Old Eben Flood, climbing along one night 
Over the hill between the town below 
And the forsaken upland hermitage 
That held as much as he should ever know 
On earth again of home, paused warily.         5
The road was his with not a native near; 
And Eben, having leisure, said aloud, 
For no man else in Tilbury Town to hear: 

“Well, Mr. Flood, we have the harvest moon 
Again, and we may not have many more;        10
The bird is on the wing, the poet says, 
And you and I have said it here before. 
Drink to the bird.” He raised up to the light 
The jug that he had gone so far to fill, 
And answered huskily: “Well, Mr. Flood,        15
Since you propose it, I believe I will.” 

Alone, as if enduring to the end 
A valiant armor of scarred hopes outworn, 
He stood there in the middle of the road 
Like Roland’s ghost winding a silent horn.        20
Below him, in the town among the trees, 
Where friends of other days had honored him, 
A phantom salutation of the dead 
Rang thinly till old Eben’s eyes were dim. 

Then, as a mother lays her sleeping child        25
Down tenderly, fearing it may awake, 
He set the jug down slowly at his feet 
With trembling care, knowing that most things break; 
And only when assured that on firm earth 
It stood, as the uncertain lives of men        30
Assuredly did not, he paced away, 
And with his hand extended paused again: 

“Well, Mr. Flood, we have not met like this 
In a long time; and many a change has come 
To both of us, I fear, since last it was        35
We had a drop together. Welcome home!” 
Convivially returning with himself, 
Again he raised the jug up to the light; 
And with an acquiescent quaver said: 
“Well, Mr. Flood, if you insist, I might.        40

“Only a very little, Mr. Flood— 
For auld lang syne. No more, sir; that will do.” 
So, for the time, apparently it did, 
And Eben evidently thought so too; 
For soon amid the silver loneliness        45
Of night he lifted up his voice and sang, 
Secure, with only two moons listening, 
Until the whole harmonious landscape rang— 

“For auld lang syne.” The weary throat gave out, 
The last word wavered; and the song being done,        50
He raised again the jug regretfully 
And shook his head, and was again alone. 
There was not much that was ahead of him, 
And there was nothing in the town below— 
Where strangers would have shut the many doors        55
That many friends had opened long ago.

希腊岛，希腊岛，
诗人沙孚安在哉？爱国之诗传最早。
战争和平万千术，其术皆自希腊出。
德娄飞布两英雄,渊源皆是希腊族。

还有一段记忆很深，好像是这样的：
马拉松后山如带，马拉松前横碧海。
我来独为片刻游，犹梦希腊是自由。
吁嗟乎，
闲立试向波斯冢，宁思身为奴隶种？
有王危坐石岩倚，临深远望萨拉密。
海舶千艘纷如蚁，此国之民彼之子。

还有一段：
吁嗟乎，
白日已没夜已深，希腊之民何处寻？
但余海岸似当年，海岸沉沉亦无语。
多少英雄古代诗，至今传颂泪犹垂。
琴荒瑟老豪华歇，当是英雄气尽时。

还有一段：
一朝公社尽成虚，可怜国种遂为奴。
光荣忽傍夕阳落，名誉都随秋草枯。
岂无国士生列岛，追念夙昔伤怀抱。
我今漂泊一诗人，对此犹残死不早。