John Pierpont ，1785—1866，was born in Litchfield，Connecticut，and graduated from Yale College in 1804.The next four years he spent as a private tutor in the family of Col.William Allston，of South Carolina.On his return，he studied law in the law school of his native town.He entered upon practice，but soon left the law for mercantile pursuits，in which he was unsuccessful.Having studied theology at Cambridge，in 1819 he was ordained pastor of the Hollis Street Unitarian Church，in Boston，where he continued nearly twenty years.He afterwards preached four years for a church in Troy，New York，and then removed to Medford，Massachusetts.At the age of seventy-six，he became chaplain of a Massachusetts regiment；but，on account of infirmity，war soon obliged to give up the position.Mr.Pierpont published a series of school readers，which enjoyed a well-deserved popularity for many years.
His poetry is smooth，musical，and vigorous.Most of his pieces were written for special occasions.
His falchion flashed along the Nile；
His hosts he led through Alpine snows；
O'er Moscow's towers，that blazed the while，
His eagle flag unrolled，——and froze.
Here sleeps he now，alone！Not one
Of all the kings，whose crowns he gave，
Bends o'er his dust；——nor wife nor son
Has ever seen or sought his grave.
Behind this seagirt rock！the star，
That led him on from crown to crown，
Has sunk；and nations from afar
Gazed as it faded and went down.
High is his couch；——the ocean flood，
Far，far below，by storms is curled；
As round him heaved，while high he stood，
A stormy and unstable world.
Alone he sleeps！The mountain cloud，
That night hangs round him，and the breath
Of morning scatters，is the shroud
That wraps the conqueror's clay in death.
Pause here！The far-off world，at last，
Breathes free；the hand that shook its thrones，
And to the earth its miters cast，
Lies powerless now beneath these stones.
Hark！comes there from the pyramids，
And from Siberian wastes of snow，
And Europe's hills，a voice that bids
The world he awed to mourn him？No:
The only，the perpetual dirge
That's heard there is the sea bird's cry，——
The mournful murmur of the surge，——
The cloud's deep voice，the wind's low sigh.
译文 TRANSLATION
约翰·皮尔庞特（1785—1866）出生于康涅狄格州利奇菲尔德。1804年，皮尔庞特毕业于耶鲁大学。随即在南卡罗莱纳州威廉·奥尔森上校家担任家庭教师四年。之后，他在利奇菲尔德法学院攻读法律，进入法律界不久就转入商界，但他经营得并不好。1819年，他在剑桥修读完神学，被任命为波士顿一所教堂的牧师。在波士顿工作近二十年后，他到纽约州伦塞勒县县治特洛伊一所教堂布道四年。然后，他搬至马萨诸塞州梅德福市。76岁时，皮尔庞特成为马萨诸塞团的驻团牧师，后因年老体弱辞职。皮尔庞特曾出版了几部学生读物，很长时间内颇受欢迎。约翰·皮尔庞特的诗流畅、富于音乐性、充满活力。他的绝大多数诗都是为特定场合而作的。
他的剑照亮了尼罗河，
他的大军跋涉过阿尔卑斯山的雪地，
他的鹰旗飞扬、冻凝在莫斯科燃烧的要塞。
而今，他在这里孤独地沉睡！他分封的诸王
没有一个向他的遗骸鞠躬致礼，
他的妻儿也从未来坟前吊祭。
在这孤岛后面，那颗星
曾引领他攻克一个个王国
现今却已沉落。当它黯淡、消隐，
远方的民族久久将它伫望。
他在高高的卧榻上长眠，
在它下面，远远的，远远的下方，
海涛在风暴中翻卷。
正如他曾矗立的世界那般动荡不安。
他在这里孤独地沉睡！夜色笼罩着他，
清晨的风散去，那山一样的云是他的敛衣。
安息吧！终于，那僻远的世界也呼吸着自由；
你的手将御座摇撼，将王冠掷向大地。
如今，无力地长眠在墓茔中。
听！从金字塔边，从西伯利亚的残雪中，
从欧洲的群山里，一个声音传来。它在恳求
这被他震惊的世界向他哀悼，
不，他唯一的、永恒的挽歌
是海鸟的哀泣，是浪涛的悄吟，
是云的呜咽，是风的低声叹息。
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