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诗歌赏析:A Part of an Ode

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  A Part of an Ode

  IT is not growing like a tree

  In bulk doth make man better be;

  Or standing long an oak three hundred year

  To fall a log at last dry bald and sere:

  A lily of a day

  Is fairer far in May

  Although it fall and die that night;

  It was the plant and flower of light.

  In small proportions we just beauties see;

  And in short measures life may perfect be.

  Call noble Lucius then for wine

  And let thy looks with gladness shine:

  Accept this garland plant it on thy head

  And think—nay know—thy Morison 's not dead.

  He leap'd the present age

  Possest with holy rage

  To see that bright eternal Day

  Of which we Priests and Poets say

  Such truths as we expect for happy men;

  And there he lives with memory—and Ben

  Jonson: who sung this of him ere he went

  Himself to rest

  Or tast a part of that full joy he meant

  To have exprest

  In this bright Asterism

  Where it were friendship's schism—

  Were not his Lucius long with us to tarry—

  To separate these twy

  Lights the Dioscuri

  And keep the one half from his Harry.

  But fate doth so alternate the design

  Whilst that in Heav'n this light on earth must shine.

  And shine as you exalted are!

  Two names of friendship but one star:

  Of hearts the union: and those not by chance

  Made or indenture or leased out to advance

  The profits for a time.

  No pleasures vain did chime

  Of rimes or riots at your feasts

  Orgies of drink or feign'd protests;

  But simple love of greatness and of good

  That knits brave minds and manners more than blood.

  This made you first to know the Why

  You liked then after to apply

  That liking and approach so one the t'other

  Till either grew a portion of the other:

  Each stylèd by his end

  The copy of his friend.

  You lived to be the great surnames

  And titles by which all made claims

  Unto the Virtue—nothing perfect done

  But as a CARY or a MORISON.

  And such the force the fair example had

  As they that saw

  The good and durst not practise it were glad

  That such a law

  Was left yet to mankind

  Where they might read and find

  FRIENDSHIP indeed was written not in words

  And with the heart not pen

  Of two so early men

  Whose lines her rules were and records:

  Who ere the first down bloomèd on the chin

  Had sow'd these fruits and got the harvest in.

1602