托马斯·坎贝尔

在这里你会发现长诗怀俄明州的格特鲁德诗人托马斯·坎贝尔

怀俄明州的格特鲁德

第一部分在萨斯奎哈纳那边,美丽的怀俄明!虽然你那破败的墙上的野花,你那没有屋顶的房屋,使人想起你那温柔的人民所遭受的不幸;然而,你曾经是世界上最美丽的土地,看到大西洋的波浪恢复了它的晨光。甜蜜的土地!让我回忆起你逝去的欢乐,把你昔日的格特露画在她的凉亭里,她的美是宾夕法尼亚海岸的爱情!令人愉快的怀俄明!在你的天空下,快乐的牧童无事可做,只在碧绿的山坡上牧养羊群,或者用轻快的独木舟掠过你的湖面,从早到晚,你的甜蜜的消遣不断滋长,在棕黄色的森林下,你的可爱的少女们会重新跳舞;是啊,半山腰上那些阳光明媚的山峦会回响着某个浪漫小镇的歌声。然后,当日光从印度的山丘上告别时,你会看到火烈鸟像流星一样在湖面上嬉戏——松鼠在他的坚果树上嬉戏:生命的每一个声音都充满了欢乐,从欢快的模仿鸟的歌声,或人类的嗡嗡声;野鹿听着,不怕他们的狂欢,从林间空地拱起脖子,然后,没有被追捕,又回到了他的树林和荒野。 And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime Heard, but in transatlantic story rung, For here the exile met from every clime, And spoke in friendship every distant tongue: Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung Were but divided by the running brook; And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung, On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook, The blue-eyed German changed his sword to pruning-hook. Nor far some Andalusian saraband Would sound to many a native roundelay-- But who is he that yet a dearer land Remembers, over hills and far away? Green Albin! what though he no more survey Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore, Thy pelloch's rolling from the mountain bay, Thy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor, And distant isles that hear the loud Corbrechtan roar! Alas! poor Caledonia's mountaineer, That wants stern edict e'er, and feudal grief, Had forced him from a home he loved so dear! Yet found he here a home and glad relief, And plied the beverage from his own fair sheaf, That fired his Highland blood with mickle glee: And England sent her men, of men the chief, Who taught those sires of empire yet to be, To plant the tree of life,--to plant fair Freedom's tree! Here was not mingled in the city's pomp Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom Judgment awoke not here her dismal tromp, Nor seal'd in blood a fellow-creature's doom, Nor mourn'd the captive in a living tomb. One venerable man, beloved of all, Sufficed, where innocence was yet in bloom, To sway the strife, that seldom might befall: And Albert was their judge, in patriarchal hall. How reverend was the look, serenely aged, He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire, Where all but kindly fervors were assuaged, Undimm'd by weakness' shade, or turbid ire! And though, amidst the calm of thought entire, Some high and haughty features might betray A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire That fled composure's intellectual ray, As AEtna's fires grow dim before the rising day. I boast no song in magic wonders rife, But yet, oh Nature! is there naught to prize, Familiar in thy bosom scenes of life? And dwells in day-light truth's salubrious skies No form with which the soul may sympathise?-- Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise, An inmate in the home of Albert smiled, Or blest his noonday walk--she was his only child. The rose of England bloom'd on Gertrude's cheek-- What though these shades had seen her birth, her sire A Briton's independence taught to seek Far western worlds; and there his household fire The light of social love did long inspire, And many a halcyon day he lived to see Unbroken but by one misfortune dire, When fate had reft his mutual heart--but she Was gone--and Gertrude climb'd a widow'd father's knee. A loved bequest,--and I may half impart-- To them that feel the strong paternal tie, How like a new existence to his heart That living flower uprose beneath his eye Dear as she was from cherub infancy, From hours when she would round his garden play, To time when as the ripening years went by, Her lovely mind could culture well repay, And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day. I may not paint those thousand infant charms; (Unconscious fascination, undesign'd!) The orison repeated in his arms, For God to bless her sire and all mankind; The book, the bosom on his knee reclined, Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con, (The playmate ere the te