詩人イエーツコミュのTHE SONG OF THE HAPPY SHEPHERD

THE SONG OF THE HAPPY SHEPHERD

イエーツはこの詩を“The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems - London 1989”　の巻頭に掲げた。
この詩でイエーツは自分の詩の理想を誇らしく掲げる。そのファンファーレたる詩というべきものである。岩波文庫のイエーツ詩集の巻頭の詩でもある。


　Arcady（アルカディア）、Chronos（クロノス）などギリシャ神話から言葉を用い、詩の長い歴史の中で、自分の詩を位置づけるようだ。

　この変わりゆく世界の中で、彼は詩のみ確たる善と宣言する。
Words alone are certain good

　世間の流れに流されず、ひたすら自分の心に耳を傾けることに注力する。
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,

　そこには夢、真実がある。かっての詩人が夢みたように、自分も若い新しい夢をみて、詩を作ろう。それこそそこが、Arcadyなのであり、Chronosが生きた黄金時代なのだろう。


The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers? -- By the Rood,
Where are now the warring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.

Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek, for this is also sooth,
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass--
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirs--the cold star-bane
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell,
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy comforters will be,
Rewording in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth
And die a pearly brotherhood;
For words alone are certain good:
Sing, then, for this is also sooth.

I must be gone: there is a grave
Where daffodil and lily wave,
And I would please the hapless faun,
Buried under the sleepy ground,
With mirthful songs before the dawn.
His shouting days with mirth were crowned;
And still I dream he treads the lawn,
Walking ghostly in the dew,
Pierced by my glad singing through,
My songs of old earth's dreamy youth:
But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!
For fair are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.