ÀλýÀÇ °(The River of Life)
- Åä¸Ó½º Ä·º§
The more we live, more brief appear(³ªÀÌ°¡ µé¼ö·Ï ¿ì¸®³× ÀλýÀÇ)
Our life's succeeding stages;(³ª¸ÓÁö ´Ü°è´Â ´õ ª¾Æ º¸ÀδÙ.)
A day to childhood seems a year,(¾î¸± ¶§ ÇÏ·ç´Â ÀÏ ³âó·³ º¸ÀÌ°í)
And years like passing ages.(ÇÑ ÇØ ÇÑ ÇØ°¡ ÇÑ ½Ã´ë·Î º¸ÀδÙ.)
The gladsome current of our youth,(¿ì¸®³× ûÃáÀÇ Áñ°Å¿î È帧Àº)
Ere passion yet disorders,(Á¤¿ÀÌ ½Ä¾î¼ Å»³ª±â Àü±îÁö)
Steals lingering like a river smooth(Ç® Çâ±â ±×À¹ÇÑ °±â½¾ µû¶ó¼)
Along its grassy borders.(°¡´Â µí ¸¶´Â µí À¯À¯È÷ È帥´Ù.)
But as the careworn cheek grows wan,(±×·¯³ª ¹ø³ú·Î µÎ º¼ÀÌ Çؾ³ÇØÁö°í)
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,(½½ÇÄÀÇ È»ìÀÌ ¸ðÁú°Ô ³¯¾Æ¿À¸é)
Ye stars, that measure life to man,(»ç¶÷ÀÇ »ý¸íÀ» ³ª´©´Â º°µéÀÌ¿©)
Why seem your courses quicker?(³ÊÈñÀÇ ¿îÇàÀÌ ¿Ö »¡¶ó º¸À̴°¡?)
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,(Áñ°Å¿î ÀϵéÀÌ È°±â¸¦ ´Ù ÀÒ°í)
And life itself is vapid,(»ç´Â ÀÏ ÀÚü¿¡ »ý±â°¡ ºüÁ®¼)
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death(¸¶Ä§³» Á×À½ÀÇ ÆøÆ÷¿¡ À̸£¸é)
Feel we its tide more rapid?(È帧À» ¿Ö ´õ¿í ºü¸£°Ô ¿©±æ±î?)
It may be strange—yet who would change(ÀÌ»óÇÑ ÀÏó·³ º¸ÀÏÁö ¸ð¸£³ª)
Time's course to slower speeding,(½Ã°£ÀÇ È帧À» ±× ´©°¡ ´ÊÃâ±î?)
When one by one our friends have gone,(Ä£±¸µé ÇϳªµÑ ¼¼»óÀ» ¶°³ª¼)
And left our bosoms bleeding?(¿ì¸®ÀÇ °¡½¿À» ¾ÆÇÁ°Ô ÇÏ´Â ¶§)
Heaven gives our years of fading strength(ÇÏ´ÃÀº ±â·ÂÀÌ ¼èÇÏ´Â ³ë³â±â¿¡)
Indemnifying fleetness;(±×°ÍÀ» º¸»óÇØ È帧À» »¡¸®ÇÏ°í)
And those of youth, a seeming length,(Áñ°Å¿î ûÃáÀº ±×°Í¿¡ ¸ÂÃß¾î)
Proportion'd to their sweetness.(½Ã°£À» ±æ°Ô ´À³¢µµ·Ï ÇØ ÁÙ»Ó.)
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