精灵们的合唱
第一个精灵唱道：
这里，穹苍的宫殿顶着清朗的夜空
这里，是金色阳光嬉戏的乐园
这里，如此深遂丶庞大的无可计量
从以前到现在
包容着永恒的空间与时间；
恒存的穹宇，是座庙宇
所有未来的万事万物将在此上演，
也是岁月的故乡
指引着将来时间的去向。
苍穹阿！
你孕育出辉煌的生命
就连大地与大地承载的万物都在你以下繁衍丶生息。
星辰闪烁，群居在你的深谷与旷野中；
大地的绿野围绕着你转动；
流星们飘着长发划过你的胸口；
冰冻的月儿冷冷的亮着银光；
耀眼的阳光在夜的另外一面
放射出强烈无比的光芒。
苍穹阿！你的名字就像神祇的名号一样崇高
因为这儿就是那至高无上力量的居所，
透过这至尊的明镜
照射出人们内心的本性。
地上的人们代代跪地向你朝拜。
虽然人们与他们崇拜低层的神已如流水般逝去，
然而你仍恒常不动的毅立不摇。
第二个精灵唱道：<
你只不过是心灵初始幻想出的空间，
在这空间里感官的幻象开始交织，
就像弱小的虫子在昏暗的洞穴里攀爬，
前方只有钟乳石般的灯光微微照亮；
因此这里只不过是通往墓穴的门洞，
然而在这门洞之外才是美好的世界，
那世界里的一切
将使这幻象世界的辉煌
像黄昏时的夕阳如此短暂
像梦里的影子般难以捉摸
第三个精灵唱道：<
安静！你这泥土造的生命！
这深遂的穹宇对你的臆测回响着鄙视！
何为苍穹？然而你又凭甚麽猜测？
既然你的生命只不过是在苍穹里的一瞬？
星宇与天体们又为何？
他们随着那庞大神祇的一思一念飞动，
而其中你也是小小的一部份。
这星体与宇宙们包容在大自然的心律波动中
当心脏微微跳动时，那由天体组成的血液，
滴出弱小的脉搏，冲满生命的脉动。
何为苍穹？
就像一滴露珠，
当清晨来时，花朵们醒来，
滴在他们轻轻长出的嫩叶上，
迎接这全新的世界，
天上无数星辰丶无数穹宇
与亿万星系
全压进那滴瞬间即逝的露水里，
随着这滴水珠颤动丶闪亮
而後消逝
Ode to Heaven --Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
CHORUS OF SPIRITS:
FIRST SPIRIT:
Palace-roof of cloudless nights!
Paradise of golden lights!
Deep, immeasurable, vast,
Which art now, and which wert then
Of the Present and the Past,
Of the eternal Where and When,
Presence-chamber, temple, home,
Ever-canopying dome,
Of acts and ages yet to come!
Glorious shapes have life in thee,
Earth, and all earth's company;
Living globes which ever throng
Thy deep chasms and wildernesses;
And green worlds that glide along;
And swift stars with flashing tresses;
And icy moons most cold and bright,
And mighty suns beyond the night,
Atoms of intensest light.
Even thy name is as a god,
Heaven! for thou art the abode
Of that Power which is the glass
Wherein man his nature sees.
Generations as they pass
Worship thee with bended knees.
Their unremaining gods and they
Like a river roll away:
Thou remainest such—alway!—
SECOND SPIRIT:
Thou art but the mind's first chamber,
Round which its young fancies clamber,
Like weak insects in a cave,
Lighted up by stalactites;
But the portal of the grave,
Where a world of new delights
Will make thy best glories seem
But a dim and noonday gleam
From the shadow of a dream!
THIRD SPIRIT:
Peace! the abyss is wreathed with scorn
At your presumption, atom-born!
What is Heaven? and what are ye
Who its brief expanse inherit?
What are suns and spheres which flee
With the instinct of that Spirit
Of which ye are but a part?
Drops which Nature's mighty heart
Drives through thinnest veins! Depart!
What is Heaven? a globe of dew,
Filling in the morning new
Some eyed flower whose young leaves waken
On an unimagined world:
Constellated suns unshaken,
Orbits measureless, are furled
In that frail and fading sphere,
With ten millions gathered there,
To tremble, gleam, and disappear.
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