本期我们欣赏的这首短诗出自拜伦的长篇抒情诗《公子哈尔德游记》。这部长诗和拜伦的另一部作品《唐璜》可以说是拜伦留下的最经典的两部巨作了。
就此，我们的文豪仰望系列之拜伦到这期就结束了。ShinJam又要开始绞尽脑汁想下一个专题来说哪位了，当然如果你有感兴趣的诗人欢迎在评论区为ta打call！

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
George Gordon Byron（1788-1824）

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

She Walks in Beauty
BY LORD BYRON (GEORGE GORDON)

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

When we two parted

BY George Gordon Byron

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy check and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold Sorrw to this。

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow-

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now。

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame;

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame。

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me-

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well-

Long, Long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell。

In secret we met-

In silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit decieve。

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.

Seven times have I despised my soul:
The first time when I saw her being meek that she might attain height.
The second time when I saw her limping before the crippled.
The third time when she was given to choose between the hard and the easy, and she chose the easy.
The fourth time when she committed a wrong, and comforted herself that others also commit wrong.
The fifth time when she forbore for weakness, and attributed her patience to strength.
The sixth time when she despised the ugliness of a face, and knew not that it was one of her own masks.
And the seventh time when she sang a song of praise, and deemed it a virtue.

Seven times have I despised my soul:
The first time when I saw her being meek that she might attain height.
The second time when I saw her limping before the crippled.
The third time when she was given to choose between the hard and the easy, and she chose the easy.
The fourth time when she committed a wrong, and comforted herself that others also commit wrong.
The fifth time when she forbore for weakness, and attributed her patience to strength.
The sixth time when she despised the ugliness of a face, and knew not that it was one of her own masks.
And the seventh time when she sang a song of praise, and deemed it a virtue.

Gui. Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages; 330
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o’ the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:

Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:

The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash;

Arv. Thou hast finish’d joy and moan:

Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

Gui. No exorciser harm thee!

Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

Gui. Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages; 330
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o’ the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:

Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:

The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash;

Arv. Thou hast finish’d joy and moan:

Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

Gui. No exorciser harm thee!

Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

Shakespeare系列第二弹来啦～在拆解完人生之后，莎翁这次来严肃的给我们讲讲什么是真爱！愿你此生也能真正爱过。

Sonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true minds
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

从本期开始，我们会来深度扒一扒那些英国文坛巨匠们的经典之作， 它们到底美在哪，又因何流传至今还被文豪们争相追捧？打开你三年前的假期阅读书单，总能看到这些人的名字和他们的作品。什么？到现在你连第一本昆虫记都没读完？！好吧，其实。。我也是。。。咱们来一起慢慢补上吧～

说到英国，有这么一位是总也绕不过去的，全世界的小学生都知道他的名字，“威廉莎士比亚”。那么第一期我们就从他来聊起吧！

All the world’s a stage
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
(from As You Like It, spoken by Jaques)

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.