人们看见一个棕褐色的姑娘急急忙忙地跑过这荒凉凄凉的荒原;她披散的头发飘舞着，她裸露的胸膛被太阳晒得焦黑;因为夏天的正午，当她躺在狂热的梦中时，已经洒下了光辉;在枯萎的树篱旁，她轮流入睡，轮流叫道:“啊!那里藏着香脂，上面写着:“医治玛格丽特的创伤?”她那双深陷的大眼睛是黑色的，疯狂地凝视着天空;寒露从她那布满雀斑的脸上迅速地滑落下来:因为她是孤独的，多少个白天，她注定要独自流浪;多少个夜晚，她温暖的胸膛，在狂风暴雨中跳动;她仍然呼喊着:“雨下得很甜，”它沐浴着玛格丽特的伤口。她的衣服被蒺藜撕裂，上面挂满了荆棘;一顶蓟花冠，她的孪生兄弟，时而向前飞奔，时而向后张望，她的胳膊不时淌着血;然而，在她的胸脯上，她经常露出一根枯萎的树枝，那胸脯是要遮荫的;因为，尽管她的感官已经迷失，她还是感到了白昼的灼热，她感到了夜晚的寒风，她微笑着看到了晨光，因为她哭着说:“我很快就会见到”玛格丽特那痴情的爱人了。 Across the waste of printless snow, All day the NUT-BROWN GIRL would go; And when the winter moon had shed Its pale beams on the mountain's head, She on a broomy pillow lay Singing the lonely hours away; While the cold breath of dawnlight flew Across the fields of glitt'ring dew:-- Swift o'er the frozen lake she past Unmindful of the driving blast, And then she cried "the air is sweet-- "It fans the breast of MARGUERITE." The weedy lane she Iov'd to tread When stars their twinkling lustre shed; While from the lone and silent Cot The watchful Cur assail'd her not, Though at the beggar he would fly, And fright the Trav'ller passing by: But she, so kind and gentle seem'd, Such sorrow in her dark eyes beam'd, That savage fierceness could not greet With less than love,--POOR MARGUERITE! Oft, by the splashy brook she stood And sung her Song to the waving wood; The waving wood, in murmurs low, Fill'd up the pause of weary woe; Oft, to the Forest tripp'd along And inly humm'd her frantic Song; Oft danc'd mid shadows Ev'ning spread Along the whisp'ring willow-bed. And wild was her groan, When she climb'd, alone-- The rough rock's side, While the foaming tide, Dash'd rudely against the sandy shore, And the lightning flash'd mid the thunder's roar. And many a time she chac'd the fly, And mock'd the Beetle, humming by; And then, with loud fantastic tone She sang her wild strain, sad--alone. And if a stranger wander'd near Or paus'd the frantic Song to hear, The burthen she would soft repeat, "Who comes to soothe POOR MARGUERITE? And why did she with sun-burnt breast, So wander, and so scorn to rest? Why did the NUT-BROWN MAIDEN go O'er burning plains and wastes of snow? What bade her fev'rish bosom sigh, And dimm'd her large and hazle eye? What taught her o'er the hills to stray Fearless by night, and wild by day? What stole the hour of slumber sweet-- From the scorch'd brain of MARGUERITE. Soon shalt thou know; for see how lorn She climbs the steep of shaggy thorn-- Now on the jutting cliff she stands, And clasps her cold,--but snow-white hands. And now aloud she chaunts her strain While fiercely roars the troublous main. Now the white breakers curling shew The dread abyss that yawns below, And still she sighs, "the sound is sweet, "It seems to say, POOR MARGUERITE!" "Here will I build a rocky shed, "And here I'll make my sea-weed bed; "Here gather, with unwearied hands-- "The orient shells that deck the sands. "And here will I skim o'er the billows so high, "And laugh at the moon and the dark frowning sky. "And the Sea-birds, that hover across the wide main, "Shall sweep with their pinions, the white bounding plain.-- "And the shivering sail shall the fierce tempest meet, "Like the storm, in the bosom of POOR MARGUERITE! "The setting Sun, with golden ray, "Shall warm my breast, and make me gay. "The clamours of the roaring Sea "My midnight serenade shall be! "The Cliff that like a Tyrant stands "Exulting o'er the wave lash'd sands, "With its weedy crown, and its flinty crest, "Shall, on its hard bosom, rock me to rest; "And I'll watch for the Eagle's unfledg'd brood, "And I'll scatter their nest, and I'll drink their blood; "And under the crag I will kneel and pray "And silver my robe, with the moony ray: "And who shall scorn the lone retreat "Which Heaven has chose, for MARGUERITE?