男主糙痞的肉宠文

栏目:文章 发表于:2020-03-31 06:01查看: 10
作者幼時跟【母亲】住在苏格兰,【生活】贫困。10岁时,【由于】伯祖父(第5代拜伦男爵)去世,【没有】子嗣,作者便【成为】第6代拜伦男爵,继【承了】纽斯台德寺院、罗岱尔两处房产和两千多亩【土地】(诗中“...

作者幼時跟【母亲】住在苏格兰,【生活】贫困。10岁时,【由于】伯祖父(第5代拜伦男爵)去世,【没有】子嗣,作者便【成为】第6代拜伦男爵,继【承了】纽斯台德寺院、罗岱尔两处房产和两千多亩【土地】(诗中“丰熟的田畴”指此)。

I would I were a careless child,

Still dwelling in my Highland cave,

Or roaming through the dusky wild,

Or bounding oer the dark blue wave;

The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride

Accords not with the freeborn soul,

Which loves the mountains craggy side,

And seeks the rocks where billows roll.

Fortune! take back these cultured lands,

Take back this name of splendid sound!

I hate the touch of servile hands,

I hate the slaves that cringe around.

Place me among the rocks I love,

Which sound to Oceans wildest roar;

I ask but this—again to rove

Through scenes my youth hath known before.

Few are my years, and yet I feel

The world was neer designd for me:

Ah! why do darkning shades conceal

The hour when man must cease to be?

Once I beheld a splendid dream,

A visionary scene of bliss:

Truth!—wherefore did thy hated beam

Awake me to a world like this?

I loved—but those I loved are gone;

Had friends—my early friends are fled:

How cheerless feels the heart alone

When all its former hopes are dead!

Though gay companions oer the bowl

Dispel a while the sense of ill;

Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,

The heart—the heart—is lonely still.

How dull! to hear the voice of those

Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power,

Have made, though neither friends nor foes,

Associates of the festive hour.

Give me again a faithful few,

In years and feelings still the same,

And I will fly the midnight crew,

Where boistrous joy is but a name.

And woman, lovely woman! thou,

My hope, my comforter, my all?

How cold must be my bosom now,

When een thy smiles begin to pall!

Without a sigh would I resign

This busy scene of splendid woe,

To make that calm contentment mine,

Which virtue knows, or seems to know.

Fain would I fly the haunts of men—

I seek to shun, not hate mankind;

My breast requires the sullen glen,

Whose gloom may suit a darkend mind.

Oh! that to me the wings were given

Which bear the turtle to her nest!

Then would I cleave the vault of heaven,

To flee away, and be at rest.

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