呵，每一位可爱的缪斯的母亲，你的精神弥漫在我的灵魂里，你主持着我一切纯朴的歌曲，你指引我的脚步到你的庙里去。在你草皮筑起的神龛前，用金杯献上的不是名贵的美酒，不是群羊的残害，而是岩石上的花和蜜。哦，女神，你的头发飘逸，腿露在靴子上，袒露着胸膛，腰间束着紫金娘的腰带，眉毛上戴着印第安人的羽毛，在雪白的手里挥舞着一根无所不能的魔杖，用它的力量让新鲜的花园吹起，在拉普兰荒凉的雪中，你的飞翔把它迅速的翅膀吹过空中，越过陆地和海洋，而你锐利的眼睛却能看到浩瀚的风景。啊，沙漠的爱人，万岁!说，你住在什么幽深无路的山谷里，或在什么苍白的山腰上，在落水的中间，在破碎的岩石中间，是一幅崎岖的景象，中间是青青的溪谷，在老橡树的幽暗的森林中间，没有樵夫的抚摸的回声，那里从来没有人类的技艺，也没有一间草屋，在那里，大自然似乎独自坐着，威严地坐在嶙峋的宝座上;告诉我那条路，可爱的精灵，告诉我，到你那不可知的幽静的小屋里去，那里的门边簇生着一丛丛紫菀，地上铺着贝壳和青苔，山楂树在它的顶上长着，在它浓密的枝叶间，有夜莺还在筑窝，每天晚上啼叫着让你安息:我躺在幽幽的溪边，沉浸在一些狂野而诗意的梦境里，在交谈中，我以为我和斯宾塞一起在仙林里漫游;直到突然醒来，我听见耳边响起奇怪的轻柔的音乐，我那快乐的灵魂沉浸在那甜蜜的抚慰声中!我，女神，由我的右手领着，有时穿过黄色的草地，在那里，欢乐和白衣的和平，在那里，维纳斯在她喜庆的庭院里，在那里，欢乐和青春每晚相会，用灵巧的脚轻行，点着百合花的头，在那里，欢声笑语带着玫瑰的唇;回声在陡峭的山间漫步，伴着牧羊的歌声吟唱;然而，那些欢乐的花田，不能使我沉思的心灵，从这些愚蠢的景物中，长久地奔忙，幻想，去见那忧郁的主妇，那爱抱臂叹息的泪眼女神!让我们踏着无声的脚步，走进灵堂和忧伤的屋子，走进哥特式的教堂、拱顶和坟墓，在每一个悲伤的夜晚，都有一个处女来到那里，她胸脯悸动，脸颊枯萎，去寻找她承诺的新郎的骨灰盒; Or to some abbey's mould'ring tow'rs, Where, to avoid cold wintry show'rs, The naked beggar shivering lies, While whistling tempests round her rise, And trembles lest the tottering wall Should on her sleeping infants fall. Now let us louder strike the lyre, For my heart glows with martial fire, I feel, I feel, with sudden heat, My big tumultuous bosom beat, The trumpet's clangours pierce my ear, A thousand widows' shrieks I hear, Give me another horse, I cry, Lo! the base Gallic squadrons fly; Whence is this rage?--what spirit, say, To battle hurries me away? 'Tis Fancy, in her fiery car, Transports me to the thickest war, There whirls me o'er the hills of slain, Where Tumult and Destruction reign; Where, mad with pain, the wounded steed Tramples the dying and the dead; Where giant Terror stalks around, With sullen joy surveys the ground, And, pointing to th' ensanguin'd field, Shakes his dreadful Gorgon-shield! O guide me from this horrid scene To high-arch'd walks and alleys green, Which lovely Laura seeks, to shun The fervours of the mid-day sun; The pangs of absence, O remove! For thou canst place me near my love, Canst fold in visionary bliss, And let me think I steal a kiss, While her ruby lips dispense Luscious nectar's quintessence! When young-ey'd Spring profusely throws From her green lap the pink and rose, When the soft turtle of the dale To Summer tells her tender tale, When Autumn cooling caverns seeks, And stains with wine his jolly cheeks; When Winter, like poor pilgrim old, Shakes his silver beard with cold; At every season let my ear Thy solemn whispers, Fancy, hear. O warm, enthusiastic maid, Without thy powerful, vital aid, That breathes an energy divine, That gives a soul to every line, Ne'er may I strive with lips profane To utter an unhallow'd strain, Nor dare to touch the sacred string, Save when with smiles thou bid'st me sing. O hear our prayer, O hither come From thy lamented Shakespear's tomb, On which thou lov'st to sit at eve, Musing o'er thy darling's grave; O queen of numbers, once again Animate some chosen swain, Who, fill'd with unexhausted fire, May boldly s