Çлý Áý½Ã : ¸Å½´ ¾Æ³Îµå ½Ã¼±
¡®Å״Ͻ¼¿¡ ºñÇÏ¸é ½ÃÀû °¨¼ö¼ºÀÌ ¶³¾îÁö°í \nºê¶ó¿ì´×¿¡ ºñÇϸé ÁöÀûÀÎ È°·Â°ú dz¿ä·Î¿òÀÌ ¶³¾îÁöÁö¸¸, \n±× µÎ °¡ÁöÀÇ ÇÕ¿¡ À־ µÎ ½ÃÀκ¸´Ù ³ªÀº »ç¶÷¡¯\n - ¸Å½´ ¾Æ³Îµå°¡ ¾î¸Ó´Ï¿¡°Ô º¸³½ ÆíÁö Áß¿¡¼\n\n\n´º½ºÅ׵忡 ÀÖ´Â ÇÑ ±×¸²(A Picture At Newstead)\n\n´º½ºÅ׵忡¼ ³» °¡½¿À» ÇѲ¯ ºÎÇ®°Ô ÇÑ °ÍÀº?¡ª\n¹ÙÀÌ·± »ý°¢, ±×ÀÇ Æødz¿ìó·³ Áöµ¶ÇÑ,\nŸÀÌź °°Àº-°íÅëÀÇ ¿ïºÎ¢À½ÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó,\nÀú ¾Æ·éµ¨ °æÀÇ ¸ð½ÀÀ̾ú´Ù\n\n¿ ¹Þ¾Æ¼, ³Ê¹«³ª »ç¶ûÇß´ø ÀÚ½ÄÀ» ¶§·È´Âµ¥\nÀÚ½ÄÀÌ ±×¸¸ Á¤½ÅÀ» ³õ°í, Á×°í ¸»¾Ò´Ù.\n±×¸²À¸·Î ±×·ÁÁ®¼ (±×ÀÇ À¯Áö¿¡ µû¶ó)\nȸ¶û¿¡ °É·È´Âµ¥, ±×¸²ÀÌ ±× À̾߱⸦ µé·ÁÁØ´Ù.\n\n°©¿ÊÂ÷¸²¿¡ ÁöÆÎÀ̸¦ Áå, ¾öÇÑ ¾Æ¹öÁö¸¦ º¸¶ó!\n±Ý¹ßÀÇ ¾î¸° ¾Æµé, ±×ÀÇ ¸Æ ºüÁø ½Ã¼±¿¡\n°¨°¢Çϰųª ºÐº°ÇÏ´Â ºû±ò Çϳª ¾Æ´Ï ³²¾Ò±¸³ª!\n\n¾î¼¸é, ¸»¹®ÀÌ ¸·È÷´Â ÈÄȸ¸¦ Èļ¼¿¡ µå·¯³»µµ\n°¨³»ÇÒ ¼ö¹Û¿¡ ¾ø´Â Àú ¾Æ¹öÁöÀÇ ºñ¾Ö°¡,\n¹ÙÀÌ·±ÀÇ °í³úº¸´Ù ÈξÀ ºñ±ØÀûÀÎ °íÅëÀ̾úÀ¸¸®.\n\nWhat made my heart, at Newstead, fullest swell??\n\'Twas not the thought of Byron, of his cry\nStormily sweet, his Titan-agony;\nIt was the sight of that Lord Arundel\n\nWho struck, in heat, his child he loved so well,\nAnd his child\'s reason flicker\'d, and did die.\nPainted (he will\'d it) in the gallery\nThey hang; the picture doth the story tell.\n\nBehold the stern, mail\'d father, staff in hand!\nThe little fair-hair\'d son, with vacant gaze,\nWhere no more lights of sense or knowledge are!\n\nMethinks the woe, which made that father stand\nBaring his dumb remorse to future days,\nWas woe than Byron\'s woe more tragic far.\n\n\n¸¶°Ô¸®Æ®¿¡°Ô: ÈÄÆí(To Marguerite: Continued) ÀϺÎ\n\n¸Â¼Ò! ÀλýÀÇ ¹Ù´Ù¿¡¼ ¼¶ÀÌ µÇ¾î,\n¿ì¸® »çÀÌ¿¡ ¸Þ¾Æ¸®Ä¡´Â ÇØÇùÀ» µÎ°í\nÇØ¾È ¾ø´Â ¹°ÀÇ È²¾ß¿¡ Á¡Á¡ÀÌ ¹ÚÇô,\n¿ì¸® ¼ö¹é¸¸ÀÇ Àΰ£ÀÌ È¦·Î »ì°í ÀÖ¼Ò.\n¼¶µéÀº ²¸¾È´Â ¹Ð¹°À» ´À³¢°í,\nÀ̳» ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ÇѾø´Â °æ°è¸¦ ¾Ë°Ô µÇÁö¿ä.\n\nYes! in the sea of life enisled, \nWith echoing straits between us thrown, \nDotting the shoreless watery wild, \nWe mortal millions live alone. \nThe islands feel the enclasping flow, \nAnd then their endless bounds they know. \n\n\nµµ¹öÇؾÈ(Dover Beach) ÀϺÎ\n\n¿À´Ã ¹ãÀº ¹Ù´Ù°¡ °í¿äÇϱ¸·Á.\nÁ¶¼ö´Â °¡µæ Â÷°í, ´Þºûµµ ÇØÇù¿¡\n°ö°Ô ´©¿ö ÀÖ¼Ò?ÇÁ¶û½º ÇؾÈÀÇ ºÒºûµµ\n¹ø½ÀÌ´Ù »ç¶óÁö°í, ¿µ±¹ÀÇ Àýº®µéµµ °í¿äÇÑ\n¸¸(ؽ)¿¡ °¡¹°°¡¹° ±¤¸·ÇÏ°Ô, µµµå¶óÁ® ÀÖ¼Ò.\nâ°¡·Î ¿Í¿ä, ¹ã °ø±â°¡ ´ÞÄÞÇϱ¸·Á!\n°¡¸¸, ¹Ù´Ù°¡ ´Þºû¿¡ Ç¥¹éµÈ À°Áö¸¦ ¸¸³ª\n±â´Ù¶õ ¼±Ã³·³ ´Ã¾î¼± ¹°º¸¶ó ÀúÆí¿¡¼\nµé¾î ºÁ¿ä! ÆĵµµéÀÌ ¹°·¯³µ´Ù µ¹¾Æ¿Í¼\nÇغ¯ ³ôÀÌ ³»ÆØ°³Ä¡´Â ÀÚ°¥µéÀÇ\n¿ì¸£¸£ ´Þ±×¶ô ³ëÈ£ÇÏ´Â ¼Ò¸®°¡ µé¸®¸®´Ï\n´À¸´ÇÏ°Ô ÀüÀ²ÇÏ´Â À²µ¿À¸·Î,\n½ÃÀÛÇÏ´Ù ¸Ü°í, À̳» ´Ù½Ã ½ÃÀÛÇؼ\n½½ÇÄÀÇ ¿µ¿øÇÑ À½Á¶(ëåðà)¸¦ ¸ô¾Æ¿À´Â ¼Ò¸®.\n\nThe sea is calm tonight. \nThe tide is full, the moon lies fair \nUpon the straits; on the French coast the light \nGleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, \nGlimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. \nCome to the window, sweet is the night-air! \nOnly, from the long line of spray \nWhere the sea meets the moon-blanched land, \nListen! you hear the grating roar \nOf pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, \nAt their return, up the high strand, \nBegin, and cease, and then again begin, \nWith tremulous cadence slow, and bring \nThe eternal note of sadness in. \n\n\n½ÃÀε鿡°Ô º¸³»´Â ÇÑ °æ°í(A Caution to Poets)\n\n½ÃÀεéÀÌ ½Ã¸¦ âÀÛÇϸé¼\n±â»ÝÀ» ´À³¢Áö ¸øÇϸé,\n¼¼»óµµ ÂùÂùÈ÷ »ý°¢ÇØ º¸´Â\n±â»ÝÀ» ´©¸®Áö ¸øÇÑ´Ù.\n\nWhat poets feel not, when they make,\nA pleasure in creating,\nThe world, in its turn, will not take\nPleasure in contemplating.\n\n\nÇлý Áý½Ã(The Scholar-Gypsy) ÀϺÎ\n\n±×´ë´Â ÀÏÂï ¼¼»óÀ» µîÁö°í ¶°³ª¼,\n¹Ù±ù ¼¼»óÀÏ¿¡ ¹«½ÉÇÑ °Ç°ÇÑ ÈûÀ»,\n´Ù¸¥ ÀÏ¿¡ ¾²Áö ¾Ê°í, º» ¸ñÇ¥¿¡ ½ñÀ¸¸ç,\n¸¹Àº ½Ã·Ã°ú ¸¹Àº ÁÂÀýÀ» µó°í, ½Å¹° ³ª´Â\nÇÇ·Î, ²²´À¸¥ÇÑ È¸ÀÇ(üãë÷)¿¡¼ ÀÚÀ¯·Î¿öÁ³±â¿¡.\n¿À ¿ì¸®³× Àλý°ú´Â ´Ù¸¥ »îÀÌ¿©!\n±âÇѵµ ¿©Áöµµ ¾øÀÌ ÇêµÇÀÌ ¿äµ¿Ä¡¸ç\nÀú¸¶´Ù ºÐÅõÇÏÁö¸¸, ºÐÅõÇÏ´Â ÀÌÀ¯µµ ¸ð¸¥ ä,\n¹é °¡Áö ´Ù¸¥ ÀλýÀ» ¹Ý¹Û¿¡ ¸ø »ì¸é¼µµ,\n±×´ëó·³ ±â´Ù¸®Áö¸¸, ±×´ë¿Í ´Þ¸®, Èñ¸ÁÀÌ ¾ø´Â Àλý.\n\n±×´ë´Â ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ ºÒ²ÉÀ» ±â´Ù¸°´Ù! Çѵ¥ ¿ì¸®´Â,\n¼ö½Ã·Î ½ÅÁ¶¸¦ ¹Ù²Ù´Â °¡º¿î ¹Ý-½ÅÀÚ(Úâãáíº)µé,\n±íÀÌ ´À³¤ Àûµµ, ºÐ¸íÈ÷ °áÀÇÇÑ Àûµµ,\nÅëÂûÀ» Çൿ¿¡ ¿Å°Ü ¿¸Å¸¦ ¸ÎÀº Àûµµ,\n¸·¿¬ÇÑ °á½ÉÀ» ÀÌÇàÇØ º» Àûµµ ¾ø´Ù.\n¿ì¸®°¡ ¸ÂÀÌÇÏ´Â ÇÑ ÇØ ÇÑ ÇØ´Â\n»õ·Î¿î ½ÃÀÛ¿¡ »õ·Î¿î ½Ç¸Á¸¸ ´õÇÏ´Â ²Ã,\n¸Ó¹µ¸Ó¹µ ÁÖÀúÇÏ´À¶ó ÀλýÀ» ÇãºñÇÏ°í\n¿À´Ã ȹµæÇÑ ¶¥µµ ³»ÀÏÀ̸é ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸®Áö¸¸¡ª\n¾Æ! ¿ì¸®µµ, ¹æ¶ûÀÚ¿©! ±×°ÍÀ» ±â´Ù¸®Áö ¾Ê³ª?\n\nFor early didst thou leave the world, with powers\nFresh, undiverted to the world without,\nFirm to their mark, not spent on other things;\nFree from the sick fatigue, the languid doubt,\nWhich much to have tried, in much been baffled, brings.\nO life unlike to ours!\nWho fluctuate idly without term or scope,\nOf whom each strives, nor knows for what he strives,\nAnd each half lives a hundred different lives;\nWho wait like thee, but not, like thee, in hope.\n\nThou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we,\nLight half-believers of our casual creeds,\nWho never deeply felt, nor clearly will\'d,\nWhose insight never has borne fruit in deeds,\nWhose vague resolves never have been fulfill\'d;\nFor whom each year we see\nBreeds new beginnings, disappointments new;\nWho hesitate and falter life away,\nAnd lose to-morrow the ground won to-day¡ª\nAh! do not we, wanderer! await it too?\n\n\n¾Æ³Îµå´Â 1851³â 6¿ù¿¡ ´ë¹ý¿ø ÆÇ»ç(Sir William Wightman)ÀÇ µþ ÇÁ¶õü½º ·ç½Ã(Frances Lucy)¿Í °áÈ¥ÇÏ¿© ¿©¼¸ Àڳฦ µÎ¾ú´Âµ¥, °áÈ¥½ÄÀ» ¿Ã¸®±â±îÁöÀÇ °úÁ¤°ú ±× ÈÄ·Î ÀϺ¯ÇÑ ±×ÀÇ Àλý»ç°¡ ÀÚ¸ø Èï¹Ì·Ó´Ù. °áÈ¥À» ÇÏ°í ½Í¾úÁö¸¸ °³Àκñ¼ÀÇ ¿ù±ÞÀ¸·Î´Â µµÀúÈ÷ °¡Á·À» ºÎ¾çÇÒ ¼ö ¾øÀ» °Í °°¾Æ¼ °í¹Î ³¡¿¡ ´Ù¸¥ ÀÏÀÚ¸®¸¦ ¾Ë¾Æº¸´ø ±×¿¡°Ô ¶§¸¶Ä§ ã¾Æ¿Â Á÷¾÷ÀÌ ÀåÇл翴´Ù. ·£½º´Ù¿î °æÀÇ ÃßõÀ¸·Î ÀåÇл翡 ÀÓ¸íµÈ Áö µÎ ´Þ ¸¸¿¡ ¾Æ³Îµå´Â °áÈ¥½ÄÀ» ¿Ã·È°í, »ç¸ÁÇϱâ 2³â Àü±îÁö ±Ù 30³âÀ» ÀåÇлç·Î ÀÏÇϸç, ±×ÀÇ ¾Æ¹öÁö°¡ ±×·¨µíÀÌ, ¿µ±¹ÀÇ ±³À°Á¦µµ °³Çõ¿¡ Èû½á ±Ù´ëÀûÀÎ ±¹¹Î±³À° ¼ö¸³¿¡ Å©°Ô À̹ÙÁöÇÏ¿´´Ù. ±×°¡ ¿µ±¹ÀÇ ±³À° ¹ßÀü¿¡ ±â¿ïÀÎ ³ë·ÂÀº 1859³â°ú 1865³âÀÇ ÇؿܽÃÂû ¿©Çà¿¡ °üÇÑ °á°úº¸°í¼ ¡¶ÇÁ¶û½ºÀÇ ¹ÎÁß±³À°¡·(The Popular Education of France with Notices of That of Holland and Switzerland, 1861), ¡¶´ë·úÀÇ ¿©·¯ Çб³¿Í ´ëÇС·(Schools and Universities on the Continent, 1868) µî¿¡ ±×´ë·Î ³ì¾Æ ÀÖ´Ù.\n \n- ¿Å°Ü ¿«ÀºÀÌÀÇ <¸Å½´ ¾Æ³ÎµåÀÇ »î°ú ¹®ÇÐ À̾߱â> Áß¿¡¼