英美著名儿童诗一百首 [36]
Walter Scott①
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn' d
As home his footsteps he hath turn' d
From wandering on a foreign strand
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd and unsung.
■ 六十九 爱国心
华尔特·司各特
这人还活着，他的心已死亡，
他从来没有对自己这样讲，
"这就是故土，我的祖国！"
如果不再流浪在异邦，
一旦踏上祖国的土壤，
谁的内心不热情似火？
要是有这号人，把他认清；
诗人的欢歌不为他歌吟；
尽管他头衔高，姓氏堂皇，
要多少有多少钱财宝藏，
不管那头衔，财富和权力，
那家伙，一切都为了自己，
他活着，就该是臭名远扬，
双料地死了，就该下葬，
埋入他从那儿出来的土壤，
没有人哭泣，致敬，歌唱。
屠 岸译
①华尔特·司各特(1771－1832)，苏格兰小说家、诗人。擅长于写长篇叙事诗和历史小说，作品大抵取材于苏格兰和英格兰的历史和民间传说。
■ 70 AFTER BLENHEIM
Robe rt Southey①
It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round
Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found
That was so large and smooth and round.
Old Kaspar took it from the boy
Who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh
"Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory.
"I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough
The ploughshare turns them out.
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory."
"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for."
"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for
I could not well make out.
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.
"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly:
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.
"With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a childing mother then
And new-born baby died:
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.
"They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun:
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.
"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won
And our good Prince Eugene";
"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"
Said little Wilhelmine;
"Nay.. nay.. my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory.
"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn' d
As home his footsteps he hath turn' d
From wandering on a foreign strand
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd and unsung.
■ 六十九 爱国心
华尔特·司各特
这人还活着，他的心已死亡，
他从来没有对自己这样讲，
"这就是故土，我的祖国！"
如果不再流浪在异邦，
一旦踏上祖国的土壤，
谁的内心不热情似火？
要是有这号人，把他认清；
诗人的欢歌不为他歌吟；
尽管他头衔高，姓氏堂皇，
要多少有多少钱财宝藏，
不管那头衔，财富和权力，
那家伙，一切都为了自己，
他活着，就该是臭名远扬，
双料地死了，就该下葬，
埋入他从那儿出来的土壤，
没有人哭泣，致敬，歌唱。
屠 岸译
①华尔特·司各特(1771－1832)，苏格兰小说家、诗人。擅长于写长篇叙事诗和历史小说，作品大抵取材于苏格兰和英格兰的历史和民间传说。
■ 70 AFTER BLENHEIM
Robe rt Southey①
It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round
Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found
That was so large and smooth and round.
Old Kaspar took it from the boy
Who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh
"Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory.
"I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough
The ploughshare turns them out.
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory."
"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for."
"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for
I could not well make out.
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.
"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly:
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.
"With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a childing mother then
And new-born baby died:
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.
"They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun:
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.
"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won
And our good Prince Eugene";
"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"
Said little Wilhelmine;
"Nay.. nay.. my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory.
"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."