幽居颂
亚历山大·波普
他定是有福之人，
只关心父辈留下的几亩土地，
满足于呼吸家乡的空气，
故土寸步不离。
牛奶自取，面包自给，
羊群供他穿衣，
树木夏天为他遮阴，
冬天让他炉火不熄。
为他祝福，胸中一无牵挂，
只见岁月轻轻流逝的足迹，
身体康健，心平气和，
白日清静无比。
夜来安睡，闲读书籍，
赏心乐事穿插随意，
还有一种最大的快乐：
任遐思漫无边际。
让我就这样幽独地活在世上，
让我去世时无人悼念痛惜，
悄悄离开人间，死于何时何地，
无需石碑铭记。
Ode on Solitude
Alexander Pope
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me dye;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye.
