西班牙啊，在古时的日子里，我那幼小的心有多少投奔你啊!多么浪漫的梦境充满了我的脑海，让查理曼大帝的圣骑士，熙德的斗士，再次复活!还有比这更朦胧的形状，在朦胧的暮色中半露出来;腓尼基人在海上的大帆船，罗马人像蜂房一样的营地，哥特人从他的膝盖上举起盾牌上的佩拉约。也许正是这些记忆，从最遥远的年代流传下来，给每一件微不足道的小事都添上了浪漫的色彩，改变了我所看到的一切的模样和面貌。古老的城镇，其历史隐藏在僧侣的编年史或韵律中，——布尔戈斯，熙德，萨莫拉和巴利亚多利德的诞生地，托莱多，在万巴时代的战争中建造和城墙;那又长又直的公路，那遥远的城镇，似乎离得那么近，那田间的农民，他们停下劳作，划十字祈祷，当正午钟楼传来《三钟经》;山口上的白色十字架，戴着流苏的骡子欢快的叫声，骡夫的喧闹声，系着绳的驴在路边的尘土飞扬的草地上吃草，骑着铜马刺的骑士在客栈里下车;隐藏在麦田里的白色村庄，沉睡在海边的白色城市，洒满广场和街道的白色阳光，脚下河床因热而干涸的黑色山脉——对我来说，这一切都是一场梦。然而，在这迷人的景色上，笼罩着一种阴沉而严峻的气氛; A terror in the atmosphere As if King Philip listened near, Or Torquemada, the austere, His ghostly sway maintained. The softer Andalusian skies Dispelled the sadness and the gloom; There Cadiz by the seaside lies, And Seville's orange-orchards rise, Making the land a paradise Of beauty and of bloom. There Cordova is hidden among The palm, the olive, and the vine; Gem of the South, by poets sung, And in whose Mosque Ahmanzor hung As lamps the bells that once had rung At Compostella's shrine. But over all the rest supreme, The star of stars, the cynosure, The artist's and the poet's theme, The young man's vision, the old man's dream,-- Granada by its winding stream, The city of the Moor! And there the Alhambra still recalls Aladdin's palace of delight; Allah il Allah! through its halls Whispers the fountain as it falls, The Darro darts beneath its walls, The hills with snow are white. Ah yes, the hills are white with snow, And cold with blasts that bite and freeze; But in the happy vale below The orange and pomegranate grow, And wafts of air toss to and fro The blossoming almond trees. The Vega cleft by the Xenil, The fascination and allure Of the sweet landscape chains the will; The traveller lingers on the hill, His parted lips are breathing still The last sigh of the Moor. How like a ruin overgrown With flowers that hide the rents of time, Stands now the Past that I have known; Castles in Spain, not built of stone But of white summer clouds, and blown Into this little mist of rhyme!