Thomas Campbell，1777—1844，was a descendant of the famous clan of Campbells，in Kirnan，Scotland，and was born at Glasgow.At the age of thirteen he entered the university in that city，from which he graduated with distinction，especially as a Greek scholar；his translations of Greek tragedy were considered without parallel in the history of the university.During the first year after graduation，he wrote several poems of minor importance.He then removed to Edinburgh and adopted literature as his profession；here his “Pleasures of Hope”was published in 1799，and achieved immediate success.He traveled extensively on the continent，and during his absence wrote “Lochiel's Warning，”“Hohenlinden，”and other minor poems.In 1809 he published “Gertrude of Wyoming；”from 1820 to 1830 he edited the “New Monthly Magazine.”In 1826 he was chosen lord rector of the University of Glasgow，to which office he was twice reelected.He was active in founding the University of London.During the last years of his life he produced but little of note.He died at Boulogne，in France.During most of his life he was in straitened pecuniary circumstances，and ill-health and family afflictions cast a melancholy over his later years.His poems were written with much care，and are uniformly smooth and musical.
Seer. Lochiel！Lochiel！beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array！
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight，
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight.
They rally，they bleed，for their kingdom and crown；
Woe，woe to the riders that trample them down！
Proud Cumberland prances，insulting the slain，
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark！through the fast-flashing lightning of war，
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far？
‘T is thine，O Glenullin！whose bride shall await
Like a love-lighted watch fire all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning，——no rider is there，
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep，Albin！to death and captivity led！
Oh，weep！but thy tears can not number the dead:
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave，——
Culloden！that reeks with the blood of the brave.
Loch. Go preach to the coward，thou death-telling seer！
Or，if gory Culloden so dreadful appear，
Draw，dotard，around thy old wavering sight，
This mantle，to cover the phantoms of fright.
Seer. Ha！laugh'st thou，Lochiel，my vision to scorn？
Proud bird of the mountain thy plume shall be torn！
Say，rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north？
Lo！the death shot of foemen outspeeding，he rode
Companionless，bearing destruction abroad；
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high！
Ah！home let him speed，for the spoiler is nigh.
Why flames the far summit？Why shoot to the blast
Those embers，like stars from the firmament cast？
‘T is the fire shower of ruin，all dreadfully driven
From his eyrie that beacons the darkness of heaven，
O crested Lochiel！the peerless in might，
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height，
Heaven's fire is around thee，to blast and to burn；
Return to thy dwelling！all lonely return！
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood，
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.
Loch. False wizard，avaunt！I have marshaled my clan，
Their swords are a thousand，their bosoms are one！
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath，
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock！
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock！
But woe to his kindred，and woe to his cause，
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws；
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd，
Clanronald the dauntless，and Moray the proud，
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array——
Seer. ——Lochiel，Lochiel，beware of the day！
For，dark and despairing，my sight I may seal，
But man can not cover what God would reveal:
‘T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore，
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee，Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.
Lo！anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath，
Behold where he flies on his desolate path！
Now，in darkness and billows，he sweeps from my sight:
Rise，rise！ye wild tempests，and cover his flight！
‘Tis finished.Their thunders are hushed on the moors；
Culloden is lost，and my country deplores.
But where is the ironbound prisoner？Where？
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.
Say，mounts he the ocean wave，banished，forlorn，
Like a limb from his country，cast bleeding and torn？
Ah no！for a darker departure is near；
The war drum is muffled，and black is the bier；
His death bell is tolling；O mercy，dispel
Yon sight that it freezes my spirit to tell！
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs，
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims.
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet，
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat，
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale——
Loch. Down，soothless insulter！I trust not the tale:
For never shall Albin a destiny meet
So black with dishonor，so foul with retreat.
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore，
Like ocean weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore，
Lochiel，untainted by flight or by chains，
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains，
Shall victor exult，or in death be laid low，
With his back to the field and his feet to the foe！
And leaving in battle no blot on his name，
Look proudly to heaven from the deathbed of fame.
译文 TRANSLATION
托马斯·坎贝尔（1777—1844）是苏格兰吉尔恩区著名的坎贝尔家族的后裔。他出生于格拉斯哥，卒于法国布洛涅。13岁，坎贝尔入读格拉斯哥大学，后以优异成绩毕业，他尤其擅长希腊文，其所翻译的希腊悲剧被公认为在格拉斯哥大学历届校友中无人能望其项背。毕业第一年间，坎贝尔写了几首诗，反响平平。随后，他移居爱丁堡，在那里以文学为业。1799年，他创作的《希望之乐》出版并取得成功。坎贝尔经常在欧洲旅行，在游历期间，他创作的作品包括《给洛奇儿的忠告》《霍恩林登》以及一些小诗。1809年，他出版《怀俄明的格特鲁德》o 1820—1830年，他出任《新月刊》编辑。1826年，坎贝尔被推举为格拉斯哥大学校长，后又两度当选。坎贝尔积极参与创建伦敦大学。后期，坎贝尔没有写出引人关注的作品。坎贝尔一生大部分时间都为钱所困，而体弱多病、家事纷扰更给他的晚年投下忧郁的阴影。坎贝尔的诗精雕细刻、音律谐美、文采焕然。
占 卜 者：洛奇儿！洛奇儿！当心那一天
低地人将与你对垒！
因为我看到尸横遍野的疆场血流成河，
卡洛登家族在战斗中星散。
他们为王国和国王流血、冲锋；
让诅咒加诸那些蹂躏他们的骑兵！
趾高气扬的坎伯兰人跃马疾驰，凌辱着那战死的烈士，
把他们的躯体践踏成泥。
可是，听！穿过纷飞的战火，
谁的骏马向着荒野狂奔？
那是你的坐骑，啊，格伦纳林！谁的新娘
仿如被爱点燃的炉火终夜在门边守候？
清晨，骏马回返家门，骑手却没有踪影，
鞍鞯上浸透血色的绝望。
哭吧，阿尔宾！为那或被俘或已赴死的骑手！
啊，哭吧！可你的泪珠无法哭尽那些死去的人：
因为无情的刀剑正挥向卡洛登——
卡洛登！它蒸腾着勇士鲜血的气息。
洛 奇 儿：去给那些懦夫们讲道吧，
占卜者，你这个预言死亡的人！
如果血腥的卡洛登如此狰狞，
那么，老糊涂，快把斗篷披在
你颤巍巍的身上，好遮住那恐惧的幽灵。
占 卜 者：哈！洛奇儿，你竟然大笑着嘲讽我的预言？
山中骄傲的鸟啊，你的羽翼必会折断！
就似那离巢的鲁莽的雄鹰，
在北方翻滚的乌云中，忘乎所以地飞翔！
看！仇敌那闪电似的致命的枪弹，他
只身上路，唯有“毁灭”将他陪伴，
可是，让他向他的劫数屈服吧！
啊，快让他速速回返家园，因为“磨难”就在近旁。
为什么远方的山巅燃起了烈焰？
为什么余烬噼啪作响，像天宇射下的星星？
那是废墟的火浴，燃自他山巅的城堡
照亮了黑暗的天界。
哦，傲慢的洛奇儿！力大无比的勇士，
他的旗帜在战场上高高飘扬，
熊熊燃烧的天火将你包围；
快回返你的居所吧！只有孑然一身！
因为战旗招展的地方只剩下一片灰烬，
发狂的母亲为她嗷嗷待哺的幼儿哀哭！
洛 奇 儿：虚伪的巫师，滚！我已集结了我的部族，
他们刀剑千把，却一心一意。
只要一息尚存，他们就将流尽最后一滴血。
他们像农人一样，收割着生命的庄稼
他们将痛击那匹坎伯兰骏马！
让它就像扑向礁石的浪花所泛起的狂妄的泡沫！
但让诅咒加诸他的同胞、加诸他的事业，
当阿尔宾愤怒地抽出她的双刃砍刀，
当她带着呢帽的酋长们率领
无畏的宗亲，高傲的海鳗，
那戴着羽饰、披着格呢的民众一起冲向胜利。
占 卜 者：洛奇儿，洛奇儿！当心今天！
因为，我的视野里弥漫着阴暗与绝望。
可是人无法掩盖上帝所欲揭示的一切。
生命的暮色赋予我神秘的知识，
即将到来的事件事先投下他们的影子，
我告诉你，猎犬将向你的流落天涯的国王吠叫，
它的声音将回荡在卡洛登。
看！那上天的郁怒选定的人，
他正在荒凉的小径上飞驰，
此刻，在黑暗中，在巨浪间，
他从我的视野里消失，
快起来，快起来！他逃亡的行程啊雨横风狂！
结束了。荒野中的雷声停息了。
卡洛登失陷了，我的祖国在悲叹。
可那戴着镣铐的囚徒今在何方？何方？
战役血红的眼睛绝望地合上。
被放逐的他可在大海的波涛里颠簸，那般凄惶，
像祖国撕裂的肢体，流着血，被弃置一旁。
啊，不！更凄惨的行程临近了。
战鼓喑哑了，棺木漆黑；
死亡的钟声为他鸣响：哦，仁慈的上帝啊，
把那里的景象驱散，它将我的心灵冻凝，让我无法言说！
在他的战栗的四肢里，生命扑打着翅膀。
他流血的鼻孔在奋力地翕张，
诅咒的柴薪在他脚下烧灼，
心还没停止跳动，就被扔掉，
它灰烬的余烟感染着风。
洛 奇 儿：滚，你这伪善的无礼之徒！我不信你的鬼话。
因为阿尔宾绝不会逢迎命运。
那是多么深重的侮辱，那是多么可耻的退却。
纵使我的队伍七零八落，
像水草堆积在惊涛裂岸的海边，
当胸膛里还有生命的柴薪，
洛奇儿就不会被逃遁与锁链玷污，
凯旋或是阵亡，他都背向疆场，双脚向着敌人。
洛奇儿，战斗中，绝不会污损自己的美名，
死去，他的声威仍傲视天庭。
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