天上的吟游诗人，你的曲调真甜;在童年的岁月里，我一遍又一遍地读着它们，泪水无声地涌上心头。我把我内心深处的语言写在每一行文字上;我的罪恶、我的悲伤、我的希望和我的恐惧，都在那里——而且只有我的。一切只为我自己，叹息膨胀，痛苦的眼泪涌出;我不知道诗人的心中充满了什么样的悲愁。我不知道幽暗的夜、困苦的日。漫长、漫长、黑暗、绝望的岁月，压垮了你，折磨了你。但是，他们走了;你温柔的灵魂终于离开尘世，在它的上帝的怀抱里，终于找到了归宿。 It must be so, if God is love, And answers fervent prayer; Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, And I may meet thee there. Is he the source of every good, The spring of purity? Then in thine hours of deepest woe, Thy God was still with thee. How else, when every hope was fled, Couldst thou so fondly cling To holy things and holy men? And how so sweetly sing, Of things that God alone could teach? And whence that purity, That hatred of all sinful ways -- That gentle charity? Are these the symptoms of a heart Of heavenly grace bereft: For ever banished from its God, To Satan's fury left? Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, If Heaven be so severe, That such a soul as thine is lost, -- Oh! how shall I appear? Acton