Adonais

Adonais

 

 

 

 

XXI
       Alas! that all we lov'd of him should be,
       But for our grief, as if it had not been,
       And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!
       Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene
       The actors or spectators? Great and mean
       Meet mass'd in death, who lends what life must borrow.
       As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,
       Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,
Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow. 

 

 

XXXIV
       All stood aloof, and at his partial moan
       Smil'd through their tears; well knew that gentle band
       Who in another's fate now wept his own,
       As in the accents of an unknown land
       He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scann'd
       The Stranger's mien, and murmur'd: "Who art thou?"
       He answer'd not, but with a sudden hand
       Made bare his branded and ensanguin'd brow,
Which was like Cain's or Christ's—oh! that it should be so! 

 

XXXIX
       Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,
       He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;
       'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
       With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
       And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife
       Invulnerable nothings. We decay 
       Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
       Convulse us and consume us day by day,
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay. 

 
      

XLI

       He lives, he wakes—'tis Death is dead, not he;
       Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,
       Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee
       The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;
       Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!
       Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air,
       Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown
       O'er the abandon'd Earth, now leave it bare
Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair! 

  

LIII
       Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?
       Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
       They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!
       A light is pass'd from the revolving year,
       And man, and woman; and what still is dear
       Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.
       The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near:
       'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither,
No more let Life divide what Death can join together. 

 

LV
       The breath whose might I have invok'd in song
       Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven,
       Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
       Whose sails were never to the tempest given;
       The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!
       I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;
       Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,
       The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

 


An Example of Another Elegy
 

¿Àµç(W. H. Auden), ¡°Àå·Ê½Ä ºí·ç½º¡±

 

Funeral Blues

Àå·Ê½Ä ºí·ç½º

 

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone.

Silence the pianos and, with muffled drum,

Bring out the coffin. Let the mourners come.

 

½Ã°è¸¦ ¸ðµÎ ¸ØÃç¶ó. ÀüÈ­¼±µµ ²÷¾î ¹ö·Á¶ó.

À°ÁóÀÌ °¡µæÇÑ »À¸¦ ¹°°í ÀÖ´Â Àú °­¾ÆÁöµµ ¸ø ¢°Ô Ç϶ó.

ÇÇ¾Æ³ë ¼Ò¸®µµ Á×ÀÌ°í, ¼ûÁ×ÀÎ ºÏ¼Ò¸®¿Í ÇÔ²²

°üÀ» ³»¿À¶ó. Á¶¹®°´À» µéÀ̶ó.

 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling in the sky the message: ¡°He is dead!¡±

Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves.

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

 

ºñÇà±â°¡ Èå´À³¢¸ç »ó°øÀ» ¸Éµ¹°Ô Ç϶ó

±×·¯¸é¼­ Çϴÿ¡ ÀÌ·¸°Ô ¾²°Ô Ç϶ó. ¡°±×°¡ Á×¾ú´Ù!¡±

°ø¿ø¿¡ ÀÖ´Â ºñµÑ±âÀÇ ÇÏ¾á ¸ñ´ú¹Ì¿¡µµ »óÀå(ßÃíñ)À» ¸Å¶ó.

°Å¸®ÀÇ ±³Åë¼ø°æµéµµ °ËÀº »ö ¸ñÀå°©À» ³¢¶ó°í Çضó.

 

He was my north, my south, my east and west,

My working week and Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.

I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

 

±×´Â ³ªÀÇ ºÏÂÊ°ú ³²ÂÊ, ³ªÀÇ µ¿ÂÊ°ú ¼­ÂÊÀ̾ú´Ù.

³ªÀÇ ÀÏÇÏ´Â ÆòÀÏÀÇ ³ª³¯À̾ú°í, ÀÏ¿äÀÏÀÇ ¾È½ÄÀ̾ú´Ù.

³ªÀÇ Á¤¿À¿´°í, ³ªÀÇ ÀÚÁ¤À̾ú°í, ³ªÀÇ À̾߱â, ³ªÀÇ ³ë·¡¿´´Ù.

³ª´Â »ç¶ûÀÌ ¿µ¿øÇÒ ÁÙ ¾Ë¾Ò´Ù. ³»°¡ Ʋ·È´Ù.

 

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one.

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can come to any good.

 

º°µµ ÀÌÁ¨ ´Ù ÇÊ¿ä¾ø´Ù. º°ºû µûÀ© ´Ù ²¨¹ö·Á¶ó.

´Þµµ °¡¸®°í, Çصµ Ä¡¿ö¶ó.

¹Ù´å¹°µµ ´Ù µû¶ó ¹ö¸®°í, ½£µµ ¸ðµÎ ¹Ð¾î¹ö·Á¶ó.

ÀÌÁ¨ ¾Æ¹« °Íµµ ¾Æ¹« ¼Ò¿ëÀÌ ¾øÀ¸´Ï±î. 

 

 

 

 

A Romantic Elegy: An Elegy on himself

 

Requiem in Amadeus

 

 

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