冷酷仙女-约翰·济慈

Bright star
• Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--No---yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever---or else swoon to death. • 灿烂、轻盈，覆盖着洼地和 高山—— 呵，不，——我只愿坚 定不移地 以头枕在爱人酥软的胸 脯上， 永远感到它舒缓地降落、 升起； 而醒来，心里充满甜蜜 的激荡， 不断，不断听着她细腻 的呼吸， 就这样活着，——或昏 迷地死去。 查良铮 译
Major Literary Works
• In John Keats’ short writing career of six or seven years, he produced a variety of kinds of works, including epic, lyric and narrative poems. • Except his first poem, Lines in Imitation of Spenser (1814) and his first book, Poems, published in 1817, his major works can be divided into the five long poems and the short ones.

外国文艺美学要略·人物·济慈外国文艺美学要略·人物·济慈约翰·济慈(John·Keats，1795—1821)英国诗人。

1795年10月29日生于伦敦，后父母先后去世，由保护人安排学医，当过医生的学徒、助手。

1816年始发表诗歌，继之放弃学医，决心从事文学创作。

他一生穷困，不满于英国现状，曾加入以亨特为首的激进民主集团。

1821年2月23日因肺结核病在罗马去世。

济慈是英国浪漫主义诗人中最有才气的诗人之一，诗作大都是赞美大自然的和谐，向往古代希腊的艺术美，其精华如《夜莺颂》、《希腊古瓮颂》、《秋颂》等是英国诗歌中的不朽之作。

济慈在创作中形成了许多对艺术的独特见解。

这些见解散见于他的《书信集》和《赫坡里昂》等诗作中。

其中著名的是“消极能力”(原文为negative capacity，又译“天然接受力”)的思想。

济慈的艺术思想的主要倾向是偏重直觉而轻视理性。

他说：“我宁要充满感受的生活，而不要充满思索的生活”。

所谓的“消极能力”是他为表述自己的思想见解而提出的一个特定概念。

他认为，一位大诗人应该具备“压倒其它一切的考虑”，或“取消一切的考虑”的“美感”能力，“能够处于含糊不定、神秘疑问之中”，而不急于去“追寻事实和道理”。

这种“消极能力”实际就是凭借直觉感受的审美想象力。

济慈把这种能力看成是取得文学上的成就的品质，并认为莎士比亚就具有这种品质。

在他看来，纯粹的理性和道义感“只欣赏真理和德性”，而“想象力喜欢威力和强烈的兴奋，同时也喜欢真理、德性和正义”，因此想象“能创造本质的美”，“想象所攫取的美必然是真实的”，想象就是“真实”。

诗人就是要靠想象实现对“永恒世界”之美的观照，亦即实现对真美合一的“纯美”的创造。

藉此，他提出自己的诗歌创作原则：以美妙的夸张夺人;诗美的创造应如日出日落、树叶发芽一样自然;诗的创作“不能依靠法则和公式，只能依靠感受和敏感本身”。

• Keats, detail of an oil painting by Joseph Severn, 1821; in the National Portrait Gallery, London
Last years
• There is no more to record of Keats's poetic career. The poems "Isabella," "Lamia," "The Eve of St. Agnes," and Hyperion and the odes were all published in the famous 1820 volume, the one that gives the true measure of his powers. It appeared in July, by which time Keats was evidently doomed. He had been increasingly ill throughout 1819, and by the beginning of 1820 the evidence of tuberculosis was clear. He realized that it was his death warrant, and from that time sustained work became impossible.
After the death of the Keats children's mother in 1810, their grandmother put the children's affairs into the hands of a guardian, Richard Abbey. At Abbey's instigation John Keats was apprenticed to a surgeon at Edmonton in 1811. He broke off his apprenticeship in 1814 and went to live in London, where he worked as a dresser, or junior house surgeon, at Guy's and St. Thomas' hospitals. His literary interests had crystallized by this time, and after 1817 he devoted himself entirely to poetry. From then until his early death, the story of his life is largely the story of the poetry he wrote.

John Keats (1795-1821), renowned poet of the English Romantic Movement, wrote some of the greatest English language poems including "La Belle Dame Sans Merci", "Ode To A Nightingale", and "Ode On a Grecian Urn";O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with bredeOf marble men and maidens overwrought,With forest branches and the trodden weed;Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thoughtAs doth eternity: Cold pastoral!When old age shall this generation waste,Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woeThan ours, a friend to man, to whom thou sayst,"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is allYe know on earth, and all ye need to know."、John Keats was born on 31 October 1795 in Moorgate, London, England, the first child born to Frances Jennings (b.1775-d.1810) and Thomas Keats (d.1804), an employee of a livery stable. He had three siblings: George (1797-1841), Thomas (1799-1818), and Frances Mary "Fanny" (1803-1889). After leaving school in Enfield, Keats went on to apprentice with Dr. Hammond, a surgeon in Edmonton. After his father died in a riding accident, and his mother died of tuberculosis, John and his brothers moved to Hampstead. It was here that Keats met Charles Armitage Brown (1787-1842) who would become a great friend. Remembering his first meeting with him, Brown writes "His full fine eyes were lustrously intellectual, and beaming (at that time!)". Much grieved by his death, Brown worked for many years on his memoir and biography, Life of John Keats (1841). In it Brown claims that it was not until Keats read Edmund Spencer's Faery Queen that he realised his own gift for the poetic. Keats was an avid student in the fields of medicine and natural history, but he then turned his attentions to the literary works of such authors as William Shakespeare and Geoffrey Chaucer.Keats had his poems published in the magazines of the day at the encouragement of many including James Henry Leigh Hunt Esq. (1784-1859), editor of the Examiner and to whom Keats dedicated his first collection Poems (1817). It includes "To My Brother George", "O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell", and "Happy is England! I Could Be Content". Upon its appearance a series of personal attacks directed at Keats ensued in the pages of Blackwood's Magazine. Despite the controversy surrounding his life, Keats's literary merit prevailed. That sameto stay with him and his family in Italy, he declined. When Shelley's body was washed ashore after drowning, a volume of Keats's poetry was found in his pocket.Having worked on it for many months, Keats finished his epic poem comprising four books, Endymion: A Poetic Romance--"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever"--in 1818. That summer he travelled to the Lake District of England and on to Ireland and Scotland on a walking tour with Brown. They visited the grave of Robert Burns and reminisced upon John Milton's poetry. While he was not aware of the seriousness of it, Keats was suffering from the initial stages of the deadly infectious disease tuberculosis. He cut his trip short and upon return to Hampstead immediately tended to his brother Tom who was then in the last stages of the disease. After Tom's death in December of 1818, Keats lived with Brown.Life of John Keats.Around this time Keats met, fell in love with, and became engaged to eighteen year old Frances "Fanny" Brawne (1800-1865). He wrote one of his more famous sonnets to her titled "Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art". While their relationship inspired much spiritual development for Keats, it also proved to be tempestuous, filled with the highs and lows from jealousy and infatuation of first love. Brown was not impressed and tried to provide some emotional stability to Keats. Many for a time were convinced that Fanny was the cause of his illness, or, used that as an excuse to try to keep her away from him. For a while even Keats entertained the possibility that he was merely suffering physical manifestations of emotional anxieties--but after suffering a hemorrhage he gave Fanny permission to break their engagement. She would hear nothing of it and by her word provided much comfort to Keats in his last days that she was ultimately loyal to him.Although 1819 proved to be his most prolific year of writing, Keats was also in dire financial straits. His brother George had borrowed money he could ill-afford to part with. His earning Fanny's mother's approval to marrydepended on his earning as a writer and he started plans with his publisher John Taylor (1781-1864) for his next volume of poems. At the beginning of 1820 Keats started to show more pronounced signs of the deadly tuberculosis that had killed his mother and brother. After a lung hemorrhage, Keats calmly accepted his fate, and he enjoyed several weeks of respite under Brown's watchful eye. As was common belief at the time that bleeding a patient was beneficial to healing, Keats was bled and given opium to relieve his anxiety and pain. He was at times put on a starvation diet, then at other times prescribed to eat meat and drink red wine to gain strength. Despite these ill-advised good-intentions, and suffering increasing weakness and fever, Keats was able to emerge from his fugue and organise the publication of his next volume of poetry.Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems (1820) includes some of his best-known and oft-quoted works: "Hyperion", "To Autumn", and "Ode To A Nightingale". "Nightingale" evokes all the pain and suffering that Keats experienced during his short life-time: the death of his mother; the physical anguish he saw as a young apprentice tending to the sick and dying at St. Guy's Hospital; the death of his brother; and ultimately his own physical and spiritual suffering in love and illness. Keats lived to see positive reviews of Lamia, even in Blackwood's magazine. But the positivity was not to last long; Brown left for Scotland and the ailing Keats lived with Hunt for a time. But it was unbearable to him and only exacerbated his condition--he was unable to see Fanny, so, when he showed up at the Brawne's residence in much emotional agitation, sick, and feverish, they could not refuse him. He enjoyed a month with them, blissfully under the constant care of his beloved Fanny. Possibly bolstered by his finally having unrestricted time with her, and able to imagine a happy future with her, Keats considered his last hope of recovery of a rest cure in the warm climes of Italy. As a parting gift Fanny gave him a piece of marble which she had often clasped to cool her hand. In September of 1820 Keats sailed to Rome with friend and painter Joseph Severn (1793-1879, who was unaware of his circumstances with Fanny and the gravity of his health.Keats put on a bold front but it soon became apparent to Severn that he was terminally ill. They stayed in rooms on the Piazza Navona near the Spanish Steps, and enjoyed the lively sights and sounds of the people and culture, but Keats soon fell into a deep depression. When his attending doctor James Clark (1788-1870) finally voiced aloud the grim prognosis, Keats's medical background came to the fore and he longed to end his life and avoid the humiliating physical and mental torments of tuberculosis. By early 1821 he was confined to bed, Severn a devoted nurse. Keats had resolved not to write to Fanny and would not read a letter from her for fear of the pain it would cause him, although he constantly clasped her marble. During bouts of coughing, fever, nightmares, Keats also tried to cheer his friend, who held him till the end.John Keats died on 23 February 1821 in Rome, Italy, and now rests in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, by the pyramid of Caius Cestius, near his friend Shelley. His epitaph reads "Here lies one whose name was writ in water", inspired by the line "all your better deeds, Shall be in water writ" from Francis Beaumont (1584-1616) and John Fletcher's (1579-1625) five act play Philaster or: Love Lies A-bleeding. Just a year later, Shelley was buried in the same cemetery, not long after he had written "Adonais" (1821) in tribute to his friend;I weep for Adonais--he is dead!O, weep for Adonais! though our tearsThaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!And thou, sad Hour, selected from all yearsTo mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With meDied Adonais; till the Future daresForget the Past, his fate and fame shall beAn echo and a light unto eternity!"Fanny Brawne married in 1833 and died at the age of sixty-five. English poet and friend of Brown's, Richard Monckton Milnes (1809-1885) wrote Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats (1848). During his lifetime and since, John Keats inspired numerous other authors, poets, and artists, and remains one of the most widely read and studied 19th century poets.Biography written by C. D. Merriman for Jalic Inc. Copyright Jalic Inc. 2007. All Rights Reserved.Works：长篇叙事诗Endymion《恩底弥翁》;The Eve of St.Agnes《圣艾格尼丝节前夜》;Lamia《拉米亚》;（颂诗）Ode to Psyche《普赛克颂》;《希腊古瓮颂》Sleep and Poetry《睡与诗》"As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete Was unto me, but why that I ne might Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight[As I suppose] had more of hertis ese Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese."CHAUCER.What is more gentle than a wind in summer? What is more soothing than the pretty hummer That stays one moment in an open flower,And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing In a green island, far from all men's knowing? More healthful than the leafiness of dales?More secret than a nest of nightingales?More serene than Cordelia's countenance?More full of visions than a high romance? What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes! Low murmurer of tender lullabies!Light hoverer around our happy pillows! Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows! Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!Most happy listener! when the morning blesses Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyesThat glance so brightly at the new sun-rise. But what is higher beyond thought than thee? Fresher than berries of a mountain tree?More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal,Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle?What is it? And to what shall I compare it?It has a glory, and nought else can share it:The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, Chacing away all worldliness and folly;Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder,Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;And sometimes like a gentle whisperingOf all the secrets of some wond'rous thingThat breathes about us in the vacant air;So that we look around with prying stare,Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning,And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning; To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended,That is to crown our name when life is ended. Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice,And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice! Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things, And die away in ardent mutterings.No one who once the glorious sun has seen,And all the clouds, and felt his bosom cleanFor his great Maker's presence, but must know What 'tis I mean, and feel his being glow:Therefore no insult will I give his spirit,By telling what he sees from native merit.O Poesy! for thee I hold my penThat am not yet a glorious denizenOf thy wide heaven--Should I rather kneelUpon some mountain-top until I feelA glowing splendour round about me hung,And echo back the voice of thine own tongue?O Poesy! for thee I grasp my penThat am not yet a glorious denizenOf thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer, Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air, Smoothed for intoxication by the breathOf flowering bays, that I may die a deathOf luxury, and my young spirit followThe morning sun-beams to the great ApolloLike a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bearThe o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair Visions of all places: a bowery nookWill be elysium--an eternal bookWhence I may copy many a lovely sayingAbout the leaves, and flowers--about the playing Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and the shade Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid;And many a verse from so strange influenceThat we must ever wonder how, and whenceIt came. Also imaginings will hoverRound my fire-side, and haply there discover Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wanderIn happy silence, like the clear meanderThrough its lone vales; and where I found a spot Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot,Or a green hill o'erspread with chequered dressOf flowers, and fearful from its loveliness,Write on my tablets all that was permitted,All that was for our human senses fitted.Then the events of this wide world I'd seizeLike a strong giant, and my spirit teazeTill at its shoulders it should proudly seeWings to find out an immortality. Stop and consider! life is but a day;A fragile dew-drop on its perilous wayFrom a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steepOf Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;The reading of an ever-changing tale;The light uplifting of a maiden's veil;A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air;A laughing school-boy, without grief or care, Riding the springy branches of an elm.O for ten years, that I may overwhelmMyself in poesy; so I may do the deedThat my own soul has to itself decreed.Then will I pass the countries that I seeIn long perspective, and continuallyTaste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass Of Flora, and old Pan: sleep in the grass,Feed upon apples red, and strawberries,And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees; Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places, To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,--Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white Into a pretty shrinking with a biteAs hard as lips can make it: till agreed,A lovely tale of human life we'll read.And one will teach a tame dove how it bestMay fan the cool air gently o'er my rest; Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,Will set a green robe floating round her head, And still will dance with ever varied case,Smiling upon the flowers and the trees:Another will entice me on, and onThrough almond blossoms and rich cinnamon;Till in the bosom of a leafy worldWe rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'dIn the recesses of a pearly shell.And can I ever bid these joys farewell?Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life,Where I may find the agonies, the strifeOf human hearts: for lo! I see afar,O'er sailing the blue cragginess, a carAnd steeds with streamy manes--the charioteer Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear:And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly Wheel downward come they into fresher skies,Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes. Still downward with capacious whirl they glide, And now I see them on a green-hill's sideIn breezy rest among the nodding stalks.The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talksTo the trees and mountains; and there soon appear Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear,Passing along before a dusky spaceMade by some mighty oaks: as they would chase Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep.Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep: Some with upholden hand and mouth severe; Some with their faces muffled to the earBetween their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom, Go glad and smilingly, athwart the gloom;Some looking back, and some with upward gaze; Yes, thousands in a thousand different waysFlit onward--now a lovely wreath of girlsDancing their sleek hair into tangled curls;And now broad wings. Most awfully intentThe driver, of those steeds is forward bent,And seems to listen: O that I might knowAll that he writes with such a hurrying glow.The visions all are fled--the car is fledInto the light of heaven, and in their steadA sense of real things comes doubly strong,And, like a muddy stream, would bear alongMy soul to nothingness: but I will striveAgainst all doublings, and will keep aliveThe thought of that same chariot, and the strange Journey it went.Is there so small a rangeIn the present strength of manhood, that the high Imagination cannot freely flyAs she was wont of old? prepare her steeds, Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds Upon the clouds? Has she not shewn us all? From the clear space of ether, to the small Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning Of Jove's large eye-brow, to the tender greening Of April meadows? Here her altar shone,E'en in this isle; and who could paragonThe fervid choir that lifted up a noiseOf harmony, to where it aye will poiseIts mighty self of convoluting sound,Huge as a planet, and like that roll round, Eternally around a dizzy void?Ay, in those days the Muses were nigh cloy'd With honors; nor had any other careThan to sing out and sooth their wavy hair.Could all this be forgotten? Yes, a schism Nurtured by foppery and barbarism,Made great Apollo blush for this his land.Men were thought wise who could not understand His glories: with a puling infant's forceThey sway'd about upon a rocking horse,And thought it Pegasus. Ah dismal soul'd!The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'dIts gathering waves--ye felt it not. The blue Bared its eternal bosom, and the dewOf summer nights collected still to makeThe morning precious: beauty was awake!Why were ye not awake? But ye were deadTo things ye knew not of,--were closely wedTo musty laws lined out with wretched ruleAnd compass vile: so that ye taught a schoolOf dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit,Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit,Their verses tallied. Easy was the task:A thousand handicraftsmen wore the maskOf Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race!That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face, And did not know it,--no, they went about, Holding a poor, decrepid standard outMark'd with most flimsy mottos, and in largeThe name of one Boileau!O ye whose chargeIt is to hover round our pleasant hills!Whose congregated majesty so fillsMy boundly reverence, that I cannot traceYour hallowed names, in this unholy place,So near those common folk; did not their shames Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames Delight you? Did ye never cluster roundDelicious Avon, with a mournful sound,And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieuTo regions where no more the laurel grew?Or did ye stay to give a welcomingTo some lone spirits who could proudly singTheir youth away, and die? 'Twas even so:But let me think away those times of woe:Now 'tis a fairer season; ye have breathedRich benedictions o'er us; ye have wreathedFresh garlands: for sweet music has been heardIn many places;--some has been upstirr'dFrom out its crystal dwelling in a lake,By a swan's ebon bill; from a thick brake,Nested and quiet in a valley mild,Bubbles a pipe; fine sounds are floating wildAbout the earth: happy are ye and glad.These things are doubtless: yet in truth we've had Strange thunders from the potency of song; Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong, From majesty: but in clear truth the themesAre ugly clubs, the Poets PolyphemesDisturbing the grand sea. A drainless showerOf light is poesy; 'tis the supreme of power;'Tis might half slumb'ring on its own right arm. The very archings of her eye-lids charmA thousand willing agents to obey,And still she governs with the mildest sway:But strength alone though of the Muses bornIs like a fallen angel: trees uptorn,Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs,And thorns of life; forgetting the great endOf poesy, that it should be a friendTo sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. Yet I rejoice: a myrtle fairer thanE'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weedsLifts its sweet head into the air, and feedsA silent space with ever sprouting green.All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen, Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering, Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing.Then let us clear away the choaking thornsFrom round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, Yeaned in after times, when we are flown,Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrownWith simple flowers: let there nothing beMore boisterous than a lover's bended knee; Nought more ungentle than the placid lookOf one who leans upon a closed book;Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes Between two hills. All hail delightful hopes!As she was wont, th' imaginationInto most lovely labyrinths will be gone,And they shall be accounted poet kingsWho simply tell the most heart-easing things.O may these joys be ripe before I die.Will not some say that I presumptuouslyHave spoken? that from hastening disgrace'Twere better far to hide my foolish face?That whining boyhood should with reverence bow Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach? How!If I do hide myself, it sure shall beIn the very fane, the light of Poesy:If I do fall, at least I will be laidBeneath the silence of a poplar shade;And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven; And there shall be a kind memorial graven.But oft' Despondence! miserable bane!They should not know thee, who athirst to gain A noble end, are thirsty every hour.What though I am not wealthy in the dowerOf spanning wisdom; though I do not knowThe shiftings of the mighty winds, that blow Hither and thither all the changing thoughtsOf man: though no great minist'ring reason sorts Out the dark mysteries of human soulsTo clear conceiving: yet there ever rollsA vast idea before me, and I gleanTherefrom my liberty; thence too I've seenThe end and aim of Poesy. 'Tis clearAs any thing most true; as that the yearIs made of the four seasons--manifestAs a large cross, some old cathedral's crest, Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should IBe but the essence of deformity,A coward, did my very eye-lids winkAt speaking out what I have dared to think.Ah! rather let me like a madman runOver some precipice; let the hot sunMelt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down Convuls'd and headlong! Stay! an inward frown Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile.An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle, Spreads awfully before me. How much toil!How many days! what desperate turmoil!Ere I can have explored its widenesses.Ah, what a task! upon my bended knees,I could unsay those--no, impossible! Impossible!For sweet relief I'll dwellOn humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay Begun in gentleness die so away.E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades:I turn full hearted to the friendly aidsThat smooth the path of honour; brotherhood, And friendliness the nurse of mutual good.The hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet Into the brain ere one can think upon it;The silence when some rhymes are coming out; And when they're come, the very pleasant rout: The message certain to be done to-morrow.'Tis perhaps as well that it should be to borrow Some precious book from out its snug retreat, To cluster round it when we next shall meet. Scarce can I scribble on; for lovely airsAre fluttering round the room like doves in pairs; Many delights of that glad day recalling,When first my senses caught their tender falling. And with these airs come forms of elegance Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance, Careless, and grand--fingers soft and round Parting luxuriant curls;--and the swift bound Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly.Thus I remember all the pleasant flowOf words at opening a portfolio.Things such as these are ever harbingersTo trains of peaceful images: the stirsOf a swan's neck unseen among the rushes:A linnet starting all about the bushes:A butterfly, with golden wings broad parted, Nestling a rose, convuls'd as though it smarted With over pleasure--many, many more,Might I indulge at large in all my storeOf luxuries: yet I must not forgetSleep, quiet with his poppy coronet:For what there may be worthy in these rhymes I partly owe to him: and thus, the chimesOf friendly voices had just given placeTo as sweet a silence, when I 'gan retraceThe pleasant day, upon a couch at ease.It was a poet's house who keeps the keysOf pleasure's temple. Round about were hung The glorious features of the bards who sungIn other ages--cold and sacred bustsSmiled at each other. Happy he who trustsTo clear Futurity his darling fame!Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim At swelling apples with a frisky leapAnd reaching fingers, 'mid a luscious heapOf vine leaves. Then there rose to view a fane Of liny marble, and thereto a trainOf nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward: One, loveliest, holding her white band toward The dazzling sun-rise: two sisters sweet Bending their graceful figures till they meet Over the trippings of a little child:And some are hearing, eagerly, the wild Thrilling liquidity of dewy piping.See, in another picture, nymphs are wipingCherishingly Diana's timorous limbs;--A fold of lawny mantle dabbling swimsAt the bath's edge, and keeps a gentle motionWith the subsiding crystal: as when oceanHeaves calmly its broad swelling smoothiness o'er Its rocky marge, and balances once moreThe patient weeds; that now unshent by foamFeel all about their undulating home.Sappho's meek head was there half smiling downAt nothing; just as though the earnest frownOf over thinking had that moment goneFrom off her brow, and left her all alone.Great Alfred's too, with anxious, pitying eyes,As if he always listened to the sighsOf the goaded world; and Kosciusko's wornBy horrid suffrance--mightily forlorn.Petrarch, outstepping from the shady green,Starts at the sight of Laura; nor can weanHis eyes from her sweet face. Most happy they!For over them was seen a free displayOf out-spread wings, and from between them shone The face of Poesy: from off her throneShe overlook'd things that I scarce could tell.The very sense of where I was might wellKeep Sleep aloof: but more than that there came Thought after thought to nourish up the flame Within my breast; so that the morning light Surprised me even from a sleepless night;And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay, Resolving to begin that very dayThese lines; and howsoever they be done,I leave them as a father does his son. Ode to a Nightingale《夜莺颂》My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,But being too happy in thy happiness, -That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,In some melodious plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.O for a draught of vintage! that hath beenCooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,Tasting of Flora and the country-green,Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth.O for a beaker full of the warm South,Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,With beaded bubbles winking at the brimAnd purple-stained mouth;That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,And with thee fade away into the forest dim.Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs;Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,Or new Love pine at them beyond tomorrow.Away! away! for I will fly to thee,Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,But on the viewless wings of Poesy,Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night,And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays;But here there is no lightSave what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endowsThe grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;And mid-May's eldest childThe coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,To take into the air my quiet breath;Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroadIn such an ecstasy!Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -To thy high requiem become a sod.Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!。

济慈简介-济慈简介济慈的代表作品。

一、济慈的代表作品是——《恩底弥翁》。

二、恩底弥翁：恩底弥翁(古希腊语: Ἐνδυμίων, Endymiōn)，又译安狄明(此译名出自《斐多篇》)，希腊神话中的美男子，牧羊人。

卡吕刻(Calyce)与厄利斯国王埃特利俄斯之子，一说为宙斯(Zeus)之子。

恩底弥翁最著名的传说是与月亮女神塞勒涅(Selene)的恋情，最后恩底弥翁处于长眠，永葆青春，每夜在睡梦中与塞勒涅相会(恩底弥翁的美梦)。

三、关于恩底弥翁：希腊神话中关于恩底弥翁身份的说法较多，为厄利斯国王，带领埃俄利亚人从特剌刻来到厄利斯，并在此建国筑成，与一个仙女结婚，生下三个儿子一个女儿。

据伪阿波罗多洛斯(《书库》)说，恩底弥翁是卡吕刻(Calyce)与厄利斯国王埃特利俄斯(Aethlius)之子，另一说为众神之王宙斯(Zeus)之子，又有根据史料认为恩底弥翁是来自卡里亚(Caria)的牧羊人。

老普林尼则认为恩底弥翁是第一个观察月亮运行轨迹的人，并用此说来解释恩底弥翁与月亮女神每夜的相会。

四、传说：恩底弥翁是位风度翩翩的青年牧羊人，他在小亚细亚的拉特摩斯山(Mount Latmus)牧羊。

济慈简介他住在一幽静明媚的山谷中，过着无忧无虑的日子。

有时，当羊群在四周茂盛的草地上逍遥自在地吃草时，他就在草地上沉睡，丝毫不受人世间悲伤与忧虑的侵扰。

一个皓月当空的夜晚，当塞勒涅驾着马车穿越天空时，无意中看到一位漂亮青年正在下面静谧的山谷中睡觉。

她芳心荡漾，对他充满爱慕之情。

她从月亮马车中滑翔而下，匆忙而深情地偷吻了一下他的脸，甚至当熟睡中的恩底弥翁睁开双眼看到仙女时，也有点神魂颠倒。

但眼前的一切很快消失，以致他误认为这是一场梦幻。

每天夜间，塞勒涅都从空中飘下偷吻熟睡中的牧羊人。

然而女神偶尔一次的失职引起了主神宙斯的注意。

众神与人类之父决定永远清除人间对女神的诱惑。

济慈简介他将恩底弥翁召到身边令他作出选择:任何形式的死亡;或者在永远的梦幻中青春永在。

-----钱钟书
中西恋爱观和婚姻观的不同
西：往往将恋爱与结婚当作人生中的一件大事，有 “爱情至上”的传统，将爱情看作是一种情感的历险， “婚外情”一般是不受到谴责的。西方关于“婚前 恋”、“婚外情”的诗多，如萨福的《相思》、《圣 经》中的《雅歌》、中世纪骑士抒情诗中的《破晓 歌》、拜伦的《雅典的少女》等。
by John Keats
Or gazing on tቤተ መጻሕፍቲ ባይዱe new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripe ning breast,
济慈生平只有25岁，在生命最后的日子里，他在病床上给未婚妻写了一封表达 思念的情书。情书由170个单词组成，济慈把自己比作“可怜的囚犯”，说自己由 于疾病无法亲吻芬妮。当时，肺结核是一种极为严重的传染病，济慈不让芬妮接近 他，只是每天坐在窗前，看着楼下的芬妮，每天给她写信。
这封情书中，济慈写到，“我要亲吻你的名字，还有我的署名，因为那是你的 嘴唇曾经触碰过的地方。嘴唇！我是可怜的囚犯，为什么我还要跟你说这些。不过， 我要感谢上帝，因为我能确定你对我的爱，这是宇宙中最幸福的事情，也算是一种 安慰。”
中：中国传统文化中的爱情受到伦理道德与责任的约 束，只重生儿育女，不重圣与灵的结合；中国人重男 女之大妨，婚外情是严厉禁止的。中国关于“婚后 恋”、“死亡恋”的诗比较多，如无名氏的《菩萨 蛮》、李白的《长相思》、陆游的《钗头凤》、白居 易的《长恨歌》 等。
Thank You

（段） he suddenly remembers what death means, and the thought of it frightens him back to earth and his own humanity.
Bright Star
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The Eve of St.
Agnes 《圣亚尼节前夜》
Lamia
《莱米亚》
Hyperion
《赫坡里昂》
Isabella
•Isabella, a young girl of a rich family, was in love with a poor servant called Lorenzo. •Her two brothers, having discovered the love affair, tricked Lorenzo away, murdered him and buried him in a forest.

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•Isabella with grief, found the body of her lover, buried the head in a flowerpot, set a plant of basil over it and brought it home. •Her evil brothers found out the secret. So they stole the pot and discover the head. Isabella, was deprived of her last comfort, died from the heart-broken.

1. 《夜莺颂》的主题表达了夜莺不朽与美妙的歌 声。全诗笼罩在一片幽暗之中，我们可以听到它 的歌声却见不到它的身影，这就更突出了夜莺的 精神特性。 2. 《夜莺颂》的主题表达了审美体验的短暂性与 欺骗性。诗人对莺歌德反映是麻木 （drowsynumbness）,眩晕（intoxication）,幻觉 和对死亡的渴求。——当然，这是诗后面所提到 的 3. 《夜莺颂》的主题表达了审美体验中两种相悖 的因素和情感。对夜莺的歌声，诗人既感到喜悦 （esctatic）又感到悲哀(plaintive)。我们看到的一 方面是夜莺的不朽与欢快，一方面则是人生的短 暂与痛苦。
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 永生的鸟,你不会死去 No hungry generations tread thee down; 饿的世代无法将你蹂躏 The voice I hear this passing night eas heard 今夜,我偶然听到的歌曲 In ancient days by emperor and clown: 当使古代的帝王和村夫喜悦 Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 或许这同样的歌也曾激荡 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 露丝忧郁的心,使她不禁落泪 She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 站在异邦的谷田里想著家 The same that oft-times hath 就是这声音常常 Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam 在失掉了的仙域里引动窗扉 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 一个美女望著大海险恶的浪花 Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 失掉了,这句话好比一声钟 To toll me back from thee to my sole self! 使我猛省到我站脚的地方 Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 别了!幻想,这骗人的妖童 As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 不能老耍弄它盛传的伎俩 Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 别了!别了!你怨诉的歌声 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 流过草坪,越过幽静的溪水 Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep 溜上山坡,而此时它正深深 In the next valley-glades: 埋在附近的溪谷中 Was is a vision, or a waking dream? 这是个幻觉,还是梦寐 Fled is that music -- Do I wake or sleep? 那歌声去了-我是睡?是醒?

生命最后的光辉——浪漫诗人济慈英国的浪漫时期是英国诗歌史上的黄金时代，约翰‧济慈(John Keats，1795-1821)是这个时期六大诗人中出生最晚却最早过世的一个，他在短短数年的创作生涯里留下许多不朽的诗篇。

济慈的父亲汤玛斯‧济慈是英国伦敦一家酒馆马房的领班，他和酒馆老板的女儿简妮斯结婚，继承酒馆的产业，济慈出生于公元一七九五年十月三十一日，是家中的长子，他有三个弟弟，乔治、汤姆和爱德华（三岁时早夭），以及一个妹妹芬妮，济慈和弟妹的感情都非常好。

济慈七岁时和弟弟进入当时颇有名气的约翰‧克拉克私立学校就读，八岁时父亲不幸从马背上跌落而摔死，两个月后母亲改嫁，并跟着新婚丈夫离开，济慈和三个弟妹不得已搬去和外祖父母同住，十三岁时，母亲染上肺痨回家静养，济慈尽心照顾，但隔年他母亲仍不治病逝。

济慈在私立学校求学的阶段受到学风自由的影响，因而培养出独立的性格，更重要的是，他和校长的儿子查尔斯结交，查尔斯足足比济慈大了八岁，他是济慈文学的启蒙老师，他引导济慈阅读文学，并将李‧杭特的文学圈介绍给济慈听。

济慈求学时以好打架出名，他从不轻易低头，有一次他因为弟弟乔治受到不公平的对待而攻击一名学校的老师。

济慈的外祖母留给济慈和他的弟妹八千英镑，但由于其它家族成员诉讼以争夺遗产，济慈一直到死都没办法获得这笔钱，经济拮据是济慈毕生的梦魇，也因为如此，济慈十五岁时在监护人理查‧阿贝的同意之下离开私立学校，转当外科医师兼药剂师汤玛斯‧汉蒙得的学徒。

一八一四年，济慈十八岁时完成了生平的第一首诗〈斯宾赛的模仿〉，但他的创作生涯仍未正式开始，他在十九岁时进入伦敦盖斯医院就读，第二年他就成功地当上药剂师，可是创作的欲望在济慈的体内萌芽，过了没多久，济慈不顾监护人的反对，毅然决然地从事诗歌创作，济慈就以他文字工作微薄的收入扛起家庭开支的重担，而弟弟乔治和妻子移居美国投资失利更是让济慈一家的经济问题雪上加霜。

一八一八年对济慈来说是难熬的一年，首先是他出版了气势磅礡的四千行长诗《恩弟米恩》，在这首长诗中济慈对古典希腊罗马神话的喜爱与想象力获得充分的发挥，但是这首长诗却受到当时评论家的严厉批判，《评论季刊》、《布雷克伍得杂志》等期刊都登文攻击济慈的《恩弟米恩》，除此之外，济慈的小弟汤姆肺痨病重，济慈悉心照料直到汤姆病逝，而其实济慈自己也受到病魔的染指，贫穷、疾病和得不到认同折磨济慈的身心，但济慈并未被打垮，他反省分析自己长诗的缺点并加以改进，开始从事他另一部杰作《海披里恩》，也是在那困厄的一年，济慈认识了他一生的挚爱芬妮‧布朗，她们彼此相知相爱，次年两人便订婚，可是济慈明白自己的身体状况越来越糟，家里的经济也一直无法改善，在不愿意拖累芬妮‧布朗的情况下，济慈打算和她解除婚约，但善良的芬妮不愿意弃济慈而去，她一直陪在济慈身边照顾他。

A thing of beauty 约翰·济慈（1795-1821）A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:Its lovliness increases; it will neverPass into nothingness; but still will keepA bower1 quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathingA flowery band to bind2 us to the earth,Spite of despondence, of the inhuman3dearth4Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd waysMade for our searching: yes, in spite of all,Some shape of beauty moves away the pall5From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,Trees old and young, sprouting6 a shady boon7For simple sheep; and such are daffodilsWith the green world they live in; and clear rillsThat for themselves a cooling covert8 make'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:And such too is the grandeur9 of the dooms10We have imagined for the mighty11 dead;An endless fountain of immortal12 drink,Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink13. 一件美好事物永远是一种欢乐：它的美妙与日俱增；它决不会化为乌有；而是会使我们永远有一座幽静的花亭，一个充满美梦，健康，和匀静的呼吸的睡眠。

诗人约翰济慈的简介诗人约翰济慈的简介诗人约翰济慈的简介约翰·济慈(John Keats)，英诗作家，1795年10月31日出生于英国伦敦，浪漫派的主要成员。

1818年到1820年是济慈诗歌创作的鼎盛时期，他先后完成了《伊莎贝拉》、《圣亚尼节前夜》等作品。

1821年2月，济慈在罗马病逝。

父亲是马厩的雇工领班。

自幼喜爱文学，由于家境窘困，不满16岁就离校学医。

其父母在其青少年时期便相续去世，虽然与兄弟和姐姐相互支持，但过早失去父母的悲伤始终影响着他。

在埃菲尔德学校(EnfieldSchool)，济慈接受了传统正规的教育，在阅读和写作方面，济慈受到了师长克拉克(CharlesCowdenClarke)的鼓励。

年轻的济慈非常钟爱维吉尔(Virgil)，14岁时，他将维吉尔的长诗《艾涅阿斯纪》("Aeneid")翻译成英语。

1810年，济慈被送去当药剂师的学徒。

五年后济慈考入伦敦的一所医学院，但没有一年，济慈便放弃了从医的志愿，而专心于写作诗歌。

济慈很早就尝试写作诗歌，他早期的作品多是一些仿作，1817年，济慈的第一本诗集出版。

这本诗集受到了一些好的评论，但也有一些极为苛刻的攻击性评论刊登在当时很有影响力的一本杂志(Blackwood`smagazine)上。

济慈没有被吓倒，他在来年的春天复印了新诗集《安迪密恩》(“Endymion”)。

1818年夏天，济慈前往英格兰北部和苏格兰旅行，途中得到消息说他的兄弟汤姆得了严重的肺结核，济慈即刻赶回家照顾汤姆。

这一年年底，汤姆死了，济慈搬到一个朋友在汉普斯泰德(Hampstead)的房子去住，现在人们已将那所房子认为济慈之家。

在那里，济慈遇见并深深的爱上了一位年轻的女邻居，芬妮·布朗(FannyBrawne)。

在接下来的几年中，疾病与经济上的问题一直困扰着济慈，但他却令人惊讶的写出了大量的优秀作品，其中包括《圣艾格尼丝之夜》《秋颂》《夜莺颂》《拉弥亚》和《致秋天》等名作，表现出诗人对大自然的强烈感受和热爱，赢得巨大声誉。

济慈约翰·济慈(John Keats，1795年10⽉31⽇-1821年2⽉23⽇)。

出⽣于英国伦敦。

杰出的英国诗⼈，作家，浪漫派的主要成员。

济慈才华横溢，与雪莱、拜伦齐名。

年轻的济慈⾮常钟爱维吉尔（Virgil），14岁时，他将维吉尔的长诗《艾涅阿斯纪》（Aeneid）翻译成英语。

考⼊医学院后⼀年，便放弃了从医的志愿，⽽专⼼于写作诗歌。

他善于运⽤描写⼿法创作诗歌，将多种情感与⾃然完美结合，从⽣活中寻找创作的影⼦。

他的诗篇能带给⼈们⾝临其境的感受。

1821年2⽉23⽇，济慈于意⼤利疗养的途中因肺结核病逝，去世时年仅25岁，可他遗下的诗篇誉满⼈间，他的诗被认为完美体现了西⽅浪漫主义诗歌特⾊，济慈被⼈们推崇为欧洲浪漫主义运动的杰出代表。

代表作《恩底弥翁》、《夜莺颂》、《希腊古瓮颂》。

《夜莺颂》《Ode To A Nightingale》（英语原⽂）My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,But being too happy in thine happiness ——That thou, light winged Dryad of the trees,In some melodious plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless,Singest of summer in full-throated ease.O, for a draught of vintage! that hath beenCool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,Tasting of Flora and the country green,Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!O for a beaker full of the warm SouthFull of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,And purple-stained mouth,That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,And with thee fade away into the forest dim.Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou amongst the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan;Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs.Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin,and dies;Where nut to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs;Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,Or new Love pine at thembeyond to-morrow.Away! away! for I will fly to thee,Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,But on the viewless wings of Poesy,Though the dull brain perplexes and retards. Already with thee! tender is the night,And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays;But here there is no light,Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,Nor what soft incensehangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endowsThe grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild——White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;Fast fading violets covered up in leaves;And mid-May's eldest child,The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,To take into the air my quiet breath;Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroadIn such an ecstasy!Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain——To thy high requiem become a sod.Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!No hungry generations treadthee down;The voice I hear this passing night eas heardIn ancient days by emperor and clown:Perhaps the self-same song that found a pathThrough the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,She stood in tears amid the alien corn;The same that oft-times hathCharm'd magic casement, opening on the foamOf perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.Forlorn! the very word is like a bellTo toll me back from thee to my sole self!Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so wellAs she is famed to do, deceiving elf.Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fadesPast the near meadows, over the still stream,Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deepIn the next valley-glades:Was is a vision, or a waking dream?Fled is that music -- Do I wake or sleep?《夜莺颂》（查良铮译）我的⼼在痛，困顿和⿇⽊刺进了感官，有如饮过毒鸠，⼜象是刚刚把鸦⽚吞服，于是向着列斯忘川下沉：并不是我嫉妒你的好运，⽽是你的快乐使我太欢欣——因为在林间嘹亮的天地⾥，你呵，轻翅的仙灵，你躲进⼭⽑榉的葱绿和荫影，放开歌喉，歌唱着夏季。

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英国浪漫主义诗人济慈诞辰
英国浪漫主义诗人济慈，１７９５年１０月２９日生，１８２１年２月病逝，
只活了２５岁。

他的一生是短暂的，但却留下了不少壮丽的诗篇，为英国和世
界文学宣言增添了光辉。

约翰·济慈的父亲是出租车马的马房饲养员，地位低微，家道贫寒。

他还没到
１５岁，父母双亡，他和两弟一妹在亲友的照管下成长，生活很贫困。

他自幼
酷爱文学，但不满１６岁就离开学校去跟一个医生学学徒，１８１６年获得助
理医师资格。

这一年，他认识了李·亨特和雪莱等作家，由于对文学的酷爱，
使他弃医从文，走上了写作的道路。

１８１６年５月，他在亨特主编的《探究者》上发表了第一首诗作《呵，孤独》。

１８１７年，他在雪莱的帮助下，出
版了第一本诗集《诗歌》。

１８１８年，是济慈整个生活的转折点。

这一年，他发表了长诗《安迪米恩》。

从１８１８年末到１８２０年初，他先后写出了长诗《拉米亚》、《依莎贝拉》、《圣亚尼节的前夕》、《海坡里安》等。

他最著名的《夜莺颂》、《希
腊古瓮颂》、《秋颂》、《忧郁颂》都是这个时期的作品，这些诗表现了济慈
所独有的对大自然的感爱、想象以及生动表现这一切的卓越才华。

诗人约翰·济慈与浪漫主义文学的表达概述约翰·济慈（John Keats）是19世纪英国著名的浪漫派诗人，他通过其作品深刻地描绘了对自然、爱情和艺术的热烈追求以及对人生苦难和死亡的敏感体验。

本文将探讨约翰·济慈如何在他的诗歌中表达了浪漫主义文学的核心观念。

自然的崇拜约翰·济慈是一个对自然非常敏感而又虔诚崇拜的诗人。

他在许多诗作中通过精细而生动的描写展现了自然界的美丽和神秘。

例如，在他最著名的诗作《秋意》中，他描述了大自然渐进变化中不同季节所赋予的景象和情感，以此呼唤读者与自然相连。

这种对自然界深深倾注情感并从中获得启示力量的态度也体现了浪漫主义文学关于个体与大自然相互依存关系的观点。

爱情的力量在约翰·济慈的诗歌中，爱情是另一个重要的主题。

诗人通过对爱情的表达，探讨了真爱的力量和魔力。

他追求纯粹、无私、永恒的爱情，相信它是人类尤其是艺术家创作和生活的灵感源泉。

在诗作《纪念具体》中，他写道：“美为最佳辅助/因风暴而消失”来表达爱情之美即使短暂也能带来无限的喜悦和充实感。

对艺术与文学的追求约翰·济慈对艺术和文学才华有着深刻渴望，并将自己定位为一个真正表达内心情感并触动读者心灵的诗人。

他通过深入研究古代希腊文学以及英国伟大文化传统，吸收其中精华，并将其转化为自己作品中细腻多样化的表达方式。

例如，在《大教堂建筑失火颂》一诗中，他描绘了巨大火灾下教堂被摧毁的景象，表达了自己对艺术创作的无尽忧虑和追求。

面对死亡的诗意约翰·济慈在短暂的一生中面临着许多苦难和健康问题。

这种面对死亡威胁时他依然保持诗意的态度也成为了他诗歌表达的重要主题之一。

他深知生命的有限性和必然性，因此在不少作品中表达了积极地与死亡共存以及享受当下的观点。

例如，在《秋日之曲》中，他将自己与落叶进行比喻，在描述落叶即将凋零时，借此探讨人类生命流逝不可避免但又有一种无法言喻美感。

以上是关于诗人约翰·济慈与浪漫主义文学的表达的简要介绍。

The Cricket's song, in warmth
increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half
lost,
The Grasshopper's among some
grassy hills.
morrow.
--- “Ode to a Nightingale” 6
On the Grasshopper and Cricket
The poetry of earth is never dead:
Wth the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
John Keats (1795-1821) 济慈
Life and Literary Career
Life in poverty and poor health Premature death （aged 26）
“Adonais”, Shelley’s elegy on his death, one of the three greatest elegies in English (Milton’s “Lycidas” & Tennyson’s “In Memoriam”)
Major Works
Long poems:
“Endymion”《恩底弥瓮》 “Isabella”《伊萨贝拉》 “The Eve of St. Agnes”《圣爱格尼斯之夜》 “Lamia” 《莱米亚》 “Hyperion” 《赫披里昂》
Short lyrics: four odes, his most important
dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs,

A major concern in "Ode to a Nightingale" is Keats's perception of the conflicted nature of human life, i.e., the interconnection or mixture of pain/joy intensity of feeling/numbness of feeling life/death mortal/immortal the actual/the ideal separation/connection
In 1818, Keats's brother Tom was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Keats abandoned his faltering medical studies to care for him. Tom died in his arms in early 1819. By the late summer of 1819, Keats himself had been diagnosed with tuberculosis.
Composition of Ode to a Nightingale
The exact date of composition is uncertain, it came short after Ode to Psyche sometime in the second half of May 1819. Charles Brown, one of Keat’s closest companions and in whose house Keats commonly resided, recalls the moment when Keats wrote the poem in a letter to Lord Houghton:

这样子每个翌日的清晨我们编织绚丽的彩带把自己跟尘世系牢不管失望沮丧也不管无情的人缺少高贵的天性不管愁苦的岁月不管我们在求索过程中那满是危险晦暗的道路
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty” 美即是真，真即是美
——
Introduction Life Story
Works His Position in English Literature
1.Ode to a Nightingale “夜莺颂“
2.On a Grecian Urn“希腊古 瓮颂”
3. On Melancholy “忧郁颂”
4.
Short Poems
When I have Fear“当我害怕的时候”
TO Autumn “秋颂” On the Grasshopper and the Cricket“蛐蛐与蟋蟀” Bright Star “闪亮的星星”
5. 6.
7.
8. O Solitude “哦，孤独”
1.Endymion《恩底弥 翁》 2.Isabella 《伊莎贝拉》
Five long poems
3.The Eve of St. Agnes 《圣亚尼节前夜》
mia 《莱米亚》
5.Hyperion 《赫坡里 昂》
1.Ode to a Nightingale “夜莺颂”
Introduction
John Keats (1795-1821) >One of the 2nd generation of romantic poets >Famous as Byron and Shelley >Outstanding representative of European Romantic Movement