维克多·玛丽·雨果

在这里你会发现长诗弥尔顿对克伦威尔的呼吁诗人维克多·玛丽·雨果

弥尔顿对克伦威尔的呼吁

克伦威尔,第三幕。[参考译文]留下来!我再也控制不住自己了,只能叫你:看看约翰,他袒露了他的心里话对奥利弗——对克伦威尔,弥尔顿在说话!尽管有火红的眼睛和深沉的惊奇,一个声音未经你的允许就扬起了;因为我从来没有被安排在议会中,以表达我的意见。当敬畏的陌生人来了,他们见过福克斯·马扎林对我书信中的刺痛畏缩——带来了博学的学院的赞赏之票,他们竭力想在耀眼的光芒中看到我的身影——引路员说:“看,听!那是我的护国公的表弟——那个,他的女婿——下一个——谁在乎!一个香水木偶!“弥尔顿?“那个穿黑衣的人——你这个沉默的抄写员,修饰了他们的口才!” Still 'chronicling small-beer,'--such is my duty! Yea, one whose thunder roared through martyr bones Till Pope and Louis Grand quaked on their thrones, And echoed 'Vengeance for the Vaudois,'where The Sultan slumbers sick with scent of roses. He is but the mute in this seraglio-- 'Pure'Cromwell's Council! But to be dumb and blind is overmuch! Impatient Issachar kicks at the load! Yet diadems are burdens painfuller, And I would spare thee that sore imposition. Dear brother Noll, I plead against thyself! Thou aim'st to be a king; and, in thine heart, What fool has said: 'There is no king but thou?' For thee the multitude waged war and won-- The end thou art of wrestlings and of prayer, Of sleepless watch, long marches, hunger, tears And blood prolifically spilled, homes lordless, And homeless lords! The mass must always suffer That one should reign! the collar's but newly clamp'd, And nothing but the name thereon is changed-- Master? still masters! mark you not the red Of shame unutterable in my sightless white? Still hear me, Cromwell, speaking for your sake! These fifteen years, we, to you whole-devoted, Have sought for Liberty--to give it thee? To make our interests your huckster gains? The king a lion slain that you may flay, And wear the robe--well, worthily--I say't, For I will not abase my brother! No! I would keep him in the realm serene, My own ideal of heroes! loved o'er Israel, And higher placed by me than all the others! And such, for tinkling titles, hollow haloes Like that around yon painted brow--thou! thou! Apostle, hero, saint-dishonor thyself! And snip and trim the flag of Naseby-field As scarf on which the maid-of-honor's dog Will yelp, some summer afternoon! That sword Shrink into a sceptre! brilliant bauble! Thou, Thrown on a lonely rock in storm of state, Brain-turned by safety's miracle, thou risest Upon the tott'ring stone whilst ocean ebbs, And, reeking of no storms to come to-morrow, Or to-morrow--deem that a certain pedestal Whereon thou'lt be adored for e'er--e'en while It shakes--o'ersets the rider! Tremble, thou! For he who dazzles, makes men Samson-blind, Will see the pillars of his palace kiss E'en at the whelming ruin! Then, what word Of answer from your wreck when I demand Account of Cromwell! glory of the people Smothered in ashes! through the dust thou'lt hear; 'What didst thou with thy virtue?'Will it respond: 'When battered helm is doffed, how soft is purple On which to lay the head, lulled by the praise Of thousand fluttering fans of flatterers! Wearied of war-horse, gratefully one glides In gilded barge, or in crowned, velvet car, From gay Whitehall to gloomy Temple Bar--' (Where--had you slipt, that head were bleaching now! And that same rabble, splitting for a hedge, Had joined their rows to cheer the active headsman; Perchance, in mockery, they'd gird the skull With a hop-leaf crown! Bitter the brewing, Noll!) Are crowns the end-all of ambition? Remember Charles Stuart! and that they who make can break! This same Whitehall may black its front with crape, And this broad window be the portal twice To lead upon a scaffold! Frown! or laugh! Laugh on as they did at Cassandra's speech! But mark--the prophetess was right! Still laugh, Like the credulous Ethiop in his faith in stars! But give one thought to Stuart, two for yourself! In his appointed hour, all was forthcoming-- Judge, axe, and deathsman veiled! and my poor eyes Descry--as would thou saw'st!--a figure veiled, Uplooming there--afar, like sunrise, coming! With blade that ne'er spared Judas 'midst free brethren! Stretch not the hand of Cromwell for the prize Meant not for him, nor his! Thou growest old, The people are ever young! Like her i'the chase Who drave a dart into her lover, embowered, Piercing the incense-clouds, the popular shaft May slay thee in a random shot at Tyranny! Man, friend, remain a Cromwell! in thy name, Rule! and if thy son be worthy, he and his, So rule the rest for ages! be it grander thus To be a Cromwe