Edwin Atherstone，1788—1872，was born at Nottingham，England，and became known to the literary world chiefly through two poems，“The Last Days of Herculaneum”and“The Fall of Nineveh.”Both poems are written in blank verse，and are remarkable for their splendor of diction and their great descriptive power.Atherstone is compared to Thomson，whom he resembles somewhat in style.

There was a man，

A Roman soldier，for some daring deed

That trespassed on the laws，in dungeon low

Chained down.His was a noble spirit，rough，

But generous，and brave，and kind.

He had a son；it was a rosy boy，

A little faithful copy of his sire，

In face and gesture.From infancy，the child

Had been his father's solace and his care.

Every sport

The father shared and heightened.But at length，

The rigorous law had grasped him，and condemned

To fetters and to darkness.

The captive's lot，

He felt in all its bitterness: the walls

Of his deep dungeon answered many a sigh

And heart-heaved groan.His tale was known，and touched

His jailer with compassion；and the boy，

Thenceforth a frequent visitor，beguiled

His father's lingering hours，and brought a balm

With his loved presence，that in every wound

Dropped healing.But，in this terrific hour，

He was a poisoned arrow in the breast

Where he had been a cure.

With earliest morn

Of that first day of darkness and amaze，

He came.The iron door was closed—for them

Never to open more！The day，the night

Dragged slowly by；nor did they know the fate

Impending o'er the city.Well they heard

The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath，

And felt its giddy rocking；and the air

Grew hot at length，and thick；but in his straw

The boy was sleeping: and the father hoped

The earthquake might pass by: nor would he wake

From his sound rest the unfearing child，nor tell

The dangers of their state.

On his low couch

The fettered soldier sank，and，with deep awe，

Listened the fearful sounds: with upturned eye，

To the great gods he breathed a prayer；then，strove

To calm himself，and lose in sleep awhile

His useless terrors.But he could not sleep:

His body burned with feverish heat；his chains

Clanked loud，although he moved not；deep in earth

Groaned unimaginable thunders；sounds，

Fearful and ominous，arose and died，

Like the sad mornings of November's wind，

In the blank midnight.Deepest horror chilled

His blood that burned before；cold，clammy sweats

Came o'er him；then anon，a fiery thrill

Shot through his veins.Now，on his couch he shrunk

And shivered as in fear；now，upright leaped，

As though he heard the battle trumpet sound，

And longed to cope with death.

He slept，at last，

A troubled，dreamy sleep.Well had he slept

Never to waken more！His hours are few，

But terrible his agony.

Soon the storm

Burst forth；the lightnings glanced；the air

Shook with the thunders.They awoke；they sprung

Amazed upon their feet.The dungeon glowed

A moment as in sunshine—and was dark:

Again，a flood of white flame fills the cell，

Dying away upon the dazzled eye

In darkening，quivering tints，as stunning sound

Dies throbbing，ringing in the ear.

With intensest awe，

The soldier's frame was filled；and many a thought

Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind，

As underneath he felt the fevered earth

Jarring and lifting；and the massive walls，

Heard harshly grate and strain: yet knew he not，

While evils undefined and yet to come

Glanced through his thoughts，what deep and cureless wound

Fate had already given.—Where，man of woe！

Where，wretched father！is thy boy？Thou call'st

His name in vain：—he can not answer thee.

Loudly the father called upon his child:

No voice replied.Trembling and anxiously

He searched their couch of straw；with headlong haste

Trod round his stinted limits，and，low bent，

Groped darkling on the earth：—no child was there.

Again he called: again，at farthest stretch

Of his accursed fetters，till the blood

Seemed bursting from his ears，and from his eyes

Fire flashed，he strained with arm extended far，

And fingers widely spread，greedy to touch

Though but his idol's garment.Useless toil！

Yet still renewed: still round and round he goes，

And strains，and snatches，and with dreadful cries

Calls on his boy.

Mad frenzy fires him now.

He plants against the wall his feet；his chain

Grasps；tugs with giant strength to force away

The deep-driven staple；yells and shrieks with rage:

And，like a desert lion in the snare，

Raging to break his toils，—to and fro bounds.

But see！the ground is opening；—a blue light

Mounts，gently waving，—noiseless；—thin and cold

It seems，and like a rainbow tint，not flame；

But by its luster，on the earth outstretched，

Behold the lifeless child！his dress is singed，

And，o'er his face serene，a darkened line

Points out the lightning's track.

The father saw，

And all his fury fled：—a dead calm fell

That instant on him：—speechless—fixed—he stood，

And with a look that never wandered，gazed

Intensely on the corse.Those laughing eyes

Were not yet closed，—and round those ruby lips

The wonted smile returned.

Silent and pale

The father stands：—no tear is in his eye：—

The thunders bellow；—but he hears them not：—

The ground lifts like a sea；—he knows it not：—

The strong walls grind and gape：—the vaulted roof

Takes shape like bubble tossing in the wind；

See！he looks up and smiles；for death to him

Is happiness.Yet could one last embrace

Be given't were still a sweeter thing to die.

It will be given.Look！how the rolling ground，

At every swell，nearer and still more near

Moves toward the father's outstretched arm his boy

Once he has touched his garment：—how his eye

Lightens with love，and hope，and anxious fears！

Ha，see！he has him now！—he clasps him round；

Kisses his face；puts back the curling locks，

That shaded his fine brow；looks in his eyes；

Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands；

Then folds him to his breast，as he was wont

To lie when sleeping；and resigned，awaits

Undreaded death.

And death came soon and swift

And pangless.The huge pile sank down at once

Into the opening earth.Walls—arches—roof—

And deep foundation stones—all—mingling—fell ！

譯文　TRANSLATION

埃德溫·阿瑟斯通（1788—1872），出生于英國諾丁漢。他以《赫庫蘭尼姆的末日》和《尼尼微的覆亡》馳名文壇。這兩首素體詩不僅用詞華美而且描寫生動。阿瑟斯通與托馬森齊名，二人風(fēng)格有些相近。

從前，有一個

羅馬士兵，違反了法律。

披枷帶鎖關(guān)進了地牢。

他稟性高貴，質(zhì)樸而慷慨。

他的兒子，乖巧又伶俐。

相貌和神態(tài)都同他酷似，

從襁褓到如今，都是他的慰藉和牽掛。

他們曾一起嬉鬧，一起玩耍，

那般陶然！可嚴(yán)苛的法律卻將他

戴上腳鐐，投入黑牢。

囚室里，他痛苦萬分，

四壁間回響著他的嘆息、呻吟。

人們知道了他的故事，就連獄卒也同情。

隨后，那男孩就常常來探望父親，

陪父親共度最后的時光。

他每次來都帶著止痛藥膏，

為父親擦拭。

但在這凄慘的時刻，

男孩卻由父親昔日的良藥

變成了他心頭的傷。

在那陰暗、詭異的第一天，

凌晨時分，孩子來到獄室，

身后的鐵門關(guān)上了——再也不會為他們打開！

白晝、暗夜，時間一點點流逝；

他們不知道赫庫蘭尼姆即將迎來的命運。

他們只聽見地下郁結(jié)的雷聲，

感到大地眩暈的顛簸；空氣最終變得炎熱、污濁；

而在草席上，孩子睡得正酣。

父親祈盼著地震結(jié)束。那無畏的孩子還在熟睡

他不愿喚醒，不愿講述城邦的劫難。

在簡陋的地鋪上，

戴著腳鐐的士兵，滿懷敬畏，

凝神諦聽那可怕的聲響。

他喃喃地祈禱諸神保佑；竭力平復(fù)自己，

期冀小睡片刻忘卻恐懼。可是他卻難以成眠。

他在發(fā)燒，雖然不曾輾轉(zhuǎn)反側(cè)，

身上的鎖鏈卻錚錚作響。地下的聲音，

像陣陣?yán)缀?，那么怪誕、瘆人；

在空洞的子夜，起起落落，

如秋日的清晨那些哀傷的風(fēng)。

最深的憂懼讓他剛剛還沸騰的血液結(jié)冰，

冷汗流遍了周身，一陣寒戰(zhàn)，

他在地鋪上縮成一團，瑟瑟發(fā)抖。

恍惚間聽到軍號鳴響，他驀地跳起，

要與死神決斗。

終于，他睡了，噩夢連連。

他多想不再醒來，他已時日無幾。

痛苦卻未嘗稍減。

忽然，暴雨傾盆，雷聲激蕩，

閃電劃破長空。他們醒了，

吃驚地跳起來。一時間，

黑暗的地牢亮如白晝。

白色的光焰在囚室中洶涌，

隨之，那奪目的光華又在黑暗中隱去，

只剩下絲絲光暈在搖曳；震耳欲聾的巨響

也不再搏動，只有余音在耳中回蕩。

士兵滿懷敬畏，奇思異想在他心中穿梭。

腳下的地面在悸動；厚厚的獄墻

在扭曲、呻吟。而他尚不知道，

那些即將到來的無可名狀的惡靈，

透過他紛亂的思緒，窺視著命運

給他的難以愈合的深重的傷。

啊，痛苦的人！啊，可憐的父親！

你的孩子呢？你徒然地將他呼喚，

他卻再不能應(yīng)答。

父親高聲地喚著兒子，

卻沒有回應(yīng)。他心急如焚，

顫抖著，屈著身，

在地鋪的草中、在地上匆匆地摸索。

找不到孩子！他一遍遍喚著兒子的名字，

試圖掙脫那令人詛咒的腳鐐，直至耳中、眼里

都流出了血。火光閃耀，他展開雙臂，

大張著手，渴盼著摸到孩子，哪怕只是他的衣服！

啊，無用的辛勞！然后又是重來，

他在囚室中一圈圈地來回走著，

伸出雙臂，撕扯著，呼喚著兒子的名字。

狂怒將他點燃，他用腳踢著墻；

拼盡全力掙開了鎖鏈；憤怒地嘶吼著，

像沙漠里的獅子，要奮力沖決羅網(wǎng)。

但是，看！地面在開裂，一道幽藍(lán)的光隆起，

輕柔、無聲地擺動，看去不像火焰，

而像又瘦又冷的虹影；光亮在地面擴展，

他看到了兒子，孩子已斷了氣：衣服燒焦了，

面龐卻是那樣寧靜，光照下現(xiàn)出一道暗痕。

看到這一切，那位父親的憤怒消失了，

那一刻只有死一般的安靜籠罩著他。

他定定地站著，一言不發(fā)。

他的目光不再游移，只盯著兒子的尸體。

那含笑的眼睛還未合上，那唇邊的微笑還未散去。

父親沉默著，臉色慘白。他的眼中一點淚也沒有；

雷聲轟鳴，他卻一點也聽不到。

地面像大海在顛簸，他卻毫無覺察。

四壁裂開了，穹形的屋頂像風(fēng)中飄動的水珠。

看！他抬起頭，微笑了；因為對他來說，死是種幸福。

而若能有那最后的擁抱，卻比死更甜蜜。

他得到了那最后的一擁?？?！隨著地面的隆起，

他的兒子離他越來越近，終于到了他懷中。

他又摸到了孩子的衣服：孩子的眼中閃耀著

愛、希望、焦灼和恐懼。

啊，看！他抱住了孩子！他緊緊抱著他，吻著他，

撩起他額前的卷發(fā)，看著他的眼睛，

合上那雙胖嘟嘟的小手，把他抱在胸前，

像他從前臨睡時一樣。做完這一切，

士兵靜待著那不再令人畏懼的死神。

而死來得那樣迅疾，一點痛苦也沒有。

墻壁、拱廊、屋頂、基石攪在一起，

一下落入地面張開的巨口。