华氏的露西组诗.doc

The “Lucy” Series of 1799William Wordsworth“Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known”Strange fits of passion have I known:And I will dare to tell,But in the Lover’s ear alone,What once to me befell. When she I loved looked every dayFresh as a rose in June,I to her cottage bent my way,Beneath an evening-moon.Upon the moon I fixed my eye,All over the wide lea;With quickening pace my horse drew nighThose paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard-plot;And, as we climbed the hill,The sinking moon to Lucy’s cotCame near, and nearer still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept,King Nature’s gentlest boon!And all the while my eyes I keptOn the descending moon.My horse moved on; hoof after hoofHe raised, and never stopped:When down behind the cottage roof,At once, the bright moon dropped. What fond and wayward thoughts will slideInto a Lover’s head!“O mercy!” to myself I cried,“If Lucy should be dead!”“She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways”She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of DoveA Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love:A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye!—Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be;But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!“I Travelled Among Unknown Men”I traveled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea;Nor, England! Did I know till then What love I bore to thee. ’I is past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shoreA second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire;And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed The bowers where Lucy played;And thine too is the last green field That Lucy’s eyes surveyed. “Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower”Three years she grew in sun and shower,Then Nature said, “A lovelier flowerOn earth was never sown;This Child I to myself will take;She shall be mine, and I will makeA Lady of my own.“Myself will to my darling beBoth law and impulse: and with meThe Girl, in rock and plain,In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,Shall feel an overseeing powerTo kindle or restrain.“She shall be sportive as the fawnThat wild with glee across the lawn,Or up the mountain springs;And hers shall be the breathing balm,And hers the silence and the calmOf mute insensate things. “The floating clouds their state shall lendTo her; for her the willow bend;Nor shall she fail to seeEven in the motions of the StormGrace that shall mould the Maiden’s formBy silent sympathy.“The stars of midnight shall be dearTo her; and she shall lean her earIn many a secret placeWhere rivulets dance their wayward round,And beauty born of murmuring soundShall pass into her face. “And vital feelings of delightShall rear her form to stately height,Her virgin bosom swell;Such thoughts to Lucy I will giveWhile she and I together liveHere in this happy dell.”Thus Nature spake—The work was done—How soon my Lucy’s race was run!She died, and left to meThis heath, this calm, and quiet scene;The memory of what has been,And never more will be.“A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal”A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears:She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees;Rolled round in earth’s diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees. Lucy GrayOr, SolitudeOft I had heard of Lucy Gray:And, when I crossed the wild,I chanced to see at break of dayThe solitary child.No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;She dwelt on a wide moor,—The sweetest thing that ever grewBeside a human door!You yet may spy the fawn at play,The hare upon the green;But the sweet face of Lucy GrayWill never more be seen. “To-night will be a stormy night—You to the town must go;And take a lantern, Child, to lightYour mother through the snow.”“That, Father! Will I gladly do:’T is scarcely afternoon—The minster-clock has just struck two,And yonder is the moon!”At this the Father raised his hook,And snapped a faggot-band;He piled his work;—and Lucy tookThe lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe:With many a wanton strokeHer feet disperse the powdery snow,That rises up like smoke.The storm came on before its time:She wandered up and down;And many a hill did Lucy climb:But never reached the town.The wretched parents all that nightWent shouting far and wide;But there was neither sound nor sightTo serve them for a guide.At day-break on a hill they stoodThat overlooked the moor;And thence they saw the bridge of wood,A furlong from their d。