My soul is dark—Oh! quickly string

我灵魂阴郁——快调好琴弦，

The harp I yet can brook to hear;

趁我还受得住聆听乐曲;

And let thy gentle fingers fling

用轻柔手指向我耳边

Its melting murmurs o’er mine ear.

弹弄出喁喁细诉的低语。

If in this heart a hope be dear,

只要这颗心还有所希图，

That sound shall charm it forth again;

乐音会再度将它诱导;

If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

只要这双眼还藏着泪珠，

’Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

会流出，不再把脑髓煎熬。

But bid the strain be wild and deep,

让琴曲旋律深沉而激越，

Nor let thy notes of joy be first:

欢快的调门请暂且躲开;

I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,

乐师呵，让我哭泣吧，否则，

Or else this heavy heart will burst;

沉重的心呵，会爆成碎块!

For it hath been by sorrow nursed,

它原是悲哀所哺育，后来

And ached in sleepless silence long;

长期在失眠中熬受痛楚;

And now ’tis doom’d to know the worst,

命运给了它最坏的安排：

And break at once—or yield to song.

碎裂，——要么，被歌声收伏。