朗费罗诗16首
Hymn to the Night
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls!
I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o'er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.
I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
Like some old poet's rhymes.
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,—
From those deep cisterns flows.
O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,
And they complain no more.
Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
A Psalm of Life
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist
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 thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther 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.
The Light of Stars
The night is come, but not too soon;
And sinking silently,
All silently, the little moon
Drops down behind the sky.
There is no light in earth or heaven
But the cold light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.
Is it the tender star of love?
The star of love and dreams?
Oh no! from that blue tent above
A hero's armor gleams.
And earnest thoughts within me rise,
When I behold afar,
Suspended in the evening skies,
The shield of that red star.
O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;
Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand,
And I am strong again.
Within my breast there is no light
But the cold light of stars;
I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.
The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,
And calm, and self-possessed.
And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.
Oh, fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know erelong,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.
星光
夜来了，来得从容不迫；
那细小娇柔的月亮
静静地、无声无息地沉落，
藏入天穹的后方。
天上地下再没有光明，
只剩下星光幽冷；
看呵，长夜头一个更辰
给了红色的火星。
是不是温柔的爱情之星，
爱情和梦幻的星光？
不！在高高蓝色天篷
是英雄盔甲在闪亮。
热切情思涌上我胸怀，
当我远远地望见
这颗红色星辰的盾牌
高悬在薄暮天边。
力量之星！你和颜悦色
俯视着我的创伤；
举起披甲的手臂招呼我，
又使我心神俱旺。
我的内心再没有光明，
只剩下星光幽冷；
我把长夜头一个更辰
给了红色的火星。
不屈不挠的意志之星
在我的内心升起：
雍容自若，沉着坚定，
安详而又静谧。
你呵，读这首短诗的朋友！
不管你是哪一个，
当你的希望一个个溜走，
你也要坚定沉着！
在这般世界里不要畏惧，
不久，你就会明白：
受苦受难而坚强不屈，
是何等崇高的气概！
The Skeleton in Armor
"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"
Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.
"I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse;
For this I sought thee.
"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.
"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.
"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.
"Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o'erflowing.
"Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.
"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.
"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.
"While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.
"She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?
"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armèd hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.
"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.
"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
'Death!' was the helmsman's hail,
'Death without quarter!'
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!
"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With its prey laden,—
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.
"Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.
"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!
"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
Oh, death was grateful!
"Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal! "
Thus the tale ended.
铠甲骷髅
“可怕的客人！你说！
你那空洞的胸窝
还披着粗笨铠甲，
你到这儿来吓唬我！
不曾涂东土香膏，
无肉的手掌伸着，
像是在乞求布施，
为什么你要缠住我？”
从那凹陷的两眼，
惨白的微光闪现，
好似严冬十二月
北国微亮的苍天；
好似十二月河水
潜流在冰雪底层，
从心房深处吐出
含糊忧郁的语声：
“我是个古代海盗，
有多种多样事迹——
从没有歌者唱过，
也不曾载入传奇。
你要把这些事迹
写在你的诗篇里，
要不，当心我诅咒！
就为了这个，我找你。
“在那遥远的北国，
荒凉的波罗的海滨，
我用幼时的小手
驯养北方的大鹰；
穿着紧缚的冰鞋，
在海湾冰上滑行，
那狼狈惊吠的猎犬
战兢兢踏上冰凌。
“我常常追逐恶熊
到它冰封的穴洞，
野兔从路旁逃窜，
影子般转眼无踪；
常常穿过黑树林，
尾随巨狼的悲鸣，
听到高飞的百灵鸟
在草原唱起歌声。
“后来我渐渐长大，
加入海盗的一帮，
和这些强徒一起
飞越阴沉的海洋。
我们的生活狂暴，
我们的号令森严：
叫多少心脏流血，
送多少灵魂上天！
“无数次饮宴作乐，
消磨漫长的冬季；
我们午夜的狂呼
常常使雄鸡惊啼；
像熊皮武士记数
用杯杯麦酒算计，
我们喝干橡木桶，
一个个烂醉如泥。
“有一回，我兴高采烈
讲海上风暴的故事，
一双温柔的蓝眼
热情地向我凝视；
像点点银星照临
幽暗的挪威松顶，
这双星眸的清辉
照临我幽暗的心灵。
“我向这姑娘求爱，
她顺从，又有些畏怯；
密林深处，浓荫里，
我们订下了婚约。
她那娇小的胸脯
颤抖在宽弛衣衫下，
好似巢中的鸟儿
受到鹰隼的惊吓。
“她父王殿堂宽敞，
墙头金盾亮光光，
乐师们高声合唱，
赞颂他功业辉煌。
我请求老希德布兰
答应他女儿的亲事，
乐师们静下来，站着
听我讲我的身世。
“傲然畅饮黑麦酒，
王爷高声笑呵呵；
好像一阵风刮来，
海上便涌起白沫：
他那留须的唇边
发出轻蔑的大笑，
这时，深深角杯里
便轻轻泛起水泡。
“她是王爷的娇女，
我却是海上强徒；
她含羞微笑应允了，
我却被他们逐出！
这样洁白的鸽子
不该随海鸥飞走，
为什么她的香巢
那一夜却无人防守？
“我和这姑娘一起，
刚上船，离开陆地，
（所有北欧人当中，
她的美无人能比！）
只见老希德布兰
带着二十名骑兵，
挥动披甲的手臂，
来到白色的海滨。
“他们迎着风开船，
桅杆弯得像芦苇；
我们正疾驶如飞，
风却跟我们作对；
一阵急遽的狂飙
把船吹向斯科角，
只见追踪的敌人
向我们狂呼狞笑。
“船帆遇到了回风，
拍动着，旋转不停；
听见舵手的吼声：
‘死吧！决不饶命！’
我们用铁铸龙骨
猛撞敌船的钢筋；
黑色的船身摇晃着，
沉入黑色的海心！
“像一只凶猛鸬鹚，
侧斜着翅膀飞翔，
衔着它的猎获物，
寻找栖宿的岩冈：
我带着这位少女，
面向茫茫的海洋，
再度迎风行驶，
穿越狂飙巨浪。
“西行了三个星期，
大风暴终于平息，
望见下风头展布着
云霓一般的陆地。
那儿，我盖起高塔
作我妻子的闺房——
这座塔直到此刻
还在向大海暸望。
“在那儿一住多年，
岁月揩干了泪痕；
姑娘早忘掉了恐惧，
她成了慈爱的母亲。
死神合上她双眼，
她就在塔下安寝；
太阳底下再没有
这样可爱的美人！
“寂寞在内心生长，
寂寞如死水一汪！
世人都令我厌恶，
我也厌恶阳光！
在一望无际的深林，
我周身披着戎装，
倒在我的枪矛上——
好呵，快意的死亡！
“就这样，弄一身伤痕，
撞开监牢的铁门，
我的灵魂升了天，
攀登故国的星辰！
武士的灵魂举盏，
把盈溢美酒饮干，
你好！北国呵！你好！”
——故事到这里讲完。
The Wreck of the Hesperus
It was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr,
To bear him company.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South.
Then up and spake an old Sailòr,
Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
"I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.
"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!"
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.
Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the Northeast,
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.
Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.
"Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr,
And do not tremble so;
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."
He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat
Against the stinging blast;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.
"O father! I hear the church-bells ring,
Oh say, what may it be?"
"'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"—
And he steered for the open sea.
"O father! I hear the sound of guns;
Oh say, what may it be?"
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea!"
"O father! I see a gleaming light,
Oh say, what may it be?"
But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.
Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
That savèd she might be;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,
On the Lake of Galilee.
And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Tow' rds the reef of Norman's Woe.
And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.
She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.
Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!
At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.
The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,
On the billows fall and rise.
Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow!
Christ save us all from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman's Woe!
“金星号”遇难记
这是“金星号”斯库纳帆船
航行在严冬的海上；
船长把小女儿带在身边
陪着他一道远航。
她那双眼珠蓝得像亚麻花，
两颊像明艳朝霞，
胸肌洁白，就像五月里
娇蕾初放的山楂。
船长在舵机旁边站着，
把烟斗衔在嘴里，
他观察变换不定的风向：
烟缕向南，又向西。
船上站起来一个年老的
远航过南美的水手，
他说：“风暴快来了，我求您
开进那边的港口。
“昨晚月亮周围有风圈，
今晚看不见明月！”
船长慢慢抽了一口烟，
笑一声，充满轻蔑。
风越刮越响，越刮越冷，
是来自东北的狂飙；
飞雪絮絮地洒落海心，
波涛吐沫如发酵。
大风暴猛然从天而降，
全力向帆船冲撞；
船儿像惊马，颤栗，停顿，
又跃过缆索那么长。
“过来，过来，我的小女儿！
用不着吓得哆嗦；
不管多么凶险的风暴
我都能平安度过。”
他用海员外衣裹住她，
把刺骨寒风抵挡；
又从木杆上割下一条绳，
把她绑在桅柱上。
“爸爸！我听见教堂的钟声，
告诉我，那是什么？”
“那是岩石险岸的雾钟！”——
他驶向茫茫海波。
“爸爸！我听见几声枪响，
告诉我，那是什么？”
“那是风暴里有船遇险了，
它会被怒海吞没！”
“爸爸！我看见一点亮光，
告诉我，那是什么？”
可是她父亲冻成了僵尸，
回答她的是沉默。
他浑身僵硬，倒向舵轮，
仰卧着，面孔朝天，
闪烁的雪光里，闪烁的灯光
照着他呆钝的两眼。
这姑娘切望她能够遇救，
便合掌喃喃祈祷；
她想起基督在加利利湖上
平伏过险恶波涛。
穿越阴沉惨淡的深宵，
穿越雨雪的呼啸，
帆船像裹着尸衣的鬼魅，
冲向诺曼沃暗礁。
一阵一阵的狂风之间，
有喧哗来自海岸；
那是暴跳的波涛在猛踹
岸边的石块、沙滩。
激浪在船头下飞涌，船漂着，
漂向悲惨的毁灭；
狂澜把水手们扫离甲板，
像扫荡冰条雪屑。
白浪柔软如梳顺的羊毛，
船就在这里触礁，
凶恶的岩石把船舷戳破，
好像怒牛的尖角。
急响的支桅索覆满坚冰，
随桅柱落到水里；
像条玻璃船，碎了，沉了，
激浪还咆哮不已！
荒凉的海滨，一个渔夫
天亮时吓了一跳，
瞥见那俏丽少女的身躯
绑在桅柱上浮漂。
咸海水凝冻在她的胸前，
咸泪水凝冻在眼里；
她的秀发像暗黄的海藻，
随浪涛沉落、漂起。
这就是在那暴风雪深宵
“金星号”遇难的经过；
愿基督在人生的诺曼沃暗礁
拯救出我们大伙！
The Village Blacksmith
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned his night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
乡下铁匠
一棵七叶树延伸宽广，
乡下铁匠铺靠在树旁；
铁匠是个有力气的汉子，
一双大手又粗又强壮；
胳臂上鼓鼓囊囊的筋肉
结实得就像铁打的一样。
他鬈曲的头发又黑又长，
脸色像树皮一样焦黄；
额上淌的是老实人的汗水，
凭力气干活，取得报偿；
他扬眉睁眼望着全世界，
因为他不欠任何人的账。
星期连星期，早上到晚上，
听得见他那鸣奏的风箱；
听得见他抡起沉重的大锤，
节奏分明，缓慢地敲响，
像教堂司事把晚钟敲动，
当夕阳渐渐沉向西方。
每天，孩子们放学回家，
从敞开的门口向屋里张望；
他们爱看那红红的炉火，
爱听那呜呜吼叫的风箱，
逗弄那爆出的火花点点，
像打谷场上飞迸的谷糠。
一到星期天，他就上教堂，
坐在他的孩子们中央；
他听牧师讲道和祈祷，
也听村里唱诗班合唱，
听出了他那女儿的嗓音，
他呀，不由得心花怒放。
他听来，这嗓音就像她母亲
歌唱在光明圣洁的天堂！
他不禁又一次把她怀想：
不知墓穴里她睡得怎样？
他用又粗又硬的大手
把一滴泪水抹出了眼眶。
辛苦劳作——快乐——悲伤，
一步步走在人生的路上；
每天早上有活计开始，
每天晚上有活计收场；
有的起了头，有的干完了，
给他挣来了一夜的酣畅。
谢谢你了，我可敬的朋友！
谢谢你的教益和榜样！
我们的命运也得要锤炼，
要经受人生的炉火风箱；
在叮 震响的铁砧上锤出
火花四射的事业和思想。
The Rainy Day
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
雨天
今天天气又冷，又暗，又凄惨；
雨下个不停，风也老刮个不倦；
藤萝依旧萦绕着颓败的墙垣，
每阵风来，枯叶又落下几片。
今天天气又暗又凄惨。
我的生活又冷，又暗，又凄惨；
雨下个不停，风也老刮个不倦；
心情依旧萦绕着颓败的往昔，
青春的希望早已被狂风吹散！
日子过得又暗又凄惨。
平静些，忧伤的心！且休要嗟怨；
乌云后面依然有阳光灿烂；
你的命运是大众共同的命运，
人人生活里都会有无情的雨点，
总有些日子又暗又凄惨。
Maidenhood
Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes,
In whose orbs a shadow lies
Like the dusk in evening skies!
Thou whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!
Standing, with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!
Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse!
Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem,
As the river of a dream.
Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon's shadow fly?
Hearest thou voices on the shore,
That our ears perceive no more,
Deafened by the cataract's roar?
Oh, thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksand,—Life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares!
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June.
Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered;—
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the young heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snows.
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.
Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal
Into wounds that cannot heal,
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,
For a smile of God thou art.
少女
少女！有温柔的褐色眼睛，
瞳孔里面潜伏着阴影，
有如晚空出现的晦冥。
你的鬈发比阳光明艳，
编成一条金色的发辫，
像是汇合众流的山涧。
你两脚不由自主地站在
小溪与河川相遇的地带，
幼年与成年交替的年代。
你以畏怯的眼光凝望：
凝望小溪的急急奔忙，
凝望河川的茫茫宽广！
那流荡的河川，深沉，静默，
你看来，它似乎美妙不过，
仿佛是一条梦幻之河。
而当你望见光明的天仙
召唤你前往神奇的乐园，
为什么你又踌躇不前？
莫非你瞥见了掠过的黑影，
犹如鸽子惊恐的眼睛
瞥见苍鹰的影子在飞行？
莫非你听见了河畔的悲声？
我们听惯了瀑布的雷鸣，
岸上的声音已经听不清。
你呵，不断祈祷的孩童！
人世有流沙，人生有陷阱！
忧患和衰老冷不防来临！
像昂扬明快的甜美音乐，
清晨转眼掠入了午刻，
五月转眼滑到了六月。
童年是绿枝，枝上歇息着
成群的鸟雀，繁茂的花朵；
而老年：枯枝被白雪覆没。
如今，你心头春潮正涨，
快采集鲜花，趁它们盛放，
用来薰香那白雪篷帐。
拈一朵百合在你手上，
黄铜大门也不能阻挡
这根轻轻一触的魔杖。
经历了酸辛、屈辱和哀怜，
把青春的甘露留在你心间，
把真情的微笑留在你唇边。
哦！那甘露有如香油，
会潜入难以愈合的伤口，
闭拢它，像睡眠闭拢双眸；
而那微笑如太阳的光明，
能照亮无数晦暗的心灵，
你就是上帝的一丝笑影。
Excelsior
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard1
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
更高的目标
阿尔卑斯山，夜色已降临，
村子里走过一个青年人；
冰雪中，他举起一面旗帜，
旗上有一句古怪的题词：
“更高的目标！”
他面容忧郁，而他的两眼
光焰灼灼，像出鞘的短剑；
那一句神秘言词的音调
鸣响如一支嘹亮的银号：
“更高的目标！”
他看见一个个安乐的家庭，
融融的炉火温暖又光明；
而高处，冰河闪闪如鬼魅，
他唇中逸出了一声低喟：
“更高的目标！”
老人说：“莫想通过那隘口！
阴沉沉的暴风雪快要临头，
又宽又深的飞湍在咆哮！”
然而那号声响亮地答道：
“更高的目标！”
少女对他说：“别走了，停下来，
把困倦的头颈偎在我胸怀！”
他炯炯的蓝眼闪着泪花，
叹息了一声，仍然回答：
“更高的目标！”
“当心松树的断梗枯枝！
当心雪崩和滚落的土石！”
这是农夫最后的叮咛，
有声音回答，越过冈陵：
“更高的目标！”
第二天天光破晓时分，
圣伯纳德的虔敬僧人
向苍穹念诵陈旧的祷语，
有呼声掠过受惊的天宇：
“更高的目标！”
救生犬发现了一个过客，
半截身子被白雪覆没，
冰封的手里仍然牢执
那面旗，旗上有古怪的题词：
“更高的目标！”
躺在冰冷的灰白曙光里，
他失却生命，但是美丽；
从那明净邃远的天廷
落下一个声音，像陨星：
“更高的目标！”
To William E. Channing
The pages of thy book I read,
And as I closed each one,
My heart, responding, ever said,
"Servant of God! well done!"
Well done! Thy words are great and bold;
At times they seem to me,
Like Luther's, in the days of old,
Half-battles for the free.
Go on, until this land revokes
The old and chartered Lie,
The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes
Insult humanity.
A voice is ever at thy side
Speaking in tones of might,
Like the prophetic voice, that cried
To John in Patmos, "Write!"
Write! and tell out this bloody tale;
Record this dire eclipse,
This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail,
This dread Apocalypse!
致威廉·埃·查宁
一页又一页，我读着你的书，
每一页读到末了，
我的心总要响应，总要说：
“上帝的仆人！干得好！”
干得好！你书中写下的言词
是那样崇高而勇敢，
常令我想起往日的路德
争取自由的奋战。
干下去！从这片土地上扫除
老朽而横霸的谎言
和封建祸害——它的鞭和轭
凌辱了人的尊严。
一个声音总在你耳旁
用权威口吻讲话，
如同约翰在拔摩岛上
听到的预言：“写吧！”
写吧！诉说这血腥的故事，
记录这无尽的哀哭，
这可怕的日蚀，这降罚的日子，
这惊心动魄的《启示录》！
The Slave's Dream
Beside the ungathered rice he lay,
His sickle in his hand;
His breast was bare, his matted hair
Was buried in the sand.
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,
He saw his Native Land.
Wide through the landscape of his dreams
The lordly Niger flowed;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain
Once more a king he strode;
And heard the tinkling caravans
Descend the mountain road.
He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
Among her children stand;
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,
They held him by the hand!—
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids
And fell into the sand.
And then at furious speed he rode
Along the Niger's bank;
His bridle-reins were golden chains,
And, with a martial clank,
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel
Smiting his stallion's flank.
Before him, like a blood-red flag,
The bright flamingoes flew;
From morn till night he followed their flight,
O'er plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,
And the ocean rose to view.
At night he heard the lion roar,
And the hyena scream,
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds
Beside some hidden stream;
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,
Through the triumph of his dream.
The forests, with their myriad tongues,
Shouted of liberty;
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,
With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.
He did not feel the driver's whip,
Nor the burning heat of day;
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,
And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul
Had broken and thrown away!
奴隶的梦
他躺在没有割完的稻禾旁，
镰刀还握在手上；
蓬乱的头发埋入沙土，
露出黧黑的胸膛。
他在睡梦的烟雾阴影里
又一次看见了故乡。
穿越他梦中的辽阔大地，
尼日尔河水奔流；
他又成了尊严的国王，
在平原棕树下行走；
又听见商队清脆的驼铃
慢悠悠下了山头。
又看见他那黑眼珠王后
站在孩子们中间；
他们搂住他脖子，抓住手，
一个劲亲着他的脸！——
他的睡眼里迸出一滴泪，
滚落到沙土里面。
沿着尼日尔河畔的沙岸，
他骑着马儿飞跑；
手上的缰绳是黄金链子，
每一次纵跳，都听到
青钢的刀鞘铿锵作响，
拍打着马儿身腰。
像血红的旌旗，一群火烈鸟
飞翔在他的前面；
他追随它们，整天奔驰在
婆树生长的平原，
直到他望见卡菲人村舍，
大海也闪入眼帘。
夜间，他听到狮子吼叫，
也听到鬣狗嘶鸣，
而当他双足踏倒芦苇，
走在隐僻的河滨，
又听到河马，脚步似擂鼓，
闯过他辉煌梦境。
森林转动千万条舌头，
高声呼唤着自由；
嗓门粗厉的荒漠暴风
任性地狂呼怒吼；
梦中被惊动，他含笑倾听
这一曲威猛的合奏。
再也不晓得监工的鞭挞，
不觉得烈日的炙烤；
因为死亡照亮了睡乡，
他失却生命的躯壳
像一副残破枷锁，已经
被灵魂挣脱甩掉！
The Slave in the Dismal Swamp
In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp
The hunted Negro lay;
He saw the fire of the midnight camp,
And heard at times a horse's tramp
And a bloodhound's distant bay.
Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine,
In bulrush and in brake;
Where waving mosses shroud the pine,
And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine
Is spotted like the snake;
Where hardly a human foot could pass,
Or a human heart would dare,
On the quaking turf of the green morass
He crouched in the rank and tangled grass,
Like a wild beast in his lair.
A poor old slave, infirm and lame;
Great scars deformed his face;
On his forehead he bore the brand of shame,
And the rags, that hid his mangled frame,
Were the livery of disgrace.
All things above were bright and fair,
All things were glad and free;
Lithe squirrels darted here and there,
And wild birds filled the echoing air
With songs of Liberty!
On him alone was the doom of pain,
From the morning of his birth;
On him alone the curse of Cain
Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain,
And struck him to the earth!
阴湿沼地的奴隶
一个被追捕的黑奴，藏在
阴湿沼地的黑魆魆泥塘；
他望见营帐里半夜的火光，
他听到一阵阵马蹄声响，
还听到猎犬狂吠在远方。
在那些芦苇和羊齿丛间，
磷火和流萤青光闪闪；
苍苔覆盖着松树躯干，
杉树茁长，有毒的藤蔓
像蛇一样浑身是花斑。
没有什么人从这里走过，
没有什么人胆敢这么做；
青绿沼泽里，烂泥地上，
他在蓬蓬乱草中蜷缩，
像一头野兽钻进了兽窝。
这是个又老又瘸的奴隶，
他脸上留着大块疮痍，
额头烙有屈辱的印记，
破布条遮住残损的躯体，
就是他那件可耻的号衣。
上边的一切都清朗秀丽，
周遭的万物都欢欣如意；
灵巧的松鼠跳来跳去，
野鸟儿唱着自由的歌曲，
歌声注满了共鸣的天宇。
而他，从刚刚出世的辰光
就得把痛苦的厄运承当；
该隐的诅咒从天而降，
像连枷打着新收的稻粱，
把他重重打倒在地上。
The Slave Singing at Midnight
Loud he sang the psalm of David!
He, a Negro and enslavèd,
Sang of Israel's victory,
Sang of Zion, bright and free.
In that hour, when night is calmest,
Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist,
In a voice so sweet and clear
That I could not choose but hear,
Songs of triumph, and ascriptions,
Such as reached the swart Egyptians,
When upon the Red Sea coast
Perished Pharaoh and his host.
And the voice of his devotion
Filled my soul with strange emotion;
For its tones by turns were glad,
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad.
Paul and Silas, in their prison,
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen.
And an earthquake's arm of might
Broke their dungeon-gates at night.
But, alas! what holy angel
Brings the Slave this glad evangel?
And what earthquake's arm of might
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night?
奴隶的夜半歌声
他，一个当奴隶的黑人，
高声唱着大卫的诗篇，
歌咏以色列人的胜利，
歌咏光明自由的神山。
他唱起希伯来诗人的圣歌，
那时的夜色最为幽静，
歌声是这么嘹亮甜美，
使我不能不侧耳倾听。
这是欢庆和赞美的歌声，
正如埃及人听到的颂歌——
当法老和他率领的追兵
在红海全军覆没的时刻。
这虔敬歌声使我的心灵
注满了不可思议的感动；
调子忽而是欢欣，忽而是
美妙的庄严，剧烈的悲痛。
保罗和西拉，被人监禁，
歌唱基督，真主来临，
一条震天撼地的巨臂
夜间打破了阴暗的牢门。
而这个奴隶呵！有什么天使
能给他送来快乐的福音？
有什么震天撼地的巨臂
来给他打破阴暗的牢门？
The Quadroon Girl
The Slaver in the broad lagoon
Lay moored with idle sail;
He waited for the rising moon,
And for the evening gale.
Under the shore his boat was tied,
And all her listless crew
Watched the gray alligator slide
Into the still bayou.
Odors of orange-flowers, and spice,
Reached them from time to time,
Like airs that breathe from Paradise
Upon a world of crime.
The Planter, under his roof of thatch,
Smoked thoughtfully and slow;
The Slaver's thumb was on the latch,
He seemed in haste to go.
He said, "My ship at anchor rides
In yonder broad lagoon;
I only wait the evening tides,
And the rising of the moon."
Before them, with her face upraised,
In timid attitude,
Like one half curious, half amazed,
A Quadroon maiden stood.
Her eyes were large, and full of light,
Her arms and neck were bare;
No garment she wore save a kirtle bright,
And her own long, raven hair.
And on her lips there played a smile
As holy, meek, and faint,
As lights in some cathedral aisle
The features of a saint.
"The soil is barren,—the farm is old,"
The thoughtful planter said;
Then looked upon the Slaver's gold,
And then upon the maid.
His heart within him was at strife
With such accursèd gains:
For he knew whose passions gave her life,
Whose blood ran in her veins.
But the voice of nature was too weak;
He took the glittering gold!
Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek,
Her hands as icy cold.
The Slaver led her from the door,
He led her by the hand,
To be his slave and paramour
In a strange and distant land!
混血女
奴隶贩子把帆船停在
宽阔的咸水湖中；
他要等待上升的月亮，
等待黄昏的海风。
他的船拴在岸边，那一群
无精打采的水手
注视着一条灰白鳄鱼
游入静静的湖口。
橙花散发的阵阵香气
飘送到他们身边，
有如天国的仙风袅袅
吹到罪恶的人间。
棕叶盖顶的屋里，农场主
想着心事，抽着烟；
奴隶贩子，像急着要走，
大拇指按着门闩。
他说：“我的帆船就停在
宽阔的咸水湖上；
我只等着晚上的潮水，
等着上升的月亮。”
他们面前，仰脸站着的
是一个混血女郎，
有几分好奇，有几分害怕，
怯生生可怜模样。
她脖子、胳臂露在外边，
一双眼又亮又大；
身上除了那鲜明的袍子，
只披着长长黑发。
一丝笑意浮现在唇边，
圣洁，温和，恬淡，
有如教堂廊道的光亮，
有如圣者的容颜。
农场主想着心事，叨咕着：
“这农场，地老，田荒；”
他看看奴隶贩子的金子，
又看看身边的女郎。
他心里有斗争，晓得是罪孽：
只有他，才最了解
是谁的情欲给了她生命，
她血管流着谁的血。
可是天性的呼声太微弱，
他抓起亮晶晶的黄金！
女郎的双颊死一样惨白，
她两手冷得像冰。
奴隶贩子拉着她的手，
把她拉出了门口，
带她去隔山隔海的异乡，
当他的奴隶、姘头！
The Warning
Beware! The Israelite of old, who tore
The lion in his path,—when, poor and blind,
He saw the blessed light of heaven no more,
Shorn of his noble strength and forced to grind
In prison, and at last led forth to be
A pander to Philistine revelry,—
Upon the pillars of the temple laid
His desperate hands, and in its overthrow
Destroyed himself, and with him those who made
A cruel mockery of his sightless woe;
The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all,
Expired, and thousands perished in the fall!
There is a poor, blind Samson in this land,
Shorn of his strength and bound in bonds of steel,
Who may, in some grim revel, raise his hand,
And shake the pillars of this Commonweal,
Till the vast Temple of our liberties
A shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish lies.
警告
当心！那撕裂狮子的以色列英雄，
到后来那样不幸，那样痛苦：
眼睛瞎了，看不见天国的光明，
威武无敌的膂力也全被剪除，
关在监牢里推磨；最后，给领到
非利士人的宴会上，供人耍笑；
这时，他不顾死活，伸出双手，
抱定殿堂的柱子尽力摇晃，
一举摧毁了：那房子，他自己，还有
那狠心取笑他失明痛苦的一帮；
这不幸的奴隶，受尽凌辱的盲人，
与在场的三千男女同归于尽！
我们国土上也有个不幸的瞎参孙，
膂力被剪除，戴上了铁锁钢镣；
在邪孽宴会上，他也会奋不顾身，
举起臂，把这个国家的支柱动摇，
一举把我们宽广的特权殿宇
变成一堆残破的瓦砾和废墟！
The Arsenal at Springfield
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.
Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal Miserere
Will mingle with their awful symphonies!
I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,
In long reverberations reach our own.
On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song,
And loud, amid the universal clamor,
O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.
I hear the Florentine, who from his palace
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din,
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis
Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin;
The tumult of each sacked and burning village;
The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage;
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;
The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder
The diapason of the cannonade.
Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,
Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,
And jarrest the celestial harmonies?
Were half the power that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals or forts:
The warrior's name would be a name abhorrèd!
And every nation, that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain!
Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease;
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!"
Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies!
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.
易 象 与 意 象
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