Wordsworth and Coleridge's 'Lyrical Ballads' is considered one of the most important collections of poetry ever published in English. Initially printed in an anonymous volume, the poems have come to define their time. Including celebrated poems such as 'The Ancient Mariner' and 'Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey', which continue to delight readers today.
You can listen to Fiona Stafford, editor of the Oxford World's Classics edition, introduce 'Lyrical Ballads' here: https://bit.ly/3qvKGgS
柯立芝 (Coleridge )在倫敦講英國文學時，提到Samuel Johnson 博士有天晚上回家，碰到有一女子昏倒路旁，他就將她背回自己的家，讓她醒過來，餵養之，讓她住到復原為止。 柯立芝的時髦聽眾譁然，男的樂了，女的震驚。
柯立芝只說"請諸君記起好撒馬利亞人的比喻。"（I remind you of the Parable of the Good Samaritan.中文）眾人就靜下來。大家都有共同的文化背景，能了解這比喻的意思。
-- Of What Use the Classics Today By Jacques Barzun
(...Bible, meaning going out of one's way to help, but this does not necessarily mean he is 優しい, which means that he is gentle of disposition and sweet-tempered. ...
The parable of the Good Samaritan is a parable told by Jesus and is mentioned in only one of the gospels of the New Testament. According to the Gospel of Luke (10:29–37) a traveller (who may or may not have been a Jew[1]) is stripped of clothing, beaten, and left half dead along the road. First a priest and then a Levite come by, but both avoid the man. Finally, a Samaritan comes by. Samaritans and Jews generally despised each other, but the Samaritan helps the injured man. Jesus is described as telling the parable in response to a question regarding the identity of the "neighbour", whom Leviticus 19:18 says should be loved.
它來源於《路加福音》第10章第25-37節中耶穌講的寓言：一個猶太人被強盜打劫，受了重傷。躺在路邊。有祭司和利未人路過但不聞不問。惟有一個撒馬利亞人路過，不顧隔閡，動了慈心照應他。在需要離開時自己出錢把猶太人送進旅店的故事。
以猶太人為主體的聽眾，撒馬利亞人一般說來含有貶義。因為撒馬利亞人（北國以色列）受到宗教的約束比較少。他們崇拜偶像，與異族通婚，為南國猶大王國的人所不認同。他們雖然是兄弟，但因為數百年的分裂、競爭、甚至戰爭，早已變成了仇敵。在民間，撒馬利亞人與猶太人互相不交往長達數百年。
耶穌用這個寓言說明，鑑別人的標準是人心而不是人的身份。猶太人自己的祭司和利未人雖然是神職人員但見死不救。仇敵卻成了救命恩人，見義勇為者。
該寓言對西方法律制度的影響是，許多國家制定了「好撒馬利亞人法」，用立法手段保護做好事的人。例如在美國和加拿大，急救人士在搶救傷者過程中或其後對方死亡，可以運用此法案撤銷死者家屬對治療者的法律起訴，從而鼓勵旁觀者對傷、病人士施以幫助。)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born in Ottery St Mary, Devon, England on this day in 1772.
"Frost At Midnight" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud--and hark, again ! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abstruser musings : save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
'Tis calm indeed ! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
This populous village ! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams ! the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not ;
Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,
Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
By its own moods interprets, every where
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of Thought.
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud--and hark, again ! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abstruser musings : save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
'Tis calm indeed ! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
This populous village ! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams ! the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not ;
Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,
Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
By its own moods interprets, every where
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of Thought.
[Image] [Image] [Image] [Image]But O ! how oft,
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger ! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come !
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams !
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book :
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike !
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger ! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come !
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams !
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book :
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike !
Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the intersperséd vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought !
My babe so beautiful ! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes ! For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe ! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags : so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher ! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the intersperséd vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought !
My babe so beautiful ! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes ! For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe ! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags : so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher ! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw ; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw ; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
*
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) was the master impresario of English Romanticism -- an enormously erudite and tireless critic, lecturer, and polemicist who almost single-handedly created the intellectual climate in which the Romantic movement was received and understood. He was also, in poems such as 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,' 'Christabel,' and 'Kubla Khan.' the most uncanny, surreal, and startling of the great English poets.
10月21日
幾天前，電視上看到陳柔縉女士車禍的消息，傷心、訝異：我還以為，騎自行車也需要戴頭盔呢！必須立法......
10月19日
昨天，讀某人資料，知道他的子女取名"彤"、"煒"，出自《詩》...... 但是不知其義。查了馬持盈的《詩經今註今譯》，才知道"彤"是"赤漆的"；"煒"是"盛赤的"。"管"為"婦人盛針線的東西"。
接下去的一首有"洵美且異"，"洵：誠然、實在"。
很不錯的文人、譯家，邵洵美（英語：Sinmay Zau，1906年6月27日－1968年5月5日），原名邵雲龍，有時使用浩文這個名字。
《詩經》真該讀呀！
****
桑原武夫《一日一言》吳季倫譯：
《詩經》
（約成於西周初期∕約於西元前1100—740）
＊中國最早的詩集。共有詩歌305首，另有6篇笙詩，又稱「詩三百」。自漢朝起，儒家將其奉為經典，因此稱為《詩經》。〈國風〉為當時諸國的民謠，亦即彙集了農民、士兵、情人的流行歌曲。
靜女其姝，俟我於城隅，愛而不見，搔首踟躕。
靜女其孌，貽我彤管，彤管有煒，說懌女美。
自牧歸荑，洵美且異，匪女之為美，美人之貽。
出自《詩經‧國風》〈靜女〉
----
****
- 1772年：塞繆爾·泰勒·柯勒律治，英國詩人、文評家，英國浪漫主義文學奠基人之一。（1834年逝世）
- Bate, Walter Jackson (1968). Coleridge. The Macmillan Company. ISBN 0-8262-0713-8.
“Our own heart, and not other men's opinions, forms our true honour.”
Born #onthisday in 1772 was poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who was one of the founders of the Romantic Movement.
Coleridge's collaboration with William Wordsworth led to the 'Lyrical Ballads' and, along with Wordsworth's 'Preface', this work became a manifesto for revolutionary poetics. Some of Coleridge's other well known work includes the 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner', 'Frost at Midnight' and 'Kubla Khan'.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge by Peter Vandyke, 1795 © National Portrait Gallery, London
柯勒律治（Samuel Taylor Coleridge）
（西元1772.10.21—1834.7.25）
英國詩人與文學評論家。曾為治療風濕而吸食鴉片成癮。英國浪漫主義思潮的主要代表之一，與騷塞及華滋華斯結成湖畔派詩人，以詩歌〈古舟子詠〉與〈忽必烈汗〉著稱。另有文評集《文學傳記》。
啊，你們這濤天的巨浪！啊，你們這高聳的森林！
還有，啊，你們這揚舞蒼穹的白雲！
你是昇起的太陽！你是歡快的藍天！
是的，不論是現在和未來，所有的一切全都是自由的！
不論你們身在何處，都將為我證明，
不管多麼深切崇拜，我依然永遠禮讚這
最是崇高神聖的「自由」精神。~~ 節自〈法蘭西〉
France: An Ode
I
Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause,
Whose pathless march no mortal may control!
Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll,
Yield homage only to eternal laws!
Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds singing,
Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined.
Save when your own imperious branches swinging,
Have made a solemn music of the wind!
Where, like a man beloved of God,
Through glooms, which never woodman trod,
How oft, pursuing fancies holy,
My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound,
Inspired, beyond the guess of folly,
By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound!
O ye loud Waves! and O ye Forests high!
And O ye Clouds that far above me soared!
Thou rising Sun! thou blue rejoicing Sky!
Yea, every thing that is and will be free!
Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be,
With what deep worship I have still adored
The spirit of divinest Liberty.
II
When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared,
And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea,
Stamped her strong foot and said she would be free,
Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared!
With what a joy my lofty gratulation
Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band:
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation,
Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand,
The Monarchs marched in evil day,
And Britain joined the dire array;
Though dear her shores and circling ocean,
Though many friendships, many youthful loves
Had swoln the patriot emotion
And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves;
Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat
To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance,
And shame too long delayed and vain retreat!
For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim
I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame;
But blessed the paeans of delivered France,
And hung my head and wept at Britain's name.
III
"And what," I said, "though Blasphemy's loud scream
With that sweet music of deliverance strove!
Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove
A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream!
Ye storms, that round the dawning East assembled,
The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!"
And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled,
The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright;
When France her front deep-scarr'd and gory
Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory;
When, insupportably advancing,
Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp;
While timid looks of fury glancing,
Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp,
Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore;
Then I reproached my fears that would not flee;
"And soon," I said, "shall Wisdom teach her lore
In the low huts of them that toil and groan!
And, conquering by her happiness alone,
Shall France compel the nations to be free,
Till Love and Joy look round, and call the Earth their own."
IV
Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams!
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,
From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sent—
I hear thy groans upon her blood-stained streams!
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished,
And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows
With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherished
One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes!
To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt,
Where Peace her jealous home had built;
A patriot-race to disinherit
Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear;
And with inexpiable spirit
To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer—
O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind,
And patriot only in pernicious toils!
Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind?
To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey;
To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils
From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray?
V
The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain,
Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game
They burst their manacles and wear the name
Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
O Liberty! with profitless endeavour
Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour;
But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power.
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
(Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee)
Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions,
And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,
The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves!
And there I felt thee!—on that sea-cliff's verge,
Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above,
Had made one murmur with the distant surge!
Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,
And shot my being through earth, sea, and air,
Possessing all things with intensest love,
O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there.
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