1. Childe Harold Travel Notes Childe Harold Travel Notes Praise the Sea:
Excerpt from the pilgrimage of Childe Harold:
"Apostrophe of the sea"
CLXXVIII。
There is a pleasure in the lonely Woods,
There is an ecstasy on the lonely coast,
There is a society where no one intrudes,
In the deep sea, the music is roaring:
I don't love human beings, but I love nature more.
From these interviews, I stole.
From all I may be, or used to be,
Into the universe, feel
I can't express it or hide it.
CLXXIX。
Roll, you deep blue ocean, roll!
Ten thousand fleets pass you in vain;
Man marks the earth with destruction-his control.
Stop at the coast; -On the watery plain
The wreckage is all your behavior, and you won't leave it.
The shadow of a man's ravages, save himself,
For a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sank into your depths and gave a gurgling moan.
No grave, no coffin, no coffin, unknown.
CLXXX。
His steps are not in your path, not in your field.
It's not his trophy. Get up.
Shake him away from you; The despicable power he used.
You despise the destruction of the earth,
Throw him from your arms into the sky,
Let him tremble in the waves of your play
And howled, where might his God lie?
His faint hope for a nearby port or bay,
He threw him to the ground again: "Let him lie there.
CLXXXI。
Weapons that violently attacked the city wall
Cities built of rocks, earthquakes in the host country,
The monarchs trembled in their capital.
Oak behemoths, their huge ribs
The false title of their clay creator
Your Lord, the arbiter of war;
These are your toys, like snowflakes.
They melt in the waves of your yeast, marking
Like the pride of the Armada, or the trophy of Trafalgar.
CLXXXII。
Your coast is an empire, and everything has changed except you-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Your water wasted them and they were free.
And many tyrants: their coast obeyed.
Strangers, slaves or barbarians; Their decay
Dry up the earth into a desert: you are not like this,
The game of saving your wild waves constantly-
Time will not leave wrinkles on your blue forehead-
As the dawn of creation can see, you are rolling now.
CLXXXIII。
You shining mirror, the image of the Almighty.
The glasses themselves are in the storm; All along,
A calm or violent breeze, or a strong wind, or a storm,
An icy pole, or in a hot climate.
Dark ups and downs; -Endless, endless, sublime-
Eternal image-throne
Invisible; Even from your mucus
The monsters in the deep sea are made; Each region
Obey you: you go out, afraid, unfathomable, alone.
CLXXXIV。
I love you, Ocean! My happiness
Young sports are on your chest.
Born like your bubble, starting with a boy.
I used to play with your waves-they were mine.
It is a kind of enjoyment; If the fresh sea
Fear them-it's a pleasant fear,
Because I seem to be your child,
Trust your waves far and near,
Put my hand on your mane-just like I am now.
2. Chinese translation is:
The pilgrimage of Childe Harold;
"The Ocean of Apostrophes"
Chapter 28.
There is a kind of happiness in the Woods without roads.
There is a lonely coast, what a surprise,
Whether it is occupied in society,
In the deep sea, its roar and music:
My love for you has not decreased, but has become more natural.
From our interview, I stole.
From all that I might have, or have,
In order to be integrated with the universe, I think
I can never express it, but I can't hide everything.
CLXXIX .
Get out, you deep, deep blue ocean-get out!
The team swept more than 10 thousand in vain;
Man symbolizes the earth and destruction-his control.
Shore station; -according to the level of the original
Your wreckage is a good thing. Don't leave it, right?
The destruction of one person, saving one's own shadow,
For a time, like raindrops,
He sinks into the depths of your moaning and bubbling,
No grave, no burial, no coffin, unknown.
CLXXX .
His footsteps are not in your path. -Your field
Did he destroy it? -You showed up yourself
From you and shaking him, he is the head of evil forces.
For the destruction of the earth, you all despise Dostoevsky,
Spit on you, open your heart, from his sky,
Let him tremble in your beautiful waves.
Howl at his God.
He hopes that near some small ports or bays,
He passed the earth again: "Let him lie there.
CLXXXI .
Among them, the wall of thunder weapons
Keywords rock building city, national earthquake bidding,
And the trembling capital of the monarch.
Oak behemoth with huge ribs.
Their clay creators take the title in vain.
In the Lord, you, and the arbiter of war;
These are all your toys. As snowflakes,
They melted your yeast in the rough March.
The pride of the Armada, or the trophy of Trafalgar.
CLXXXII .
There is an empire on your coast, and you have changed after all the rescue-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Your water wastes them, and they are free.
And many tyrants, because: their coast obeys.
Strangers, slaves, or barbarians, their rot
Has dried up to the desert: you won't,
Save it until your "wild waves-
No time to write that your eyebrows are blue-
See this as the dawn of creation, now get out.
CLXXXIII .
A mirror of your glory, in the form of omnipotence
In storm glasses, it always appears,
Calm, shocking-in a breeze, or in a strong wind or storm,
Popsicles, or in hot places.
Dark frost heaving; -Endless, endless, sublime-
Eternal image-throne
I can't see it, even from your mucus.
Monsters haunt in the middle of the night, every area.
Obey you: you go out, scared, unfathomable and lonely.
CLXXXIV .
I once loved you, Ocean! My happiness
Exercise when you are young is good for your chest.
Just like your bubble: from a boy.
I wanted to use your circuit breaker, and they gave it to me.
Is joy, if the sea water desalinates.
Let them fear-twas happy fear,
Because I'm because it's your child,
Please believe that your waves are far and near,
Put my hand behind your mane-just like I am now.