英文詩(shī)詞之Coronach

　　Coronach

　　by Sir Walter Scott

　　He is gone on the mountain，

　　He is lost to the forest，

　　Like a summer-dried fountain，

　　When our need was the sorest.

　　The font reappearing

　　From the raindrops shall borrow，

　　But to us comes no cheering，

　　To Duncan no morrow！

　　The hand of the reaper

　　Takes the ears that are hoary，

　　But the voice of the weeper

　　Wails manhood in glory.

　　The autumn winds rushing

　　Waft the leaves that are serest，

　　But our flower was in flushing

　　When blighting was nearest.

　　Fleet foot on the correi，

　　Sage counsel in cumber，

　　Red hand in the foray，

　　How sound is thy slumber！

　　Like the dew on the mountain，

　　Like the foam on the river，

　　Like the bubble on the fountain，

　　Thou art gone， and for ever！

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