黑暗的哀恸之岛——你的名字很恰当，因为你曾引起许多眼泪;因为那些背信弃义的斗争，大西洋的航道——荒凉凄凉;一件没有人爱的东西——虽然千千万万的人都害怕——如果缪斯的翅膀在波浪中露出你的沙土，那她就可以唱出一曲恐怖的歌，像向你袭来的狂暴的波涛一样狂暴。风曾是你的吟游诗人——是不幸的树皮的破衣，在夜深人静的时候叮叮作响，是你最喜欢的琴弦——是人群的尖叫，在恐惧中无力地紧紧抓住它们，是你在你的血宴上长久喜爱的歌，海洋的黑暗的孩子;当在苍天的红光映照下，残破的躯体，在汹涌的洪流中浮到你的唇边，而死神，带着可怕的面孔，站在你身旁幸灾乐祸。就像饥饿的老虎潜伏着寻找猎物，装出一副好样子，低伏在地上，眼神安详——野蛮人想要杀戮，却在他的心头刺痛——你也被人看见，毫无伤害地伸展在碧绿的海洋胸膛上，当风停了，平静的波浪在晚霞下沉睡——它的光辉把你那干涸的皱褶镀上了金色，而你却没有意识到，它们紧紧地贴在一个张开的坟墓上。海妖歌声的魅力，致命的乌帕斯树的影子;蛇的眼睛，引诱鸟儿走向注定的厄运——即使在你平静宁静的时刻，也比你更致命，那时，慵懒的海豹在你的沙滩上安歇，骏马放肆地嬉戏，啃食你胸前生长的茂盛的草，而他小心翼翼的目光，却在你的周围投来。但当你的容颜变了——当风暴扫过宽阔的大西洋波涛汹涌的胸膛;当被风吹得支离破碎的水，以许多巨大的形式匆匆而过，怒吼着，像地狱的恶魔，不知道休息，由断断续续的闪电引导; Who dares look on thee then--in terror drest, As on thy length'ning beach the billows dash, Shaking the heavens themselves with one long deaf'ning crash. The winds are but thy blood-hounds, that do force The prey into thy toils; th' insidious stream That steadily pursues its noiseless course, Warmed by the glow of many a tropic beam, To seas where northern blasts more rudely scream Is thy perpetual Almoner, and brings All that to man doth rich and lovely seem, Earth's glorious gifts,--its fair and holy things, And round thy dreary shores its spoils profusely flings. The stateliest stems the Northern forest yields, The richest produce of each Southern shore, The gathered harvests of a thousand fields, Earn'd by man's sweat--or paid for by his gore. The splendid robes the cavern'd Monsters wore, The gold that sparkled in Potosi's mine, The perfumed spice the Eastern islands bore, The gems whose rays like morning's sunbeams shine, All--all--insatiate Isle--these treasures all are thine. But what are these, compared with the rich spoils Of human hearts, with fond affections stored: Of manly forms, o'ertaken by thy toils-- Of glorious spirits, 'mid thy sands outpoured. Thousands who've braved War's desolating sword, Who've walk'd through earth's worst perils undismayed, Now swell the treasures of thy ample hoard; Deep in thy vaults their whitening bones are laid, While many a burning tear is to their mem'ries paid. And oft--as though you sought to mock man's eye-- Thy shifting sands their treasured spoils disclose: There may we some long-missing wreck descry, Some broken mast, that once so proudly rose Above the peopled deck; some toy, that shows The fate of her upon whose breast it hung, But who now sleeps in undisturbed repose, Where by the waves her beauteous form was flung, May peace be with her manes--the lovely and the young. Why does the Father, at the dawn of day, Fly from his feverish couch and horrid dreams, And up the mountain side pursue his way, And turn to gaze upon the sea, which seems Blent with the heavens--until the gorgeous beams Of the bright sun each cloud and wave reveal? Whence comes the tear that o'er that pale cheek streams-- As, tired with gazing, on the earth he kneels, And pours in prayer to God the anguish that he feels? Why does the matron heave that constant sigh? Why does she start at every distant sound? Her cheerful fire is blazing 'neath her eye, Her fair and happy children sporting round, Appealing to her heart at every bound, While on her lap one rose-lipped babe reclines, And looks into her face with joy profound. But yet the mother secretly repines, And thr