拜伦的英文诗<悼玛格丽特表姐>

On the Death of Magaret Parker, Cousin to the Author

　　Hush'd are the winds,and still the evening gloom,
　　Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove,
　　Whilst I return ,to view my Magaret's tomb,
　　And scatter flowers on the dust I love.

　　Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
　　Ttat clay, where once such animation beam'd;
　　The King of Terrors seized her as his prey,
　　Not worth,nor beauty, have her life redeem's.

　　Oh!could that King of Terrors pity feel,
　　Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate!
　　Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,
　　Not here the muse her virtues would relate.

　　But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars
　　Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day;
　　And weeping angels lead her to those bowers
　　Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay.

　　And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign,
　　And