| 多少世紀的重負壓彎了腰， 凝視著地面將那鋤頭扶靠，
面孔映出多少世紀的空白呵，
脊背承受著整個世界的重壓。
誰使他對狂喜與絕望皆木然?
誰使他不知痛苦，毫無希望，
呆頭木腦，與牛沒有兩樣?
誰使他粗野的下巴耷拉下垂?
誰人之手將這額頭往後打塌?
誰人一口吹熄他頭腦中的光耀?
難道這就是上帝創造的生靈，
來統治海洋與大地，
來搜天追星借威力，
來感受天長地久的熾愛?
難道這就是上帝創造眾恆星，
以光柱支撐蒼天夢到的他?
遍尋地獄各角及至最後一處深淵，
沒有什麼形體比這更可怕──
他吞下世人利令智昏的最多咒罵，
他充滿對靈魂最多的險訊與凶兆，
他包含有對整個宇宙最大的威迫。
多少道鴻溝將他與六翼天使阻隔!
當牛做馬服苦役的奴隸呀，
柏拉圖與七星運轉與他有何關係?
曲曲高歌傳天際，晨曦破曉玫瑰紅，
可這一切，與他又有何關係?
這可怕的形體載著多少世紀的苦難，
佝僂之軀不忍看，將時代悲劇蘊含。
這可怕的形體向世人訴說：
人性已被叛賣、已遭褻瀆、已被掠奪；
於是乎向世界的判官高呼抗議，
抗議，既是抗議，也是預告。
啊，五土四方的君王與主宰：
難道這性靈被扼殺的畸形怪物，
就是你們獻給上帝的手藝?
你們將如何使這形體挺立?
如何給它重注不朽的血液?
如何還它以為頭見光明的權利?
如何把音樂與夢想還給它心底?
如何糾正自古以來的罪行、
以怨報德的虐待、難以治癒的痼疾?
啊，五土四方的君王與主宰：
未來將如何同這人算清舊帳?
當反抗的旋風震撼環宇之時，
如何回答他怒氣衝天的責問？
當這啞了千百年的可怕人物，
終於向上帝控訴之時，你們──
各王國、各君主，所有使他淪為
此等模樣的人，又將如何交待？
|
Bowed by the
weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
A thing that grieves not and that never hopes,
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?
Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave
To have dominion over sea and land;
To trace the stars and search the heavens for power;
To feel the passion of Eternity?
Is this the dream He dreamed who shaped the suns
And pillared the blue firmament with light?
Down all the stretch of Hell to it's last gulf
There is no shape more terrible than this－
More tongued with censure of the world's blind greed－
More filled with signs and portents for the soul－
More fraught with menace to the universe
What gulfs between him and the seraphim!
Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him
Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades?
What the long reaches of the peaks of song,
The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?
Through this dread shape the suffering ages look;
Time's tragedy is in that aching stoop;
Through this dread shape humanity betrayed,
Plundered, profaned, and disinherited,
Cries protest to the Judges of the World,
A protest that is also prophecy.
O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
Is this the handiwork you give to God,
This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched?
How will you ever straighten up this shape;
Touch it again with immortality;
Give back the upward looking and the light;
Rebuild in it the music and the dream;
Make right the immemorial infamies,
Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?
O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
How will the Future reckon with this Man?
How answer his brute question in that hour
When whirlwinds of rebellion shake the world?
How will it be with kingdoms and with kings-
With those who shaped him to the thing he is－
When this dumb Terror shall reply to God,
After the silence of the centuries? |