．普鲁塔克。无论他走到哪里，他都安详地拥抱着天鹅般的优雅，毫不掩饰地傲慢，展现出一种宁静的壮丽，这就是王子狄翁，在他幸福的时刻，力量和美丽。当柏拉图的天才的月光，从它的高远的穹苍中，在学院的树林里，落在他的周围，软化了他们天生的威严——他，不因自我满足的孤独而过于得意，而是以赋予的庄严的卑微，在宇宙的怀抱中统治，从深情的遵守中获得帮助，在每一次不利的命运变化中。五千勇士——呵，这欢乐的日子!每个人都戴着花冠，拿着矛和盾，或者更粗鲁的武器，他们的路线可能会屈服，以明亮的阵型向锡拉库扎前进。谁在引导他们?——焦急的人们看到长期流亡的狄翁走在他们的前面，他也戴着西西里的花，穿着白色的紧身胸衣，容光焕发!纯净的心境，不受怀疑或恐惧的干扰冲向平原，向那些陌生人致敬，就像一列神圣的火车或祝福的队伍(亲爱的神仙)，给他们带来了宝贵的自由。 Lo! when the gates are entered, on each hand, Down the long street, rich goblets filled with wine In seemly order stand, On tables set, as if for rites divine;-- And, as the great Deliverer marches by, He looks on festal ground with fruits bestrown; And flowers are on his person thrown In boundless prodigality; Nor doth the general voice abstain from prayer, Invoking Dion's tutelary care, As if a very Deity he were! Mourn, hills and groves of Attica! and mourn, Ilissus, bending o'er thy classic urn! Mourn, and lament for him whose spirit dreads Your once sweet memory, studious walks and shades! For him who to divinity aspired, Not on the breath of popular applause, But through dependence on the sacred laws Framed in the schools where Wisdom dwelt retired, Intent to trace the ideal path of right (More fair than heaven's broad causeway paved with stars) Which Dion learned to measure with sublime delight;-- But He hath overleaped the eternal bars; And, following guides whose craft holds no consent With aught that breathes the ethereal element, Hath stained the robes of civil power with blood, Unjustly shed, though for the public good. Whence doubts that came too late, and wishes vain, Hollow excuses, and triumphant pain; And oft his cogitations sink as low As, through the abysses of a joyless heart, The heaviest plummet of despair can go-- But whence that sudden check? that fearful start! He hears an uncouth sound-- Anon his lifted eyes Saw, at a long-drawn gallery's dusky bound, A Shape of more than mortal size And hideous aspect, stalking round and round! A woman's garb the Phantom wore, And fiercely swept the marble floor,-- Like Auster whirling to and fro, His force on Caspian foam to try; Or Boreas when he scours the snow That skims the plains of Thessaly, Or when aloft on Mænalus he stops His flight, 'mid eddying pine-tree tops! So, but from toil less sign of profit reaping, The sullen Spectre to her purpose bowed, Sweeping--vehemently sweeping-- No pause admitted, no design avowed! "Avaunt, inexplicable Guest!--avaunt," Exclaimed the Chieftain--"let me rather see The coronal that coiling vipers make; The torch that flames with many a lurid flake, And the long train of doleful pageantry Which they behold, whom vengeful Furies haunt; Who, while they struggle from the scourge to flee, Move where the blasted soil is not unworn, And, in their anguish, bear what other minds have borne!" But Shapes, that come not at an earthly call, Will not depart when mortal voices bid; Lords of the visionary eye whose lid, Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall! Ye Gods, thought He, that servile Implement Obeys a mystical intent! Your Minister would brush away The spots that to my soul adhere; But should she labour night and day, They will not, cannot disappear; Whence angry perturbations,--and that look Which no philosophy can brook! Ill-fated Chief! there are whose hopes are built Upon the ruins of thy glorious name; Who, through the portal of one moment's guilt, Pursue thee with their deadly aim! O matchless perfidy! portentous lust Of monstrous crime!--that horror-striking blade, Drawn in defiance of the Gods, hath laid The noble Syracusan low in dust! Shudder'd the walls--the marble city wept-- And sylvan places heaved a pensive sigh; But in calm peace the appointed Victim slept