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1、Sonnet on ChillonSonnet on Chillon Lord George Gordon Byron Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consignd To fetters, and the damp vaults day
2、less gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And freedoms fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altarfor twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! May none those marks effa
3、ce! For they appeal from tyranny to God. Ozymandias Percy Bysshe Shelly I met a traveler from an antique land, Who said-Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert.Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinked lip, and sneer of cold command, 1 Tell
4、 that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart, that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings, Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing besides remains. Round
5、 the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch faraway.” To a Skylark Percy Bysshe Shelley HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert That from heaven or near it Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 5 Higher still and higher
6、From the earth thou springest, Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, Oer which clouds are brightning, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 15 10 2 The pale
7、 purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight 20 Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 25 All the earth an
8、d air With thy voice is loud, As when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowd. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody: 35 Like a poe
9、t hidden In the light of thought, 30 3 Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: 40 Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: 45 Like a glow-worm
10、golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its arial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view: 50 Like a rose embowerd In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowerd, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-wingd thieves. 55 Sound of vernal show
11、ers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakend flowers All that ever was Joyous and clear and freshthy music doth surpass. 60 4 Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 65 Chorus hymeneal, Or triumpha
12、l chant, Matchd with thine would be all But an empty vaunt A thin wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 70 What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? 75 With thy clear
13、 keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest, but neer knew loves sad satiety. 80 Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem 5 Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? 85 We look before and after,
14、And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet, if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear, If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 95 Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! 100 Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know; Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 90 6
