乌鸦 埃德加 . 爱伦. 坡
多年前一寂寞之夜, 我疲倦困顿独坐深思，
珍籍中那些已被记忆埋葬的古老传说伴我
睡意沉沉。突然, 一阵橐橐声将我惊醒，
好象有人轻轻地, 有人轻轻敲我的房门。
“准是一位夜客 » 我喃喃自语 « 一位夜客橐橐叩门--
仅此而已, 别无它物”
哦, 我清楚地记得这是凄冷的冬月，
垂死的炉火在地板上翻飞幢幢鬼影。
我渴望天明，--借读书打发时光
仿佛书本能消除忧伤--忧伤为死去的莱罗--
美好光采照人的少女, 天使们把她叫作莱罗--
如今这名字永劫不复
悲伤柔滑如丝从紫帘后发出窸窣声响，
诡秘的联想让人害怕—我心从未如此悚然，
为强作镇静，我站起来迭声重复
“准是一位夜客在门外请求进来--
一位迟来的夜客在门外请求进来--
如此而已，别无它物”
于是，我不再胆怯，照直这么说 ：
“先生，或是女士，实在求您原谅，
我正在打盹，你来了，你轻轻地敲门，
你那微弱的橐橐声，橐橐地敲响我的房门，
我肯定我听见了”--说完，我拉开房门 ；
除了黑暗，别无它物
黑暗深邃如眸，我长久站立，怵怵惶惶，
满心纳闷，梦是从来没有人敢梦的梦境。
可是沉寂依然，可是黑暗依然，
只有那词语悄悄逸出“莱罗”
“莱罗”我喁喁独语，回声咿呀四起“莱罗”
仅此而已，别无它物。
转身回到房间，我灵魂火一般炙热，
听呀，又是那敲门声，比刚才更响。
“那一定是”我说“一定是窗格那儿有什么东西，
等我看看，什么东西在捣蛋，什么秘密，
静一静，然后看看到底是什么秘密”
唯风吹过，别无它物！
我猛然一搡，推开窗叶，有物悠然振翅，
进来的是一只圣古时代华贵的乌鸦，
它既不问礼也不停足， 目若旁人，
仪态雍容，径直栖停在我卧室门上--
栖停在帕拉斯的胸塑上，胸塑在门上--
栖息，蹲下，别无它物。
这漆黑的鸟儿驱散我忧伤的幻想，
它沉郁严厉的外表引我微笑，
“虽然没有顶戴乌冠”我说“但你并不怯弱，
不祥而丑陋的古鸦从夜的海岸飞来！
告诉我在黑夜冥王海岸你叫什么名字”
乌鸦说：“永劫不复”
这丑鸟平静地听我说话使我惊异，
虽然它的回答荒诞毫无意义；
请问谁人曾经见过这样的鸟
它停在你卧室门上的胸像雕塑上--
就说这么一句：“永劫不复”
这乌鸦，独自蹲在胸塑上，说的就这么
一句，好像它的灵魂就全在这一句话中。
此外更无其他，就连羽毛也纹丝不动--
我嗫嚅喃喃；“从前朋友别我而去，
明天它也会离开，就像从前希望把我抛弃”
鸟儿说：“永劫不复”
这打破寂静的准确无误的回答让我惊讶，
“无疑”我想，“这是它唯一会说的一句话”。
从它不幸的主人那里学来，---可怜人，灾难无情
接踵而至， 直到剩下的只有这唯一的独白 ；
直到希望都变成了这伤心的重负累累；
“永劫—永劫不复”
而这乌鸦仍让我心灵忧伤幻化为一笑。
我将绒垫椅推到鸟儿面前，鸟在塑像上，塑像在门上--
坐在柔软的天鹅绒上我浮想联翩，
所有的幻像萦绕着这只不祥的古鸟--
这只阴郁，笨拙，丑陋，瘦骨嶙嶙的不祥之鸟，
呱呱鸦叫到底表示什么 ：永劫不复
我坐着，沉思默想，与鸟无语相对，
它炯炯如火的目光洞烧了我的心扉。
我仍那么坐着，尽在猜想，斜倚靠垫
明快的灯光为天鹅绒靠垫镶了锦绣
但这镶了灯光锈边的天鹅绒的靠垫
她应斜倚，啊，永劫不复！
空气好像变得浓稠，没有香炉而熏香弥漫
香缕飘摇，天使坠足，地毯碰出轻轻踢踏声响。
“可怜人”我失声而叫：“上帝赠你，让天使们带给你
安宁，安宁和遗忘，遗忘了关于莱罗的记忆！
哦，让我饮尽这忘川之水，忘了你，死去的莱罗！
乌鸦呱呱 “永劫不复”
“先知，邪物，你无论是鸟还是妖怪，你是先知
是魔鬼派你来，还是风暴把你扔出海岸，
虽历变故仍不失态，你落在这荒凉的沉迷之地--
落在这中了魔法的屋子 ---- 告诉我，我求你了--
吉里德山真有止痛的香膏吗？--告诉我，告诉我，求你了！
乌鸦呱呱， “永劫不复”
“先知，邪物，你无论是鸟还是妖怪，你是先知 ！
看在俯临大地的苍穹，和我俩膜拜的上帝的份上--
告诉我在遥远的伊甸我满载忧伤的灵魂是否还能
拥抱那圣洁的少女，天使们把这少女叫做莱罗--
拥抱美好的光采照人的少女，这少女天使们叫她作莱罗？
乌鸦呱呱， “永劫不复”
让说这话的见鬼去吧，鸟或者恶魔！”我一跳而起，浑身战栗--
“滚回你的风暴中去，滚回你黑夜的冥王海岸！
不要留下哪怕一根黑羽毛，连同你灵魂的那句谎言一块拿走！
让我留在注定的孤独中，离开我的门上的雕塑胸像！
拿走你注在我心上的忧郁，永远永远不要在我房里见到你！”
乌鸦呱呱，“永劫不复”
乌鸦，从此没有再飞起，总那样蹲着，总那样蹲着
蹲在帕拉斯苍白的胸像上，帕拉斯胸像在我卧室的门楣；
它的眼睛有如正在做梦的恶魔的一双黑眸，
灯光把它的暗影长长地投射在地板上；
我的灵魂连着那片暗影在地板上漂浮
起来 – 永劫不复！
傅杰 译
（2008年12月完稿） [/size]
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
First Published in 1845
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!
