　the　long　summer　days；　when　over　the　parched　grass　all　is　quiet；　and　only　the　insects　hum；　and　the　shrunken　burn　whispers　a　silver　tune。　　Swains　in　high…heeled　shoon；　and　lace；　shepherdesses　in　rouge　and　diamonds；　the　world　is　weary　of　all　concerning　them；　save　their　images　in　porcelain；　effigies　how　unlike　thy　golden　figures；　dedicate　to　Aphrodite；　of　Bombyca　and　Battus！　　Somewhat；　Theocritus；　thou　hast　to　answer　for；　thou　that　first　of　men　brought　the　shepherd　to　Court；　and　made　courtiers　wild　to　go　a　Maying　with　the　shepherds。



LETTERTo　Edgar　Allan　Poe



Sir；Your　English　readers；　better　acquainted　with　your　poems　and　romances　than　with　your　criticisms；　have　long　wondered　at　the　indefatigable　hatred　which　pursues　your　memory。　　You；　who　knew　the　men；　will　not　marvel　that　certain　microbes　of　letters；　the　survivors　of　your　own　generation；　still　harass　your　name　with　their　malevolence；　while　old　women　twitter　out　their　incredible　and　unheeded　slanders　in　the　literary　papers　of　New　York。　　But　their　persistent　animosity　does　not　quite　suffice　to　explain　the　dislike　with　which　many　American　critics　regard　the　greatest　poet；　perhaps　the　greatest　literary　genius；　of　their　country。　　With　a　commendable　patriotism；　they　are　not　apt　to　rate　native　merit　too　low；　and　you；　I　think；　are　the　only　example　of　an　American　prophet　almost　without　honour　in　his　own　country。

The　recent　publication　of　a　cold；　careful；　and　in　many　respects　admirable　study　of　your　career　（〃Edgar　Allan　Poe；〃　by　George　Woodberry：　　Houghton；　Mifflin　and　Co。；　Boston）　reminds　English　readers　who　have　forgotten　it；　and　teaches　those　who　never　knew　it；　that　you　were；　unfortunately；　a　Reviewer。　　How　unhappy　were　the　necessities；　how　deplorable　the　vein；　that　compelled　or　seduced　a　man　of　your　eminence　into　the　dusty　and　stony　ways　of　contemporary　criticism！　　About　the　writers　of　his　own　generation　a　leader　of　that　generation　should　hold　his　peace。　　He　should　neither　praise　nor　blame　nor　defend　his　equals；　he　should　not　strike　one　blow　at　the　buzzing　ephemerae　of　letters。　　The　breath　of　their　life　is　in　the　columns　of　〃Literary　Gossip；〃　and　they　should　be　allowed　to　perish　with　the　weekly　advertisements　on　which　they　pasture。　　Reviewing；　of　course；　there　must　needs　be；　but　great　minds　should　only　criticise　the　great　who　have　passed　beyond　the　reach　of　eulogy　or　fault…　finding。

Unhappily；　taste　and　circumstances　combined　to　make　you　a　censor；　you　vexed　a　continent；　and　you　are　still　unforgiven。　　What　〃irritation　of　a　sensitive　nature；　chafed　by　some　indefinite　sense　of　wrong；〃　drove　you　（in　Mr。　Longfellow's　own　words）　to　attack　his　pure　and　beneficent　Muse　we　may　never　ascertain。　　But　Mr。　Longfellow　forgave　you　easily；　for　pardon　comes　easily　to　the　great。　　It　was　the　smaller　men；　the　Daweses；　Griswolds；　and　the　like；　that　knew　not　how　to　forget。　　〃The　New　Yorkers　never　forgave　him；〃　says　your　latest　biographer；　and　one　scarcely　marvels　at　the　inveteracy　of　their　malice。　　It　was　not　individual　vanity　alone；　but　the　whole　literary　class　that　you　assailed。　　〃As　a　literary　people；〃　you　wrote；　〃we　are　one　vast　perambulating　humbug。〃　　After　that　declaration　of　war　you　died；　and　left　your　reputation　to　the　vanities　yet　writhing　beneath　your　scorn。　　They　are　writhing　and　writing　still。　　He　who　knows　them　need　not　linger　over　the　attacks　and　defences　of　your　personal　character；　he　will　not　waste　time　on　calumnies；　tale…bearing；　private　letters；　and　all　the　noisome　dust　which　takes　so　long　in　settling　above　your　tomb。

For　us　it　is　enough　to　know　that　you　were　compelled　to　live　by　your　pen；　and　that　in　an　age