To Roman
写给罗马

Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul！
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance? come and see
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye！
Whose agonies are evils of day—
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.

The Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wildemess?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.

啊，罗马！我的祖国！灵魂之城！
心灵的孤儿们必来投奔你，
凄凉帝国孤独的母亲！
他们紧闭的胸膛藏有丝丝痛苦。
我们的悲伤和痛苦又算得了什么？来吧，
看看这柏树，听听这猫头鹰的哀嚎，
彷徨在破落殿堂与皇位的阶梯上，怎么！
他们的痛苦就是今天的作恶，
世界在我们的脚下，像泥土一般脆弱。

万邦的尼奥比！她站在那里，
没有王冠，没有儿女，无声的哀伤；
她枯瘦的手中抱着一个空空的骨灰盒，
那神圣的灰尘多年前早已散尽；
西庇阿的坟墓中现已没了骨灰，
那些坟墓早已倒塌，
英雄们在此长眠；
古老的台伯河！
你是否要流过大理石的荒原？
掀起你黄色的波涛，覆盖她的悲伤。