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¿ï·Á¶ó ÈûÂù Á¾ÀÌ¿©                 from 'In Memoriam' CVI.
Å©¶ó¸®º§                             Claribel : A Melody
»êµé¹Ù¶÷ÀÇ ³ë·¡                   Sweet And Low
´«¹°, µ¡¾ø´Â ´«¹°                   Tears, idle tears
ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó, ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó, ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó Break, Break, Break
º® Æ´»õ¿¡ ÇÉ ²ÉÀÌ¿©               Flower in The Crannied Wall,
À²¸®½ÃÁî                             ULYSSES
 

¿ï·Á¶ó ÈûÂù Á¾ÀÌ¿© - 'ÀÎ ¸Þ¸Ó¸®¾ö'106Àå

                       - ¾ËÇÁ·¿ Å״Ͻ¼


¿ï·Á¶ó ÈûÂù Á¾ÀÌ¿©, °ÅÄ£ Çϴÿ¡,
³¯¾Æ°¡´Â ±¸¸§¿¡, ½Î´ÃÇÑ ºû¿¡.

¿À´Ã ¹ãÀ¸·Î ÀÌ ÇØ´Â Áö³ª°¡¹ö¸°´Ù.
¿ï·Á¶ó ÈûÂù Á¾ÀÌ¿©, ÀÌ ÇØ¸¦ °¡°Ô ÇÏ¿©¶ó.


³°Àº °Í ¿ï·Á º¸³»°í, »õ·Î¿î °Í ¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó.
¿ï·Á¶ó ±â»Û Á¾¼Ò¸®¿©, Èò ´« Àú ³Ê¸Ó.

ÇØ´Â ÀÌÁ¦ Àú¹«³ë´Ï, ÀÌ ÇØ¸¦ ¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó.
°ÅÁþÀ» ¿ï·Á º¸³»°í, Áø½ÇÀ» ¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó.


¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó, ÀÌ ¼¼»ó¿¡¼­ ¿µ¿øÈ÷ ¸¸³¯ ¼ö ¾ø´Â
±× »ç¶÷À» »ý°¢ÇÏ¿© °¡½¿¿¡ ¹øÁö´Â ÀÌ ½½ÇÄÀ».

ºóºÎÀÇ Â÷ÀÌ¿¡¼­ ¿À´Â ¹Ý¸ñÀ» ¿ï·Á º¸³»°í
¸¸¹ÎÀÇ ±¸Á¦¸¦ ¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó.


¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó, ÀÌÀ¹°í »ç¶óÁú ÁÖÀåÀ»-
¿À·¡µÈ ´çÆÄ ½Î¿òÀ».

¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó, º¸´Ù µå³ôÀº "»îÀÇ ¹æ¹ý"À»
º¸´Ù ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¿¹Àý, º¸´Ù ±ú²ýÇÑ µµ´öÀ» ÁöÄѶó.


¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó, ÀÌ ¼¼»óÀÇ °áÇ̰ú °í³ú¿Í Á˾ÇÀ»
±×¸®°í ½Î´ÃÇÑ ºÒ½ÅÀÇ ¸¶À½À».

¿ï·Á¶ó ¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó, ³» ¾ÖµµÀÇ ³ë·¡¸¦.
¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó, ¿ÏÀüÇÑ ³ë·¡¸¦.


¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó, ÁöÀ§¿Í °¡¹®ÀÇ ¸øµÈ ÀÚ¶ûÀ».
±×¸®°í ÀÌ ¼¼»ó »ç¶÷µéÀÇ Áß»ó¸ð·«À».

¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó, Áø½Ç°ú Á¤ÀÇÀÇ »ç¶ûÀ».
¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó, ÇѾøÀÌ ¼±ÇÑ »ç¶ûÀ».


¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó, ¼¼»óÀÇ °íÁúº´ ¸ðµÎ¸¦.
¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó, ¸¶À½ ¼ÓÀÇ Å½¿åÀ».

¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó, Áö³ª°£ ¼öõÀÇ ÀüÀïÀ».
¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó, ¿©¿øÇÑ ÆòÈ­¸¦.


¿ï·Á ¸Â¾Æ¶ó, ¿ë±â¿Í ÀÚÀ¯ÀÇ »ç¶÷
º¸´Ù °ü´ëÇÑ ¸¶À½°ú º¸´Ù ÀÚºñ ³ÑÄ¡´Â ¼ÕÀ».

À̳ª¶óÀÇ ¾îµÎ¿òÀ» ¿ï·Á º¸³»¶ó.
¿ï·Á¶ó ¿À½Ã´Â ±×¸®½ºµµ¸¦ ¸ÂÀÌÇϱâ À§ÇØ.



from 'In Memoriam' CVI.

               - Alfred Lord Tennyson

 
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

   The flying cloud, the frosty light:

   The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

   Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

   The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.


Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

   For those that here we see no more;

   Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.


Ring out a slowly dying cause,

   And ancient forms of party strife;

   Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, purer laws.


Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

   The faithless coldness of the times;

   Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,

But ring the fuller minstrel in.


Ring out false pride in place and blood,

   The civic slander and the spite;

   Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good.


Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

   Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

   Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in the thousand years of peace.


Ring in the valiant man and free,

   The larger heart, the kindlier hand;

   Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.



Å©¶ó¸®º§

               - Å״Ͻ¼

             1

Ŭ¶ó¸®º§ÀÌ ¶¥ ¼Ó ±íÀÌ ´©¿ö ÀÖ´Â ±Ùó
»êµé¹Ù¶÷Àº ±×Ä¡°í
»ì¦ Àå¹Ì ²ÉÀÙÀ» ¶³¾î¶ß¸°´Ù.

¿ì¶÷ÇÏ°Ô ¼Ú¾ÆÀÖ´Â ¶±°¥³ª¹«¸¸Àº
¹«¼ºÇÑ ÀÙ»ç±Í¿¡¼­ Çâ±ßÇÑ ³¿»õ¸¦ dz±â¸ç
¿¾³¯ºÎÅÍÀÇ ¿ïÀ½¼Ò¸®¸¦ ³»¸é¼­ ź½ÄÇÏ¿©

¸¶À½ ¼ÓÀÇ ±«·Î¿òÀ» ÀüÇÏ´Â
Ŭ¶ó¸®º§ÀÌ ¶¥ ¼Ó ±íÀÌ ´©¿ö ÀÖ´Â ±Ùó.

             2

Àú³á ¶§´Â µüÁ¤¹ú·¹°¡ ³¯°³ ¼Ò¸®¸¦ ³»¸é¼­
¾µ¾µÇÑ ´ýºÒÀ» ³Ñ¾î°£´Ù.

Çѳ·¿¡´Â À̳¢ ³¤ ¹¦¼® ÁÖÀ§¿¡
µéÀÇ ¹úµéÀÌ ³»´Â µÐÇÑ ¼Ò¸®°¡ µé¸®°í

¹ãÁß¿¡´Â ´ÞÀÌ ±× ¸ð½ÀÀ» º¸¿©
È¥ÀÚ¼­ »ì¦ ¹Ù¶óº»´Ù.
ºÓÀº ¹æ¿ï»õ´Â ±× ³ë·¡¼Ò¸® ³ô°Ô ¿ìÁöÁø´Ù.

             3

¸Å¸¼Àº ¼Ò¸®·Î ƼƼ»õ°¡ ÇѹÙÅÁ ¿ï°í
¹é¼³Á¶ »õ±â´Â ¼­Å÷ ¼Ò¸®·Î ÁöÀú±Ï´Ù.

²Þ³ª¶óÀÎ µíÇÑ ´À³¦À» ÁÖ´Â ¹°°áÀº Âû½Ï°Å¸®°í
Á¾¾Ë°Å¸®´Â ½Ã³»´Â Àܹ°°áÀ» ÁöÀ¸¸ç
ÅÖ ºó µ¿±¼Àº ¿©¿ï¼Ò¸®¸¦ ¸Þ¾Æ¸®Ä£´Ù.

Ŭ¶ó¸®º§ÀÌ ¶¥ ¼Ó ±íÀÌ ´©¾îÀÖ´Â ±Ùó.


 
Claribel : A Melody

           - Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)


Where Claribel low-lieth

       The breezes pause and die,

         Letting the rose-leaves fall:

But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,

       Thick-leaved, ambrosial,

       With an ancient melody

       Of an inward agony,

Where Claribel low-lieth.


At eve the beetle boometh

       Athwart the thicket lone:

At noon the wild bee hummeth

       About the moss'd headstone:

At midnight the moon cometh,

       And looketh down alone.

Her song the lintwhite swelleth,

The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,

       The callow throstle lispeth,

The slumbrous wave outwelleth,

       The babbling runnel crispeth,

The hollow grot replieth

       Where Claribel low-lieth.
 


»êµé¹Ù¶÷ÀÇ ³ë·¡

               - ¾ËÇÁ·¿ Å״Ͻ¼


¼­ÂÊ ¹Ù´Ù·ÎºÎÅÍ ºÎ´Â ¹Ù¶÷Àº
ºÎµå·´°Ô ¼Ó»èÀÌ´Â »êµé¹Ù¶÷

»êµé»êµé ºÎµå·´°Ô ¾î¼­ ºÒ¾î¶ó.
¼­ÂÊ ¹Ù´Ù·ÎºÎÅÍ ºÒ¾î ¿À³Ê¶ó!

¹°°áÄ¡´Â ÆÄµµ¸¦ ºÒ¾î ³Ñ¾î¼­
±â¿ï°í ÀÖ´Â ´Þ ÀúÁ·À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ

±â´Ù¸®´Â »ç¶÷À» ³»°Ô µ¥·Á¿À°Ô ¾î¼­ ºÒ¾î¶ó;
³» ±Í¿©¿î ¾Æ±â°¡ Àáµç »çÀÌ¿¡.


ÀڰŶó ÀڰŶó ÆíÈ÷ ÀڰŶó.
³× ¿·¿¡ ¾Æ¹öÁö°¡ µ¹¾Æ¿À½Ã¸®´Ï
ÀڰŶó ÀڰŶó ÆíÈ÷ ÀڰŶó.

³× ¿·¿¡ ¾Æ¹öÁö°¡ µ¹¾Æ¿À½Ã¸®´Ï
³» ¾Æ°¡¾ß ÀڰŶó »ç¶ûÀÇ Ç°¿¡.

¼­ÂÊ¿¡¼­ ¾Æ¹öÁö´Â µ¹¾Æ¿À½Ã¸®´Ï
Àº»ö ´Þºû ¹ÞÀ¸¸ç Àº»ö µÀ´ë ´Þ°í¼­.
ÀڰŶó ±Í¿©¿î ¾Æ°¡, ÀÚ°Å¶ó ¿¹»Û ¾Æ°¡, ¾î¼­ ÀڰŶó.



Sweet And Low

             - Alfred, Lord Tennyson


Sweet and low, sweet and low,

  Wind of the western sea,

Low, low, breathe and blow,

  Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

  Blow him again to me

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.


Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

  Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

  Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,

Silver sails all out of the west

  Under the silver moon;

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.



´«¹°, µ¡¾ø´Â ´«¹° - "°øÁÖ"¿¡¼­
 
               ¾ÙÇÁ¸®µå ·Îµå Å״Ͻ¼


´«¹°, µ¡¾ø´Â ´«¹°, ±î´ß ¸ð¸¦
´«¹°ÀÌ °Å·èÇÑ Àý¸ÁÀÇ ¹Ù´Ú¿¡¼­
°¡½¿¿¡ ¼Ú¾Æ¿Ã¶ó ´«¿¡ °íÀ̳×.

ÇູÇÑ °¡À» µé³è ¹Ù¶óº¸¸ç
°¡ ¹ö¸° ³¯µéÀ» »ý°¢Çϳë¶ó´Ï.


Àú½Â¿¡¼­ ¹þ´Ô³×µé ½Æ°í ¿À´Â µÀ¹è
±× µÀ¹è¿¡ ¹Ý¦À̴ ù ÇÞ»ìó·³ »õ·Ó°í
»ç¶ûÇÏ´Â ÀÌµé ¸ðµÎ ½Æ°í ¼öÆò¼± ³Ñ´Â µÀ¹è

±× µÀ¹è »¡°²°Ô ¹°µéÀÌ´Â ¸¶Áö¸· ÇÞ»ìó·³ ½½ÆÛ¶ó.
±×ó·³ ½½ÇÁ°í »õ·Î¿ö¶ó, °¡ ¹ö¸° ³¯µéÀº.


¾Æ, ½½ÇÁ°í ¾ß¸©ÇÏ¿©¶ó. ¾îµÏÇÑ ¿©¸§³¯ µ¿Æ² ³è

Á×¾î °¡´Â ÀÌÀÇ ´«¿¡ â¹®ÀÇ ³×¸ð²ÃÀÌ
Â÷Ãû Èå¸´ÇØ º¸ÀÏ ¹«·Æ ±×ÀÇ ±Í¿¡ µé·Á¿À´Â
Àá ´ú ±ü »õµéÀÇ Ã¹ ÁöÀú±Ñó·³.

±×ó·³ ½½ÇÁ°í ¾ß¸©ÇÏ¿©¶ó, °¡ ¹ö¸° ³¯µéÀº.


Á×Àº µÚ »ý°¢³ª´Â Ű½ºÃ³·³ ´ÙÁ¤Çϰí
µý ÀÌ¿¡°Ô¸¸ Çã¶ôµÈ ÀÔ¼ú¿¡ ÇêµÇÀÌ ÇØº¸´Â

»ó»óÀÇ Å°½ºÃ³·³ °¨¹Ì·Î¿ö¶ó. »ç¶ûó·³ ±í°í
ù»ç¶ûó·³ ±í¾î¶ó. ¿À¸¸°¡Áö ȸÇÑÀ¸·Î ¹ÌÄ¥ °Í °°¾Æ

¿À, »î °¡¿îµ¥ Á×À½À̾î¶ó, °¡ ¹ö¸° ³¯µéÀº.


              
Tears, idle tears - from The Princess
 
             -Alfred Lord Tennyson

      
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.


Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,

That brings our friends up from the underworld,

Sad as the last which reddens over one

That sinks with all we love below the verge;

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.


Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns

The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds

To dying ears, when unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;

So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.


Dear as remembered kisses after death,

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned

On lips that are for others; deep as love,

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;

O Death in Life, the days that are no more!
¡¡


ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó, ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó, ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó

                 - ¾ÙÇÁ¸®µå Å״Ͻ¼

 
ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó, ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó, ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó,
  ³× Â÷µðÂù Àíºû ¹ÙÀ§¿¡, ¿À ¹Ù´Ù¿©!

±×¸®°í ³ªµµ ³» Çô°¡ ½ÉÁß¿¡ ¼Ú¾Æ¿À¸£´Â
  »ý°¢À» Ç¥ÇöÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ¾úÀ¸¸é ÁÁÀ¸·Ã¸¸.


¿À, ¾îºÎÀÇ ¾ÆµéÀº ÁÁ°Ú±¸³ª,
   ´©ÀÌ¿Í °íÇÔÁö¸£¸ç ³î°í ÀÖ³×!

¿À, ÀþÀº ¹î»ç¶÷Àº ÁÁ°Ú±¸³ª,
   Æ÷±¸¿¡ ¹è ¶ç¿ì°í ³ë·¡ ºÎ¸£³×!


¿ì¾ÆÇÑ ±â¼±µéµµ °¥ ±æÀ» °¡´Â±¸³ª,
   ¾ð´ö ¾Æ·¡ Ç×±¸¸¦ ÇâÇØ.

¿À, ±×¸®¿ö¶ó, »ç¶óÁø ¼Õ±æÀÇ °¨ÃËÀÌ¿©,
   ¼Ò¸® ¾ø´Â ¸ñ¼Ò¸®¿©!


ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó, ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó. ºÎ½¤Á®¶ó,
   ³× º­¶û ±â½¾¿¡, ¿À ¹Ù´Ù¿©!

ÇÏÁö¸¸ °¡ ¹ö¸° ³¯ÀÇ ´ÙÁ¤ÇÑ ÇູÀº
   ³»°Ô ´Ù½Ã´Â µ¹¾Æ¿ÀÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸®.
 

 
Break, Break, Break

         - Alfred Lord Tennyson


Break, break, break,

   On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

   The thoughts that arise in me.


O, well for the fisherman's boy,

   That he shouts with his sister at play!

O, well for the sailor lad,

   That he sings in his boat on the bay!


And the stately ships go on

   To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanished hand,

   And the sound of a voice that is still!


Break, break, break

   At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead

   Will never come back to me.



º® Æ´»õ¿¡ ÇÉ ²ÉÀÌ¿©

               - ¾ËÇÁ·¿ Å״Ͻ¼


º® Æ´»õ¿¡ ÇÉ ²ÉÀÌ¿©!

³ª´Â ³Ê¸¦ »Ì¾Æ,
»Ñ¸®±îÁö ¸ðµÎ »Ì¾Æ, ÀÌ·¸°Ô ³» ¼Õ ¾È¿¡ µé¾ú±¸³ª,

ÀÛÀº ²ÉÀÌÁö¸¸, ¸¸ÀÏ ³»°¡
³Ê¸¦ »Ñ¸®±îÁö ¸ðµÎ, ³× ¸ðµç °ÍÀ» ¾Ë ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù¸é

ÇÏ´À´Ô°ú »ç¶÷ÀÌ ¹«¾ùÀÎÁö ¾Ë ¼ö ÀÖÀ¸·Ã¸¸. 



Flower in The Crannied Wall,

           - Alfred Lord Tennyson


Flower in the crannied wall,

I pluck you out of the crannies,

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,

Little flower--but if I could understand

What you are, root and all, and all in all,

I should know what God and man is.



À²¸®½ÃÁî

                 - ¾ËÇÁ·¿ Å״Ͻ¼


¾µ¸ð ¾ø´Â ÁþÀ̷α¸³ª,
Çϸ±¾ø´Â ¿ÕÀ¸·Î¼­,
ºÒ¸ðÀÇ ÇèÇÑ ¹ÙÀ§»ê »çÀÌ, ÀÌ Àû¸·ÇÑ È­·Ô°¡¿¡¼­
´ÄÀº ¾Æ³»¿Í ´õºÒ¾î, ¸Ô°í ÀÚ°í ¿å½É¸¸ ºÎ¸®°í
³ª¸¦ ÀÌÇØÇÏÁö ¸øÇÏ´Â
¾ß¸¸ÀûÀÎ Á·¼Ó¿¡°Ô º¸»ó°ú ¹úÀ» ³»¸°´Ù´Â °ÍÀº.

³ª´Â ¹æ¶ûÀ» ½¯ ¼ö ¾øµµ´Ù.
¸¶½Ã¸®¶ó, »îÀ» ±× Â±â±îÁö.
¾ðÁ¦³ª ³ª´Â Áñ°å°í, Å©³ªÅ« °íÅëµµ ¸Àº¸¾Ò³ë¶ó.
³ª¸¦ »ç¶ûÇß´ø »ç¶÷µé°ú ÇÔ²², ±×¸®°í È¥ÀÚ¼­.
¹Ù´å°¡ ¹·¿¡¼­, ±×¸®°í ´Þ¸®´Â ±¸¸§ »çÀÌ·Î ºñ¸¦ ¸ô°í ´Ù´Ï´Â
È÷¾Æµ¥½º ¼ºÁÂ(àøñ¨)°¡ °ËǪ¸¥ ¹Ù´Ù¸¦ ³ë¿±°Ô ÇÒ ¶§.

³ª´Â ÀÌÁ¦ ¸í¼ºÀ» ¶³Ä¡°í ÀÖ³ë¶ó.
¾ðÁ¦³ª ±¾ÁÖ¸° ¸¶À½À¸·Î ¹æ¶ûÇϸç
¸¹ÀÌ º¸°í ¸¹ÀÌ ¹è¿ü³ë¶ó. »ç¶÷µéÀÇ µµ½Ãµé°ú
Çã´ÙÇÑ Ç³¼Ó, ±âÈÄ, ÀÇȸ, Á¤ºÎ.
³ª´Â ºñõÇÑ ÀÚ°¡ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó ±×µé ¸ðµÎ¿¡°Ô Á¸°æ¹Þ´Â ÀÚ¿´³ë¶ó.
±×¸®°í µ¿·áµé°ú ÀüÅõÀÇ È¯Èñ¿¡ Èì»¶ ÃëÇØ º¸¾Ò³ë¶ó,

Àú ¸Õ °÷, ¹Ù¶÷ ºÒ°í ¼Ò¸® ¿ï·Á ÆÛÁö´Â Æ®·ÎÀÌ µéÆÇ¿¡¼­.
³ª´Â ³»°¡ °æÇèÇß´ø ±× ¸ðµç °ÍÀÇ ÀϺΠÀÌ·¯´Ï,
Ç㳪 ¸ðµç °æÇèÀº ÇϳªÀÇ ¹®(Ú¦),
±× ¹®À» ÅëÇØ ¾ÆÁ÷ °¡º¸Áö ¸øÇÑ ¼¼°è°¡ ¾î·ÅDzÀÌ ºû³ª¸ç,
±× ¼¼°èÀÇ °¡ÀåÀÚ¸®´Â ³»°¡ ´Ù°¡°¡¸é ¿µ¿µ »ç¶óÁö´Â µµ´Ù.

¾ó¸¶³ª Áö·çÇÑ ÀÏÀΰ¡, ¸ØÃá´Ù´Â °Í, ³¡³½´Ù´Â °Í, ±¤À» ³»Áö ¾Ê¾Æ
³ì½½¾î ¹ö¸°´Ù´Â °Í, »ç¿ëÇØ¼­ ºû³ª°Ô ÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù´Â °ÍÀº!
¸¶Ä¡ ¼û½¬´Â °ÍÀÌ »îÀÇ ÀüºÎÀ̱⳪ ÇϵíÀÌ! »î À§¿¡ »îÀ» Æ÷°³´Â °ÍÀº
³Ê¹«³ª °¡Ä¡ ¾ø´Â ÀÏÀ̱¸³ª, °Ô´Ù°¡ ³»°Ô´Â »îÀÌ ¾ó¸¶ ³²Áö ¾Ê¾Òµµ´Ù.
±×·¯³ª ³¹³¹ÀÇ ½Ã°£Àº ±× ¿µ¿øÇÑ Ä§¹¬¿¡¼­ ±¸¿øµÇ¾î, º¸´Ù ³ªÀº ¾î¶² °Í,
»õ·Î¿î °ÍÀ» °¡Á® ¿Àµµ´Ù. ±×¸®°í Ãß¾ÇÇÑ ÀÏÀÓ¿¡ Ʋ¸²¾ø±¸³ª,
¼¼ ¹øÀÇ ÇØ¸¦ ³ª È¥ÀÚ °£Á÷ÇÏ°í ½×¾ÆµÐ´Ù´Â °ÍÀº.
ÀÌ ´Ä¾î °¡´Â ¿µÈ¥Àº Àΰ£ »ç»óÀÇ ±ØÇÑÀû °æ°è ³Ê¸Ó·Î
ħ¸ôÇÏ´Â º°Ã³·³ Áö½ÄÀÇ Ãß±¸¸¦ ¿å¸Á Çϴµ¥.

À̰ÍÀº ³ªÀÇ ¾Æµé, ³» ÅÚ·¹¸¶Ä¿½º.
±×¿¡°Ô ³ª´Â ¿ÕȦ(èÝûì)°ú ÀÌ ¼¶À» ¸Ã±â´Â µµ´Ù.
±×´Â ³ªÀÇ ÃѾָ¦ ¹Þ°í, ÂüÀ»¼º ÀÖ´Â ½ÅÁßÇÔÀ¸·Î
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ULYSSES

                     - Alfred, Lord Tennyson


It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
that loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea. I am become an name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known---cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all---
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end.
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, my own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle---
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me---
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads---you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are---
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

 

* ¾î¶°ÇÑ ½½ÇÄÀ̳ª ¾î·Á¿ò¿¡µµ ÁÂÀýÇÏÁö ¾Ê°í ±»±»ÇϰÔ
³ª°¡µµ·Ï ¿ë±â¸¦ ºÏ µ¸¿öÁÖ´Â ÀåÄèÇÏ°í °­·ÄÇÑ ´À³¦ÀÇ ½ÃÀÌ´Ù.



 

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