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YOUTH by Samuel Ullman Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness of the deep springs of life. Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity of the appetite, for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of sixty more than a boy of twenty. Nobody grows old merely by a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spirit back to dust. Whether sixty or sixteen, there is in every human being's heart the lure of wonder, the unfailing child-like appetite of what's next, and the joy of the game of living. In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wireless station; so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power from men and from the infinite, so long are you young. When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old, even at twenty, but as long as your aerials are up, to catch the waves of optimism, there is hope you may die young at eighty. ûÃá »õ¹Â¾ó ¿Ã¸¸ ûÃáÀ̶õ ÀλýÀÇ ÇÑ ±â°£ÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï´Ù. ¸¶À½°¡ÁüÀÌ´Ù. Àå¹Ôºû º¼, ºÓÀº ÀÔ¼ú, ºÎµå·¯¿î ¹«¸­ÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó ¾¿¾¿ÇÑ ÀÇÁö, dzºÎÇÑ »ó»ó·Â, ºÒŸ¿À¸£´Â Á¤¿­ÀÌ´Ù. ûÃáÀº ÀλýÀ̶õ ±íÀº »ùÀÇ ½Å¼±ÇÔÀÌ´Ù. ûÃáÀ̶õ µÎ·Á¿òÀ» ¹°¸®Ä¡´Â ¿ë±â ¾ÈÀÏÇÑ »îÀ» »Ñ¸®Ä¡´Â ¸ðÇè½É ¶§·Î´Â 20¼¼ û³âº¸´Ù´Â 60¼¼ ³ëÀÎÀÌ ´õ ÀþÀ» ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. ³ªÀÌ ¸Ô´Â °Í¸¸À¸·Î »ç¶÷Àº ´ÄÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù. ²Þ°ú Èñ¸ÁÀ» ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸± ¶§ ºñ·Î¼Ò ´Ä´Â´Ù. ¼¼¿ùÀº ÇǺο¡ ÁÖ¸§»ìÀ» ´Ã·Á°¡Áö¸¸ ¿­Á¤À» ÀÒÀ¸¸é ¿µÈ¥¿¡ ÁÖ¸§ÀÌ Áø´Ù. °í³ú, °øÆ÷, ½Ç¸Á¿¡ ÀÇÇؼ­ ±â·ÂÀº ¶¥À» ±â°í Á¤½ÅÀº ¸ÕÁöó·³ µÇ¾î°£´Ù. 60¼¼µç 16¼¼µç Àΰ£ÀÇ °¡½¿¼Ó¿¡´Â °æÀ̷οò¿¡ ²ø¸®´Â ¸¶À½ ¾î¸°ÀÌó·³ ¹ÌÁö¿¡ ´ëÇÑ Å½±¸½É Àλý¿¡ ´ëÇÑ Èï¹Ì¿Í ȯÈñ°¡ ÀÖ´Ù. ¿ì¸® ¸ðµÎÀÇ °¡½¿¼Ó¿¡ ¸¶À½ÀÇ ´«¿¡ º¸ÀÌÁö ¾Ê´Â ¿ìü±¹ÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù. ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷µé°ú ÇÏ´À´ÔÀ¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿ò, Èñ¸Á, ±â»Ý, ¿ë±â¿Í ÈûÀÇ ¿µ°¨À» ¹Þ´Â ÇÑ ´ç½ÅÀº Àþ´Ù. ¿µ°¨ÀÇ ±³·ù°¡ ²÷±â°í ¿µÈ¥ÀÌ ºñ³­ÀÇ ´«¿¡ µ¤¿© ½½ÇÄ°ú ź½ÄÀÇ ¾óÀ½ ¼Ó¿¡ °¤Èú ¶§ 20´ë¶óµµ Àΰ£Àº ´ÄÀ» ¼ö¹Û¿¡ ¾ø°í °í°³¸¦ µé°í Èñ¸ÁÀÇ ¹°°áÀ» ºÙÀâ´Â ÇÑ, 80¼¼¶óµµ Àΰ£Àº ûÃáÀ¸·Î ³²´Â´Ù. ½ÅÇö¸² ¿«À½ ('¿Ü·Î¿öÇÏÁö¸¶ ½½ÇÄÀÌ ÅÍÁ® ºûÀÌ µÉ°Å¾ß'¿¡¼­ ÀüÀç) I Listen Chuck Roper I Listen to the trees, and they say: ¡°Stand tall and yield. Be tolerant and flexible.¡±.... I Listen to the sky, and it says: ¡°Open up. Let go of the boundaries and barriers. Fly.¡± I Listen to the sun, and it says: ¡°Nurture others. Let your warmth radiate for others to feel.¡±.... I Listen to the creek, and it says: ¡°Relax; go with the flow.... Keep moving ¡ª don¡¯t be hesitant or afraid.... I Listen to the small plants, and they say: ¡°Be humble. Be simple. Respect the beauty of small things.¡±... ÀÚ¿¬ÀÌ µé·ÁÁÖ´Â ¸» ô ·ÎÆÛ ³ª¹«°¡ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. ¿ì¶Ò ¼­¼­ ¼¼»ó¿¡ ¸öÀ» ³»¸Ã°Ü¶ó. °ü¿ëÇÏ°í ±ÁÈú ÁÙ ¾Ë¾Æ¶ó. ÇÏ´ÃÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. ¸¶À½À» ¿­¾î¶ó. °æ°è¿Í ´ãÀåÀ» Çã¹°¾î¶ó. ±×¸®°í, ³¯¾Æ¿Ã¶ó¶ó. žçÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. ´Ù¸¥ À̵éÀ» µ¹º¸¾Æ¶ó. ³ÊÀÇ µû¶æÇÔÀ» ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷ÀÌ ´À³¢µµ·Ï Ç϶ó. ³Á¹°ÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. ´À±ßÇÏ°Ô È帧À» µû¸£¶ó. ½¬Áö ¸»°í ¿òÁ÷¿©¶ó. ¸Ó¹µ°Å¸®°Å³ª µÎ·Á¿ö ¸»¶ó. ÀÛÀº Ç®µéÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. °â¼ÕÇ϶ó. ´Ü¼øÇ϶ó. ÀÛÀº °ÍµéÀÇ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òÀ» Á¸ÁßÇ϶ó. - À念Èñ ¼­°­´ë ¿µ¹®°ú ±³¼ö ¿ª - The Road Not Taken by Rober Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveller, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To Where it bent in the undergrouth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning eqully lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence; Two roads diverged in a wood, and I ¡¦¡¦ I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference. °¡Áö ¾ÊÀº ±æ ·Î¹öÆ® ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ® ³ë¶õ ½£ ¼Ó¿¡ ±æÀÌ µÎ °¥·¡·Î ³µ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. ³ª´Â µÎ ±æÀ» ´Ù °¡Áö ¸øÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» ¾ÈŸ±õ°Ô »ý°¢Çϸ鼭, ¿À·§µ¿¾È ¼­¼­ ÇÑ ±æÀÌ ±Á¾î ²ª¿© ³»·Á°£ µ¥±îÁö, ¹Ù¶ó´Ùº¼ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â µ¥±îÁö ¸Ö¸® ¹Ù¶ó´Ùº¸¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù. ±×¸®°í, ¶È°°ÀÌ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ´Ù¸¥ ±æÀ» ÅÃÇß½À´Ï´Ù. ±× ±æ¿¡´Â Ç®ÀÌ ´õ ÀÖ°í »ç¶÷ÀÌ °ÉÀº ÀÚÃë°¡ Àû¾î, ¾Æ¸¶ ´õ °É¾î¾ß µÉ ±æÀ̶ó°í ³ª´Â »ý°¢Çß¾ú´ø °ÔÁö¿ä. ±× ±æÀ» °ÉÀ¸¹Ç·Î, ±× ±æµµ °ÅÀÇ °°¾ÆÁú °ÍÀÌÁö¸¸. ±× ³¯ ¾Æħ µÎ ±æ¿¡´Â ³«¿±À» ¹âÀº ÀÚÃë´Â ¾ø¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. ¾Æ, ³ª´Â ´ÙÀ½ ³¯À» À§ÇÏ¿© ÇÑ ±æÀº ³²°Ü µÎ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. ±æÀº ±æ¿¡ ¿¬ÇÏ¿© ³¡¾øÀ¸¹Ç·Î ³»°¡ ´Ù½Ã µ¹¾Æ¿Ã °ÍÀ» ÀǽÉÇϸ鼭¡¦¡¦. Èʳ¯¿¡ Èʳ¯¿¡ ³ª´Â ¾îµð¼±°¡ ÇѼûÀ» ½¬¸é À̾߱âÇÒ °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù. ½£ ¼Ó¿¡ µÎ °¥·¡ ±æÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´Ù°í, ³ª´Â »ç¶÷ÀÌ Àû°Ô °£ ±æÀ» ÅÃÇÏ¿´´Ù°í, ±×¸®°í ±×°Í ¶§¹®¿¡ ¸ðµç °ÍÀÌ ´Þ¶óÁ³´Ù°í. - ÇÇõµæ ¿Å±è- ¿À´Ã Å丶½º Ä®¶óÀÏ (Thomas Carlyle, 1795-1881) ¾îÁ¦´Â ÀÌ¹Ì °ú°Å ¼Ó¿¡ ¹¯Çô ÀÖ°í ¹Ì·¡´Â ¾ÆÁ÷ ¿ÀÁö ¾ÊÀº ³¯À̶ó³× ¿ì¸®°¡ »ì°í ÀÖ´Â ³¯Àº ¹Ù·Î ¿À´Ã ¿ì¸®°¡ »ç¿ëÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ³¯Àº ¿À´Ã ¿ì¸®°¡ ¼ÒÀ¯ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ³¯Àº ¿À´Ã»Ó ¿À´ÃÀ» »ç¶ûÇ϶ó ¿À´Ã¿¡ Á¤¼ºÀ» ½ñ¾Æ¶ó ¿À´Ã ¸¸³ª´Â »ç¶÷À» µû¶æÇÏ°Ô ´ëÇ϶ó ¿À´ÃÀº ¿µ¿ø ¼ÓÀÇ ¿À´Ã ¿À´Ãó·³ Áß¿äÇÑ ³¯µµ ¾ø´Ù ¿À´Ãó·³ ¼ÒÁßÇÑ ½Ã°£µµ ¾ø´Ù ¿À´ÃÀ» »ç¶ûÇ϶ó ¾îÁ¦ÀÇ ¹Ì·ÃÀ» ¹ö·Á¶ó ¿ÀÁöµµ ¾ÊÀº ³»ÀÏÀ» °ÆÁ¤ÇÏÁö ¸»¶ó ¿ì¸®ÀÇ »îÀº ¿À´ÃÀÇ ¿¬¼ÓÀÌ´Ù ¿À´ÃÀÌ 30¹ø ¸ð¿© ÇÑ ´ÞÀÌ µÇ°í ¿À´ÃÀÌ 365¹ø ¸ð¿© ÀÏ ³âÀÌ µÇ°í ¿À´ÃÀÌ 3¸¸ ¹ø ¸ð¿© ÀÏ»ýÀÌ µÈ´Ù A Psalm Of Life Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! - For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each,tomorrow Find us further than to-day. Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act, - act in the living present! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. ÀλýÂù°¡ H.W.·ÕÆç·Î¿ì ½½Ç »ç¿¬À¸·Î ³»°Ô ¸»ÇÏÁö ¸¶¶ó, ÀλýÀº Çѳ¹ ÇãȲµÈ ²Þ¿¡ Áö³ªÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù°í! - ÀáÀÚ´Â ¿µÈ¥Àº Á×À½ÀÌ°í, ¸¸¹°ÀÇ º»Ã¼´Â ¿Ü¾ç´ë·Î¸¸Àº ¾Æ´Ï¶õ´Ù. ÀλýÀº Çö½Ç! ÀλýÀº ÁøÁöÇÑ °Í! ¹«´ýÀÌ ±× ¸ñÇ¥´Â ¾Æ´Ï´Ù; ³Ê´Â º»·¡ ÈëÀ̶ó, ÈëÀ¸·Î µ¹¾Æ°¡¸®¶ó, ÀÌ°ÍÀº ¿µÈ¥À» µÎ°í ÇѸ»Àº ¾Æ´Ï¾ú´Ù. ¿ì¸®°¡ °¡¾ß ÇÒ °÷, ȤÀº °¡´Â ±æÀº, Çâ¶ôÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï°í ½½Çĵµ ¾Æ´Ï¸ç; ³»ÀÏÀÇ ÇÏ·çÇÏ·ç°¡ ¿À´Ãº¸´Ù ³´µµ·Ï ÇൿÇÏ´Â ±×°ÍÀÌ ÀλýÀ̴϶ó. ¿¹¼úÀº ±æ°í ¼¼¿ùÀº ³¯¾Æ°¡¸ç, ¿ì¸®ÀÇ ½ÉÀåÀº Æ°Æ°ÇÏ°í ¿ë°¨Çϸ鼭µµ, ¸¶Ä¡ °¨½ÎÁø ºÏ°ú °°ÀÌ, ¹«´ýÀ» ÇâÇØ Àå¼Û°îÀ» °è¼Ó ¿ï¸°´Ù. À̼¼»ó ³ÐÀº ½Î¿òÅÍ¿¡¼­, ÀλýÀÇ Ãµ¸· ¾È¿¡¼­, ¸» ¸øÇÏ°í Âѱâ´Â Áü½ÂÀÌ µÇÁö ¸»°í! ½Î¿òÅÍ¿¡ ³ª¼± ¿µ¿õÀÌ µÇ¾î¶ó! ¾Æ¹«¸® Áñ°Å¿ïÁö¶óµµ <¹Ì·¡>¸¦ ¹ÏÁö ¸»¶ó! Á×Àº <°ú°Å>·Î ÇÏ¿©±Ý ±× Á×À½À» ¹¯°ÔÇ϶ó! È°µ¿Ç϶ó,- »ì°í ÀÖ´Â <ÇöÀç>¿¡ È°µ¿Ç϶ó! °¡½¿¼Ó¿¡´Â ½ÉÀåÀÌ ÀÖ°í,¸Ó¸®À§¿¡´Â ½ÅÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù! À§ÀεéÀÇ ¸ðµç »ý¾Ö´Â ¸»ÇØ ÁÖ³ë´Ï ¿ì¸®µµ Àå¾öÇÑ »îÀ» ÀÌ·ê¼ö ÀÖ°í, ÀÌ ¼¼»ó ¶°³¯ ¶§´Â ½Ã°£ÀÇ ¸ð·¡À§¿¡ ¿ì¸® ¹ßÀÚ±¹À» ³²±æ ¼ö ÀÖÀ½À»; ¾Æ¸¶µµ ÈÄÀÏ¿¡ ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷ÀÌ, Àå¾öÇÑ »îÀÇ ¹Ù´Ù¸¦ Ç×ÇØÇÏ´Ù°¡, ¿Ü·Ó°Ô ³­ÆÄÇÑ ±× ¾î¶² ÇüÁ¦°¡ º¸°í, ´Ù½Ã±Ý ¿ë±â¸¦ ¾ò°Ô µÉ ¹ßÀÚ±¹À». ±×·¯´Ï ¿ì¸® ÀÌÁ¦ ÀϾ¼­ ÀÏÇÏÀÚ, ¾î¶»ÇÑ ¿î¸íµµ À̰ܳ¾ Á¤½ÅÀ» °¡Áö°í; ²÷ÀÓ¾øÀÌ ¼ºÃëÇÏ°í Ãß±¸Çϸ鼭, ÀÏÇÏ°í ±â´Ù¸®±â¸¦ ÇÔ²² ¹è¿ìÀÚ. 1997³â 1¿ù 6ÀÏ My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold (ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ ¹«Áö°³¸¦ ¹Ù¶óº¸¸é) By William Wordsworth (Àª¸®¾Ï ¿ö¾îÁî¿öµå) My heart leaps up when I behold a Rainbow in the sky: ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ ¹«Áö°³¸¦ ¹Ù¶óº¸¸é ³» ¸¶À½ ¶Ù³ë³ª´Ï : So was it when my life began, So is it now I am a man, ³ª ¾î·Á¼­ ±×·¯ÇÏ¿´°í, ¾î¸¥ µÈ Áö±Ýµµ ±×·¯ÇÏ°Å´Ã, So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! ³ª ´Ä¾î¼­µµ ±×·¯ÇÒÁö¾î´Ù, ¾Æ´Ï¸é ³ªÀÇ ¸ñ¼û °ÅµÖ °¡¼Ò¼­! The child is father of the man. ¾î¸°ÀÌ´Â ¾î¸¥ÀÇ ¾Æ¹öÁö. And I could wish my days to be ¿øÇϳë´Ï ³» »ý¾ÖÀÇ ÇÏ·çÇÏ·ç°¡ Bound each to each by natural piety. °æ°ÇÇÑ ¸¶À½À¸·Î À̾îÁö±â¸¦. We'll Go No More A-Roving ÀÌÁ¦´Â ´õ ÀÌ»ó Çì¸ÞÁö ¸»ÀÚ George Gordon, Lord Byron (G. ¹ÙÀÌ·±) So, We'll go no more a-roving ÀÌÁ¦´Â ´õ ÀÌ»ó Çì¸ÞÁö ¸»ÀÚ So late into the night, ÀÌÅä·Ï ´ÊÀº ÇѹãÁß¿¡ Though the heart be still as loving, Áö±Ýµµ »ç¶ûÀº °¡½¿ ¼Ó¿¡ ±êµé°í And the moon be still as bright. Áö±Ýµµ ´ÞºûÀº ÈÍÇÏÁö¸¸ For the sword outwears its sheath, Ä®À» ¾²¸é Ä®ÁýÀÌ Çì¾îÁö°í And the soul wears out the breast, Á¤½ÅÀ» ¾²¸é °¡½¿ÀÌ Çæ°í And the heart must pause to breathe, ½ÉÀåµµ ¼û½¬·Á¸é ½¬¾î¾ß ÇÏ°í And love itself have rest. »ç¶ûµµ ¶§·Î´Â ½¬¾î¾ß ÇÏ´Ï Though the night was made for loving, ¹ãÀº »ç¶ûÀ» À§ÇØ ÀÖ°í And the day returns too soon, ³·Àº ³Ê¹« »¡¸® µ¹¾Æ ¿ÀÁö¸¸ Yet we'll go no more a-roving ÀÌÁ¦´Â ´õ ÀÌ»ó Çì¸ÞÁö ¸»ÀÚ. By the light of the moon. ¾Æ·ÃÈ÷ È帣´Â ´Þºû »çÀ̸¦ 1996³â 11¿ù 5ÀÏ È¦·Î¼­±â ãÌìÑ : ¼­Á¤À± µÑÀÌ ¸¸³ª ¼­´Â °Ô ¾Æ´Ï¶ó Ȧ·Î ¼± µÑÀÌ°¡ ¸¸³ª´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù ±â´Ù¸²Àº ¸¸³²À» ¸ñÀûÀ¸·Î ÇÏÁö ¾Ê¾Æµµ ÁÁ´Ù. °¡½¿ÀÌ ¾ÆÇÁ¸é ¾ÆÇ ä·Î, ¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ºÒ¸é °í°³¸¦ ³ôÀÌ Ãĵé¸é¼­, ³¯¸®´Â ¾ÆµæÇÑ ¹Ì¼Ò. ¾îµð¿£°¡ ÀÖÀ» ³ªÀÇ ÇÑ ÂÊÀ» À§ÇØ ÇظÞÀÌ´ø ½¢ÇÑ ¹æȲÀÇ ³¯µé. ž¸é¼­ ÀÌ¹Ì ´©±º°¡°¡ Á¤ÇØÁ³¾ú´Ù¸é, ÀÌÁ¦´Â ±×¸¦ ¸¸³ª°í ½Í´Ù. Ȧ·Î ¼±´Ù´Â °Ç °¡½¿À» Ä¡¸ç ¿ì´Â °Íº¸´Ù ´õ ¾î·ÆÁö¸¸ ÀÚ½ÅÀ» ¿Ä¾Æ¸Ç µ¿¾ÆÁÙ, ±× ¾ÆµæÇÑ ³¡¿¡¼­ ´ë·ÕÀÌ¸ç ±×·¡µµ ¸Ö¸®, ¸Ö¸® ÇÏ´ÃÀ» ¿ì·¯¸£´Â ÀÌ ÀÛÀº °¡½¿. ´©±º°¡¸¦ ¿­½ÉÈ÷ °¥±¸Çصµ ¾Æ¹«µµ ³ªÀÇ °¡½¿À» ä¿öÁÙ ¼ö ¾ø°í °á±¹Àº Ȧ·Î »ì¾Æ°£´Ù´Â °É ÇÑ°Ü¿ïÀÇ ´«¹ßó·³ ¸¸³µÀ» ¶§ ³ª´Â ¶Ç´Ù½Ã ¾²·¯Á® ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. Áö¿ì°í ½Í´Ù ÀÌ Ç¥Á¤ ¾ø´Â ¾ó±¼À» ¹ö¸®°í ½Í´Ù ¾Æ¹«µµ ³ªÀÇ ¾ÆÇÄÀ» µ¹¾Æº¸Áö ¾Ê°í ¿ÀÈ÷·Á ¼ö·· ¼ÓÀ¸·Î ±íÀº ¼ö·· ¼ÓÀ¸·Î ¹Ð¾î ³Ö°í Àִµ¥ ³» ¼Õ¿£ ¾Æ¹«°Íµµ ¾øÀ¸´Ï ¹Ì¼Ò¸¦ ÁöÀ¸¸ç ü³äÇÒ ¼ö¹Û¿¡...... À§ÅÂÀ§ÅÂÇÏ°Ô ºÎ¿©Àâ°í ÀÖ´ø °ÍµéÀÌ »ê»êÀÌ ºÎ¼­Á® ¹ö¸° ¾î´À³¯, ³ª´Â ÇãÀüÇÑ µÞ¸ð½ÀÀ» º¸ÀÌ¸ç µ¹¾Æ¼­°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. ´©±º°¡°¡ ³ª¸¦ ÇâÇØ ´Ù°¡¿À¸é ³ª´Â <¿òÂñ> µÚ·Î ¹°·¯³­´Ù. ±×·¯´Ù°¡ ±×°¡ ³ª¿¡°Ô¼­ ¸Ö¾îÁ® °¥ ¶© ¹ßÀ» µ¿µ¿ ±¸¸£¸ç ¼ÕÁþÀ» ÇÑ´Ù. ¸¸³¯ ¶§ ÀÌ¹Ì Çì¾îÁú Áغñ¸¦ ÇÏ´Â ¿ì¸®´Â, ¾ÆÁÖ ³Ã´ãÇÏ°Ô µ¹¾Æ¼³ ¼ö ÀÖÁö¸¸ ½Ã°£ÀÌ Áö³ª¸é Áö³¯¼ö·Ï ¾ÆÆÄ¿À´Â °¡½¿ ÇÑ ±¸¼®ÀÇ ³ª¹«´Â ½ÉÇÏ°Ô Èçµé¸®°í ÀÖ´Ù. ¶°³ª´Â »ç¶÷Àº ÀâÀ» ¼ö ¾ø°í ¶°³¯ »ç¶÷À» Àâ´Â °Í¸¸Å­ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ÃʶóÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø´Ù. ¶°³¯ »ç¶÷Àº º¸³»¾î¾ß ÇÑ´Ù ÇÏ´ÃÀÌ ¹«³ÊÁö´Â ¾ÆÇÄÀÏÁö¶óµµ. ³ª¸¦ ÁöÄÑ¾ß ÇÑ´Ù ´©±º°¡°¡ ³ª¸¦ Â÷ÁöÇÏ·Á Çصµ ±× ÇãÀüÇÑ ¾ÆÇÄÀ» ¶Ç´Ù½Ã ´À³¢Áö ¾Ê±â À§ÇØ ¸¶À½ÀÇ Ã¢À» ²À²À ´Ý¾Æ¾ß ÇÑ´Ù. ¼ö¸¹Àº ½ÃÇàÂø¿À¸¦ °ÅÃÄ ¾òÀº ÀÌ Àý½ÇÇÑ °á·ÐÀ» <À̹ø¿¡´Â> <À̹ø¿¡´Â> ÇÏ¸ç ¾î°Üº¸¾Æµµ °á±¹ Àΰ£¿¡°Ô¼­´Â ´õÀÌ»ó ¹Ù¶ö ¼ö ¾øÀ½À» ±ú´ÞÀº ³¯, ³ª´Â ºñ·Ï °øÇãÇÑ ¿ôÀ½ÀÌÁö¸¸ ¿ôÀ½À» ¿ôÀ» ¼ö ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. ¾Æ¹«µµ ´ë½Å Á×¾îÁÖÁö ¾Ê´Â ³ªÀÇ »î, Á»´õ ¿­½ÉÈ÷ »ì¾Æ¾ß°Ú´Ù. ³ªÀÇ ÀüºÎ¸¦ ¹þ°í ¾Ë¸ö¶×ÀÌ·Î ¸ðµÎ¸¦ ´ëÇÏ°í ½Í´Ù. ±×°ÍÁ¶Â÷ °¡¸éÀ̶ó°í ¸»ÇÒÁö¶óµµ º¯¸íÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸ç »ì°í ½Í´Ù. ¸»·Î½á ÇൿÀ» ¸¸µéÁö ¾Ê°í ÇൿÀ¸·Î ¸»ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖÀ» ¶§±îÁö ³ª´Â È¥ÀÚ°¡ µÇ¸®¶ó. ±× ³¡¾ø´Â °íµ¶°úÀÇ ÅõÀïÀ» È¥ÀÚÀÇ ÈûÀ¸·Î °ßµð¾î¾ß ÇÑ´Ù. ºÎ¸®¿¡, ¹ßÅé¿¡ ÇÇ°¡ ¸ÎÇôµµ ¾Æ¹«µµ µµ¿ÍÁÖÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù. ½¢ÇÑ ºÒ¸éÀÇ ¹ãÀ» »õ¿ì¸ç <Ȧ·Î ¼­±â>¸¦ ÀÍÇô¾ß ÇÑ´Ù. Á×À½ÀÌ ÀλýÀÇ Á¾¸»ÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï±â¿¡ ÀÌ ÃßÇÑ ¸ð½ÀÀ» º¸À̸鼭µµ »ì¾Æ ÀÖ´Ù. ³ªÀÇ ¾ó±¼¿¡ ´ëÇØ ³»°¡ Ã¥ÀÓÁú ¼ö ÀÖÀ» ¶§±îÁö Ȧ·ÎÀÓÀ» ´À²¸¾ß ÇÑ´Ù. ±×¸®°í ¾îµò°¡¿¡¼­ Ȧ·Î ¼­°í ÀÖÀ», ±× ´©±º°¡¸¦ À§ÇØ ÃкÒÀ» µéÀÚ. ÇãÀüÇÑ °¡½¿À» ¸Þ¿ï ¼ö´Â ¾øÁö¸¸ <ÀÌ°ÍÀÌ´Ù> ÇÏ¸ç »ì¾Æ°¡°í ½Í´Ù. ´©±¸º¸´Ùµµ ¿­½ÉÈ÷ »ç¶ûÀ» ÇÏÀÚ. 1996³â 10¿ù 5ÀÏ What Though Life Conspire To Cheat You »îÀÌ ±×´ë¸¦ ¼ÓÀÏÁö¶óµµ By Aleksandr Sergeyerich Pushkin (A SǪ½ÃŲ) What though life conspire to cheat you, »îÀÌ ±×´ë¸¦ ¼ÓÀÏÁö¶óµµ, Do not sorrow or complain. ½½ÆÛÇϰųª ³ë¿©¿öÇÏÁö ¸¶¶ó. Lie still on the day of pain, ½½ÇÄÀÇ ³¯À» Âü°í °ßµð¸é, And the day of joy will greet you. ±â»ÝÀÇ ³¯Àº ¹Ýµå½Ã ã¾Æ ¿À¸®¶ó. Hearts live in the coming day. ¸¶À½Àº ¹Ì·¡¿¡ »ç´Â °Í. There's an end to passing sorrow. Áö³ªÄ¡´Â ½½ÇÄ¿£ ³¡ÀÌ ÀÖ°Ô ¸¶·Ã. Suddenly all flies away, ¸ðµç °ÍÀº ¼ø½Ä°£¿¡ Áö³ª°¡°í, And delight returns tomorrow. ³»ÀÏÀº ±â»ÝÀÌ µ¹¾Æ ¿À´À´Ï. 1996³â 9¿ù 5ÀÏ ANNABEL LEE By Edgar Allan Poe It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea. ¾Ö³Êº§¡¤¸® By E. A. Æ÷¿ì ¾ÆÁÖ ¿©·¯ ÇØ Àü ¹Ù´å°¡ ¾î´À ¿Õ±¹¿¡ ´ç½ÅÀÌ ¾ËÁöµµ ¸ð¸¦ ÇÑ ¼Ò³à°¡ »ì¾ÒÁö ±×³àÀÇ À̸§Àº ¾Ö³Êº§ . ¸® ³¯ »ç¶ûÇÏ°í ³» »ç¶ûÀ» ¹Þ´Â ÀϹۿ£ ¼Ò³à´Â ¾Æ¹« »ý°¢µµ ¾øÀÌ »ì¾Ò³× ¹Ù´å°¡ ±× ¿Õ±¹¿¡¼± ±×³àµµ ¾î·È°í ³ªµµ ¾î·ÈÁö¸¸ ³ª¿Í ³ªÀÇ ¾Ö³Êº§¡¤¸®´Â »ç¶û ÀÌ»óÀÇ »ç¶ûÀ» ÇÏ¿´Áö õ»óÀÇ ³¯°³´Þ¸° õ»çµµ ±×³à¿Í ³ª¸¦ ºÎ·¯¿öÇÒ ±×·± »ç¶ûÀ» ±×°ÍÀÌ ÀÌÀ¯¿´Áö, ¿À·¡ Àü ¹Ù´å°¡ ÀÌ ¿Õ±¹¿¡¼± ±¸¸§À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ºÒ¾î¿Â ¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ³ª¿Í ¾Ö³Êº§ . ¸®¸¦ ½Î´ÃÇÏ°Ô Çß³× ±×·¡¼­ ¸í¹®°¡ ±×³àÀÇ Ä£Ã´µéÀº ±×³à¸¦ ³»°Ô¼­ »©¾Ò¾Æ °¬Áö ¹Ù´å°¡ ¿Õ±¹ ¹«´ý ¼Ó¿¡ °¡µÎ±â À§ÇØ Ãµ»ó¿¡¼­µµ ¹ÝÂë¹Û¿¡ ÇູÇÏÁö ¸øÇß´ø õ»çµéÀÌ ±×³à¿Í ³¯ ½Ã±âÇß´ø Å¿ ±×·¸Áö ! ±×°ÍÀÌ ÀÌÀ¯¿´Áö (¹Ù´å°¡ ±× ¿Õ±¹ ¸ðµç »ç¶÷ÀÌ ¾Ë µí) ±¸¸§À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ºÒ¾î¿Í ±×³à¸¦ ½Î´ÃÇÏ°Ô ÇÏ°í ³ªÀÇ ¾Ö³Êº§ . ¸®¸¦ ¼ûÁö°Ô ÇÑ °ÍÀº ÇÏÁö¸¸ ¿ì¸®µéÀÇ »ç¶ûÀº ÈξÀ °­ÇÑ °Í ¿ì¸®º¸´Ù ³ªÀ̸ÔÀº »ç¶÷µéÀÇ »ç¶ûº¸´Ùµµ - ¿ì¸®º¸´Ù Çö¸íÇÑ »ç¶÷µéÀÇ »ç¶ûº¸´Ùµµ - ±×·¡¼­ õ»óÀÇ Ãµ»çµéµµ ¹Ù´Ù ¹Ø ¾Ç¸¶µéµµ ³» ¿µÈ¥À» ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¾Ö³Êº§ . ¸®ÀÇ ¿µÈ¥À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ¶¼¾î¹ö¸®Áö ¸øÇß³× ´Þµµ ³»°¡ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¾Ö³Êº§ . ¸®ÀÇ ²ÞÀ» ²ÙÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸é ºñÄ¡Áö ¾Ê³× º°µµ ³»°¡ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¾Ö³Êº§ . ¸®ÀÇ ºû³ª´Â ´«À» º¸Áö ¾ÊÀ¸¸é ¶°¿À¸£Áö ¾Ê³× ±×·¡¼­ ³ª´Â ¹ãÀÌ Áö»õµµ·Ï ³ªÀÇ »ç¶û, ³ªÀÇ »ý¸í, ³ªÀÇ ½ÅºÎ °ç¿¡ ´©¿ö¸¸ ÀÖ³× ¹Ù´å°¡ ±×°÷ ±×³àÀÇ ¹«´ý¿¡¼­ - Æĵµ¼Ò¸® µé¸®´Â ¹Ù´å°¡ ±×³àÀÇ ¹«´ý¿¡¼­ 1996³â 8¿ù 5ÀÏ Who has seen the wind? ´©°¡ ¹Ù¶÷À» º¸¾ÒÀ»±î¿ä? By Christina Rossetti Å©¸®½ºÆ¼³ª ·ÎÁ¦Æ¼ Who has seen the wind? ´©°¡ ¹Ù¶÷À» º¸¾ÒÀ»±î¿ä? Neither I nor you. ³ªµµ ´ç½Åµµ ¾Æ´Õ´Ï´Ù. But when the leaves hang trembling, ±×·¯³ª ³ª¹µÀÙÀÌ ¸Å´Þ·Á Èå´À³¥ ¶§, The wind is passing through. ¹Ù¶÷Àº Áö³ª°¡°í ÀÖ´Â °Ì´Ï´Ù. Who has seen the wind? ´©°¡ ¹Ù¶÷À» º¸¾ÒÀ»±î¿ä? Neither you nor I. ´ç½Åµµ ³ªµµ ¾Æ´Õ´Ï´Ù. But when the trees bow down their heads, ±×·¯³ª ³ª¹«µéÀÌ ¸Ó¸® ¼÷¿© ÀýÇÒ ¶§, The wind is passing by. ¹Ù¶÷Àº Áö³ª°¡°í ÀÖ´Â °Ì´Ï´Ù. 1996³â 7¿ù 6ÀÏ
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