◇◇新语丝(www.xys.org)(xys.dxiong.com)(xys1.dyndns.org)(xys.3322.org)◇◇

塑造美国人的诗
 ─ 美国诗人亨利·朗费罗的几首诗


周方舟

对于许多美国人来讲，他们从小在幼儿园学过的许多押韵的儿歌可能有些就出自美
国诗人亨利·朗费罗(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)的手笔。朗费罗悦耳的诗歌伴
随着美国人长大，并陪伴他们一生。在美国，有许多人可能不知道拜伦、济慈、雪
莱、勃朗宁和普希金，但没有美国人不知道朗费罗。朗费罗的诗在美国影响是如此
之广，可以说他的诗成了美国人性格的一部分，他的诗塑造了美国人的人格和灵魂，
他的诗写出了美国人心中的希望和梦想。

许多美国人说朗费罗的诗歌清新自然，流畅得象鸟鸣般地悦耳，只要听读两三遍，
那诗歌中的韵味就深深地印入脑海并挥之不去，这感觉就象中国发蒙儿童朗诵李白
的诗，“床前明月光，疑是地上霜…”

朗费罗的诗简洁押韵，通俗易懂，给人以欢快乐观的感觉，就象美国人的性格一样。
他的诗歌主题涉及生活中几乎所有类型的人，大概每个美国人的性格因素多少都受
了朗费罗的诗的影响。

他写的有关美国的风光美景、美国历史和传统的诗歌使十九世纪的美国人民觉得拥
有了自己的文化。他是美国大自然中的歌手，在他的诗中可以看到新英格兰乡村令
人难以忘怀的抒情美，他的每一首诗都敲打着生活中某处的一根弦。他的诗中大自
然的野花、小鸟、野果和溪流都使我们更近地感受到生活中简单的快乐，对朗费罗
而言，诗就是大自然和生活本身。他是个优秀的长笛手，不断地吹奏大自然和心中
的笛音；可这个歌手在第一次面对他追求的情人时，却连说话的勇气都没有，不过
他的诗帮他说出了一切…


保罗·瑞维尔策马飞骑

听，我的孩子们，你们将会听到 
保罗·瑞维尔午夜策马飞奔的传奇，
那是1775年4月18日那一天，
现在几乎已没有人活着
还记得那千古传奇的那一年那一天。

瑞维尔对他的朋友说，“如果英军今晚无论
是从陆地还是从海上来犯，在老北教堂钟楼
的拱门上高挂一盏灯笼作为信号--
一盏灯笼表示从陆地来，两盏灯笼表示从海上来；
我在河对岸看到灯火，
随时会策马飞骑去通风报信，
我将把消息传遍米德尔塞克斯村的农庄，
所有的庄稼汉子们都会武装起来，”

然后他道了声“晚安！”，
伴随着低沉的桨声，
他悄悄地把船划到了查尔斯屯的海岸，
此时月亮刚刚升起在海湾，
英军的战舰萨默塞特号却象鬼影一样在锚地摇晃，
船上的桅杆和横粱穿过月亮，
象监狱的栅栏一样，
海潮中的倒影使战舰显得巨大无比。

同时，瑞维尔的朋友在大街小巷四处探望，
他在宁静中听到英军士兵集合的声响，
还有掷弹兵踏步的节拍，
向岸边他们的船只挺进。

然后他爬上老北教堂的钟楼，
他一步步悄悄地爬上木制的楼梯，
一直爬到钟楼的顶层，
惊飞了栖息在屋檐的野鸽，
鸽群在他周围飞起，
光线在他身上变换着暗影， 
通过摇晃、陡峭、高耸的楼梯，
他从顶楼的窗口四下张望，侧耳聆听，
在那一刻，月亮也爬上了屋顶。

在下面，教堂的墓地死一般的沉寂，
在山丘上英军的营地，一片静谧，
他几乎能听到哨兵的脚步声，
晚风哗哗地吹皱了一个个的帐篷，
好象在耳语，“一切都准备好了！”
此时此刻此地，他感到一种神秘的恐惧，
那孤独的钟楼死般的恐惧，
突然他将所有的思虑都抛之脑后--
河面在海湾变得宽阔，
河上黑色弯曲的轮廓随着涨潮而起伏，
象是船桥。

与此同时，河对岸急不可耐的瑞维尔，
脚穿带马刺的马靴，猛地跨上战马，
他轻拍着马，巡视着远近，
马儿也性急地跺着前蹄，
他转动拉紧着缰绳，
焦急地眺望着老北教堂的钟楼，
那钟楼象是从山丘上凸起的墓碑，
却还是那么孤独、幽暗和宁静。
啊，看哪！他突然看到钟楼上微弱的闪光，
然后是一丝的光亮！
他不由自主地从马鞍上站了起来，
转动着缰绳，他徘徊凝视，
直到钟楼上的第二盏灯光也现入眼帘！

瑞维尔策马飞驰，马踏月影，
马蹄下的卵石闪过一串串火星，
你听，那快马飞骑的鞭响！
在那惨淡的月光下，
那天晚上一个国家的前途和命运
驮负在这飞驰的马背上，
那飞奔的马蹄撞击出的火星，
燎原了这片大地。
他跑过村庄，登上山岗，
他身下是广阔的大地和深深的宁静，
他迎着海潮，跨过林地，
马蹄下的海滩和礁石在马蹄声中一闪而去。

当他策马扬鞭而过米德福特镇的木桥时，
他听到了午夜的钟响，
他还听到公鸡的晨叫，
还有农夫的狗的狂吠，
他还感到日落后河面浮起的潮湿的迷雾。

当他疾驰到莱克星屯时，敲响了子夜钟声。
他看到月光中游动风标的金彩，
镇上会议厅的窗子苍白空荡，
象幽灵的眼睛一样瞪着他，
你看他们那惊呆的样子，
因为他们将见证美国革命中流淌的鲜血。

凌晨两时的钟响，
他纵马跑到了协和镇的木桥旁，
他听到羊群“羊羊”的低声叫唤，
他还听到林间夜鸟的啾语，
他感到晨风和缓的气息，
吹过河边的褐色的牧草地。
那些在床上安眠的人们呀，
随后将在这桥上第一个倒下，
英军滑膛枪的子弹将射穿他们的胸膛。

后来的一切，你已在史书上读到，
英军是怎样地开火和逃遁--
那些庄稼汉们怎样对他们还以颜色，
从每一墩墙和篱笆后面，
追逐着英军并将他们击毙在地，
庄稼汉子们跨过田野，出没在林间，
他们向英军开火射击，
只有在装填弹药时才有片刻的宁静。

就是这样，保罗·瑞维尔策马飞骑，
午夜送信的呼喊，
传遍了米德尔塞克斯村的农庄--
那挑战的叫喊声中没有一丝的恐惧，
那黑夜中的呼喊，敲打着每一扇门，
那每一个字都将永远回响！
过去的这一幕还回荡在耳际，
它贯穿我们的历史，直到永远，
在黑暗、危险和国家召唤的时刻，
人民将会警醒，
去侧耳聆听那策马飞骑的蹄音，
和保罗·瑞维尔午夜送信的千古传奇。

原文：
Paul Revere's Ride 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm
For the country folk to be up and to arm,"

Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,--
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
That was all!  And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest.  In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled,--
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,--
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.


生命的赞歌

不要告诉我有多少悲伤，
生命并非一梦黄粱！
灵魂沉酣如死亡，
所有的事儿并不是看起来那个样。

生命是真！生命是诚！
墓地并不是它的向往，
你是尘，你还会回到尘。
命运的结局就是不喜也不悲，
活着，就是要在每一个明天里
找到更多的自己。

艺术悠长，时间却是一晃，
我们的心尽管勇敢又坚强，
却仍如低沉的鼓声，
敲着向坟场进军的号响。

在世界广阔的战场，
在生命的营房，
我们不是无言被驱赶的牲口，
而是英雄的角斗。

不管怎样，快乐吧，不要相信未来！
让逝去的过去去埋葬死亡！
行动，─就在此刻行动！
心之所在，主之所爱！

所有的伟人都提醒我们，
我们能使我们自己崇高，
出发吧，在时间的沙滩上
把我们的脚印在身后留下；

脚印，也许还有另一个，
航行在神圣生命的海洋，
就是一个孤独的沉船上的兄弟，
了望，将再次占住心房。

让我们用一颗应付各种可能命运
的平常之心，去做点什么；
去追求，去完成，
既学会努力，也学会等待。

原文：
A PSALM OF LIFE

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 are, 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 tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

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 sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solenm 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.

我失去的青春

我常想起海边那美丽的小镇，
那亲切古老的小镇，
那令人愉快的街道，
常在我脑海中荡漾，
仿佛青春又回到我的身旁。
还有那拉普兰的歌谣
又缭绕在我心上：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

我能看见树影的幽暗，
我能捕捉遥远大海波面
瞬息的闪光，
那些海岛是我儿时全部
梦中的金苹果园。
那古老歌谣中的韵律
还在耳语，还在哼唱：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

我还记得那黑色的码头和船，
还有那翻滚着波浪的海潮，
还有那大胡子的西班牙水手，
还有天际边美丽神秘的三桅帆船，
还有那充满魔力的大海。
还有那倔强的歌声在传唱：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

我还记得海边的防波堤，
还有山上的展望台；
那日出时的炮声还在空中回响，
还有那密集的鼓声，
那狂野而嘹亮的军号。
那古老歌谣中的谐音
还在我心中跳跃：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

我还记得那遥远的海战，
那雷声般的炮声如潮！
那死去的船长，
他们还静静地躺在坟地上，
噢，你看那平静的海湾
就是他们战死的沙场。
那悲歌中的哀鸣
还在我心中颤抖：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

我还看到微风中
如华盖般的小树林，
还有那鹿林日落后渐渐的暗影；
那旧时的友谊和早先的爱意
是安息日的谐音，
就象邻居家鸽子呜呜的低鸣。
那古老歌谣中的诗句
还在飘荡，还在低语：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

我还记得心中的闪光和愁绪，
快速穿越孩子的脑际；
心中的歌和静默，
一半是预言，
一半是渴望狂热的空虚。
那阵阵的歌声会永不停息
地唱下去：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

有些事儿我不能讲；
有些梦儿不可以忘；
有些念头使心儿软，
带给脸上的苍白，
会模糊我的眼。
那歌中的词儿如寒风般
扑打我的脸：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

古老的小镇已使我生眼，
故乡的空气还是纯又甜，
树儿摇晃渐变着熟悉街道的脸，
美丽的歌谣还在唱，
低鸣仿佛在呜咽：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

鹿林还是美又鲜，
漫游在那儿我的心儿
却不是那么甜，
找到失去的青春似梦烟，
那生疏而美丽的歌谣
还在林中唱：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”

原文：
MY LOST YOUTH

Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

潮起又潮落

潮起又潮落，
黄昏晚钟蒙影落，
沙潮滩褐客奔波，
朝起又潮落。
屋顶朦胧墙流墨，
那海，海在暗中波；
那浪，浪挽清流白沫，
冲掉了沙滩上印着的你我，
潮起又潮落。
天已破，
马立厩中叫着把脚跺，
应着马夫呵；
天反波，
滩上不现客人多，
潮起又潮落。

原文：
THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE FALLS

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curfew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hasten toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness call;
The little waves, with their soft, white ands,
Efface the foot prints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks, the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but never more
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.


星光

夜色降临，慢慢地慢慢地陷入宁静；
一切都陷入宁静，
可爱的月亮也隐没天庭。

天无光，地无光，
只有冷冷的星光；
抬头就看见，
夜色中的火星这么亮。

这可是爱的温星？
这可是爱与梦之星？
噢，不！那是蓝色的天幕上，
一个英雄铠甲上闪着的星。

当我注视远方，
我诚挚的心在飘荡，
飘荡在黑夜的空中，
飘荡在火星的身旁。

噢，星的力量！
你微笑屹立面对我的心伤；
你用披着铠甲的手向我召唤，
使我重新获得力量。

除了冷冷的星光，
我胸中已没有了光亮；
那明亮的火星就是我抬头所见的光亮。

那不屈意志的星，
那明朗、百折不挠、平静、镇定、自制的星，
升起在我的胸膛。

你是那艺术的赞美诗，
那一个紧跟一个的
是坚决而平静的希望。

噢，不要惧怕这样一个世界，
以前你就应该知道，
承受痛苦和坚强是多么地高尚。

原文：
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?
O 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 mailed 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.

O fear not in a world like this,
  And thou shalt know erelong,
Know how sublime a thing it is
  To suffer and be strong.

孩子

来吧，孩子们！
我听到你们的欢声，
困绕我的心绪就一扫而光。

打开东边的窗，
看着升起的太阳，
心情就象呢喃的燕子，
就象晨溪中的泉水在流淌。

你们的心儿是鸟儿和阳光，
你们的思想是溪水的流淌，
我却是秋天的风，
是飘下的第一片雪。

啊！如果没有了孩子，
这个世界会变成什么样？
那将真会是地老也天荒。

对森林来说，
树叶是生存的空气和阳光，
在温柔的甜汁儿成材之前─
世界是孩子们的；
树荫外才是灿烂的阳光。

来吧，孩子们！
在我耳边低语，
多么象鸟儿和暖风在阳光下欢唱。

和你们的天真无邪，
和你们充满欢乐的笑脸比起来，
我们的才智，
我们的知识又算什么呢？

你们比所有曾传唱的
歌谣都动听，
因为你们就是活着的诗，
其余的都已死亡。

原文：
CHILDREN

Come to me, O ye children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
And the brooks of morning run.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood,--

That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.

Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?

Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.

雨天

这么冷，这么暗，这么阴郁的天；
下着雨的天，风也不知疲倦；
葡萄藤缠绕着断墙，
每一阵风都吹来落叶的忧伤，
天是这么黑，这么阴冷。

我的生命也是这么冷，这么暗，这么忧伤；
也在下着阴雨，也吹着不知疲倦的冷风；
我的心还依恋着已逝的过去，
年青时的梦也随疾风而去，
这是多么黑暗，多么阴冷的日子。

平静吧，悲伤的心！不要再埋怨；
被乌云遮住的太阳还在耀眼，
你只是所有人中一个普通的命运，
每个人生命中总会有阴雨，
总会有些日子是黑暗和忧伤。

原文：
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 moldering 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 moldering 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.

箭和歌

我向空中射出一只箭；
我也不知射向了谁边；
因为那箭飞得那么快，
不可能跟它飞到天边。

我向空中吹出一支曲，
我也不知飘到了哪里，
谁的眼这么尖这么利，
能跟着那歌儿飞出去？

我在树上找到那只箭，
过了许久还没断的箭；
从头到尾我都知那曲，
吹到了一个朋友心里。

原文：
THE ARROW AND THE SONG

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

有人评价朗费罗是“所有新英格兰的晨星中，他是最大最亮而带甜味的一颗。”("Of 
all the suns of the New England morning," says Van Wyck Brooks, "he was the 
largest in his golden sweetness." )其实朗费罗并不是一颗星，他只是一只鸟儿，
他是新英格兰美丽的田园中一只喜欢抒情歌唱的鸟儿，不过这只鸟儿的歌会永远传
唱下去…


2002年1月 波士顿

◇◇新语丝(www.xys.org)(xys.dxiong.com)(xys1.dyndns.org)(xys.3322.org)◇◇