英美著名儿童诗一百首 [39]
是风暴的统帅——
英雄的种呵，傲岸的形象，
尽管是孩童的体态。
烈焰滚滚来——他父亲没下令，
他不能擅离职守；
他父亲倒下了，已经牺牲，
听不见儿子的请求。
他高叫："说话呀，爸爸！你说——
我是否尽到了责任？"
孩子不知道军官僵卧着，
对儿子已毫无感应。
孩子又叫喊，"说话呀，爸爸！
我可不可以离开？"
只有轰响的炮弹在回答，
火焰迅速地卷来。
他感到烈焰烧到前额，
烧到飘动的发梢，
单独在死亡岗位上，他看着，
绝望了，平静而骄傲；
孩子再一次高声叫喊，
"爸爸！我一定得留下？"
火焰正穿过桅索和布帆，
绕着他向前进发。
疯狂的火彩包围了舰只，
司令旗在高处燃烧，
烈焰滚过这勇敢的孩子，
像旗帜在天空飞飘。
一声爆炸，雷鸣电闪——
哦，那孩子在哪？
问风吧——风把船的碎片
向海面四散抛撒！——
桅杆，舵轮，美丽的尖旗，
都已经各尽责任；
但葬入海中的最高贵的东西
是那颗忠诚的童心！
屠 岸译
■ 74 THE MITHERLESS BAIRN
William Thom①
Whena' ither bairnies are hushed to their hame,
By aunty or cousin, or frecky grand-dame,
Wha stans last and lanely, an' naebody carin'
'Tis the puir doited loonie—the mitherless bairn.
The mitherless bairn gangs till his lane bed,
Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head;
His wee hack it heelies are hard as the airn,
An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn.
O speak him nae harshly—he trembles the while,
He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile!
In their dark hour o' anguish the heartless shall learn
That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn.
■ 七十四 没有妈妈的孤儿
威廉·托姆
孩子们都已经回家安静下来，
身边有姑妈，表姐，健壮的奶奶，
谁还孤零零站着，没有人关怀？
那是没妈妈的孤儿——可怜的傻小孩。
孤儿向他那清冷的床铺走来，
冷呵，身上没东西盖，头上没帽子戴；
小小的脚跟冻裂了，硬得像铁块，
窝里没温暖呵，这个没妈妈的小孩！
别粗声对他说话——他吓得抖起来，
他弯腰听吩咐，求你的笑容和蔼！
没心肝的人们痛苦时应该明白
是上帝在降灾，为了这没妈妈的小孩。
方谷绣 屠 岸译
①威廉·托姆(1799－1848)，苏格兰诗人。
■ 75 THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Ⅰ
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows,
The young birds are chirping in the nest,
The young fawns are playing with the shadows,
The young flowers are blowing toward the west—
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.
Ⅱ
Do you question the young children in the sorrow,
Why their tears are falling so
The old man may weep for his to-morrow
Which is lost in Long Ago；
The old tree is leafless in the forest,
The old year is ending in the frost,
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest,
The old hope is hardest to be lost.
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy Fatherland
英雄的种呵，傲岸的形象，
尽管是孩童的体态。
烈焰滚滚来——他父亲没下令，
他不能擅离职守；
他父亲倒下了，已经牺牲，
听不见儿子的请求。
他高叫："说话呀，爸爸！你说——
我是否尽到了责任？"
孩子不知道军官僵卧着，
对儿子已毫无感应。
孩子又叫喊，"说话呀，爸爸！
我可不可以离开？"
只有轰响的炮弹在回答，
火焰迅速地卷来。
他感到烈焰烧到前额，
烧到飘动的发梢，
单独在死亡岗位上，他看着，
绝望了，平静而骄傲；
孩子再一次高声叫喊，
"爸爸！我一定得留下？"
火焰正穿过桅索和布帆，
绕着他向前进发。
疯狂的火彩包围了舰只，
司令旗在高处燃烧，
烈焰滚过这勇敢的孩子，
像旗帜在天空飞飘。
一声爆炸，雷鸣电闪——
哦，那孩子在哪？
问风吧——风把船的碎片
向海面四散抛撒！——
桅杆，舵轮，美丽的尖旗，
都已经各尽责任；
但葬入海中的最高贵的东西
是那颗忠诚的童心！
屠 岸译
■ 74 THE MITHERLESS BAIRN
William Thom①
Whena' ither bairnies are hushed to their hame,
By aunty or cousin, or frecky grand-dame,
Wha stans last and lanely, an' naebody carin'
'Tis the puir doited loonie—the mitherless bairn.
The mitherless bairn gangs till his lane bed,
Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head;
His wee hack it heelies are hard as the airn,
An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn.
O speak him nae harshly—he trembles the while,
He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile!
In their dark hour o' anguish the heartless shall learn
That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn.
■ 七十四 没有妈妈的孤儿
威廉·托姆
孩子们都已经回家安静下来，
身边有姑妈，表姐，健壮的奶奶，
谁还孤零零站着，没有人关怀？
那是没妈妈的孤儿——可怜的傻小孩。
孤儿向他那清冷的床铺走来，
冷呵，身上没东西盖，头上没帽子戴；
小小的脚跟冻裂了，硬得像铁块，
窝里没温暖呵，这个没妈妈的小孩！
别粗声对他说话——他吓得抖起来，
他弯腰听吩咐，求你的笑容和蔼！
没心肝的人们痛苦时应该明白
是上帝在降灾，为了这没妈妈的小孩。
方谷绣 屠 岸译
①威廉·托姆(1799－1848)，苏格兰诗人。
■ 75 THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Ⅰ
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows,
The young birds are chirping in the nest,
The young fawns are playing with the shadows,
The young flowers are blowing toward the west—
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.
Ⅱ
Do you question the young children in the sorrow,
Why their tears are falling so
The old man may weep for his to-morrow
Which is lost in Long Ago；
The old tree is leafless in the forest,
The old year is ending in the frost,
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest,
The old hope is hardest to be lost.
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy Fatherland