| seclusive |
2007-08-06 11:38 |
V1：卞之琳 译；V2：黄杲炘 译
WE ARE SEVEN
我们是七个
William Wordsworth 威廉·华兹华斯
--A SIMPLE Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
V1：我碰见一个乡村小姑娘：
她说才八岁开外，
浓密的发丝一卷卷从四方
包裹着她的小脑袋。
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.
她带了山林野地的风味，
衣着也带了土气；
她的眼睛很美，非常美；
她的美叫我欢喜。
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.
“小姑娘，你们一共是几个，
你们姊妹弟兄？”
“几个？一共是七个，”她说，
看着我象有点不懂。
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
“他们在哪儿？请给我讲讲。”
“我们是七个，”她回答，
“两个老远的跑去了海上，
两个在康威住家。
"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
“还有我的小姐姐，小弟弟，
两个都躺在坟园，
我就住在坟园的小屋里，
跟母亲，离他们不远。”
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."
“你既说两个跑击了海上，
两个在康威住家，
可还说是七个！——请给我讲讲，
好姑娘，这怎么说法。”
Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."
“我们一共是七个女和男，”
小姑娘马上就回答，
里头有两个躺在坟园，
在那棵坟树底下。”
"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."
“你跑来跑去，我的小姑娘，
你的手脚都灵活；
既然有两个埋进了坟坑，
你们就只剩了五个。”
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.
小姑娘回答说，“他们的坟头
看得见一片青青，
十二步就到母亲的门口，
他们俩靠得更近。
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.
“我常到那儿去织我的毛袜，
给我的手绢缝边；
我常到那儿的地上去坐下，
唱歌给他们消遣。
"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
“到大阳落山了，刚近黄昏，
要是天气好，黑得晚，
我常把小汤碗带上一份，
上那儿吃我的晚饭。
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
“先走的一个是金妮姐姐，
她躺在床上哭叫，
老天爷把她的痛苦解了结，
她就悄悄的走掉。
"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
“所以她就在坟园里安顿；
我们要出去游戏，
草不湿，就绕着她的坟墩——
我和约翰小弟弟。
"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."
“地上盖满了白雪的时候，
我可以滑溜坡面，
约翰小弟弟可又得一走，
他就躺到了她旁边。”
"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."
我就说，“既然他们俩升了天，
你们剩几个了，那么？”
小姑娘马上又回答一遍：
“先生，我们是七个。”
"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
V2：这是一个单纯的小孩子，
她正在轻松地呼吸：
她感到周身充满了活力，
怎知道什么叫做死？
我碰见个住小屋的女娃：
她说她已经有八岁；
她长着又密又鬈的头发，
一绺绺在头的周围。
她带着乡野和山林气息，
身上穿得七零八落，
她那双眼睛可真是美丽，
她的美真叫我快活。
于是我向她发问：“小姑娘，
你有几个姐妹兄弟？”
“几个？一共有七个。”边讲
边看着我，显得惊奇。
“请告诉我，他们在哪里？”
“我们共七个”，她说。
“我们中的两个住在康韦，
两个在海船上干活。
“还有两个躺在教堂的墓园，
那是我姐姐和弟弟；
我同妈妈住得离那不远，
就在墓地的小屋里。”
“你说有两个是住在康韦，
两个在海船上干活，
可你们是七个！告诉我，
好姑娘，这话怎说？”
“我们有七个姐妹和兄弟，”
小姑娘这样地回答，
“两个躺在教堂墓地里，
躺在那墓地的树下。”
“你能跑来跑去，小姑娘，
活力充满了你的周身；
要是有两上躺在墓地上，
那你们只剩下五人。”
小姑娘说道：“这里看得见
他们俩青青的墓地——
离家门口只有十几步远，
两个墓并排在一起。
“我常在那儿给手帕缲边，
在那儿织我的袜子；
我老是去那儿坐在地上，
为他们唱一支曲子。
“天好时，在太阳下山以后，
我常趁明亮的好天，
拿着我小小的带柄碗儿，
去那儿吃我的晚饭。
“第一个死的是姐妹简恩，
她在床上不住呻吟；
后来上帝让她不再苦痛，
于是她离开了我们。
“就这样，她给埋在墓地里；
只要地上的草还干，
我就常带着我约翰弟弟，
在她墓的四周游玩。
到地上铺满白雪的时候，
我可以去跑又去滑，
弟弟约翰却硬是给带走——
去我姐姐身旁躺下。”
我说：“他们两个进了天国，
那你说你们是几个？”
小姑娘的回答来得利落：
“先生，我们是七个。”
“可他们两个都已经死去！
灵魂儿已进了天国！”
这些话全都是白说，因为，
这位小姑娘还是不改嘴；
“不，我们是七个，”她说。
（1798年）
Notes
Written at Alfoxden in the spring of 1798, under circumstances somewhat remarkable. The little girl who is the heroine I met within the area of Goodrich Castle in the year 1793. Having left the Isle of Wight and crossed Salisbury Plain, as mentioned in the preface to "Guilt and Sorrow," I proceeded by Bristol up the Wye, and so on to North Wales, to the Vale of Clwydd, where I spent my summer under the roof of the father of my friend, Robert Jones. In reference to this Poem I will here mention one of the most remarkable facts in my own poetic history and that of Mr. Coleridge. In the spring of the year 1798, he, my Sister, and myself, started from Alfoxden, pretty late in the afternoon, with a view to visit Lenton and the valley of Stones near it; and as our united funds were very small, we agreed to defray the expense of the tour by writing a poem, to be sent to the New Monthly
Magazine set up by Phillips the bookseller, and edited by Dr. Aikin. Accordingly we set off and proceeded along the Quantock Hills towards Watchet, and in the course of this walk was planned the poem of the "Ancient Mariner," founded on a dream, as Mr. Coleridge said, of his friend, Mr. Cruikshank. Much the greatest part of the story was Mr. Coleridge's invention; but certain parts I myself suggested:--for example, some crime was to be committed which should bring upon the old Navigator, as Coleridge afterwards delighted to call him, the spectral persecution, as a consequence of that crime, and his own wanderings. I had been reading in Shelvock's Voyages a day or two before that while doubling Cape Horn they frequently saw Albatrosses in that latitude, the largest sort of sea-fowl, some extending their wings twelve or fifteen feet. "Suppose," said I, "you represent him as having killed one of these birds on entering the South Sea, and that the tutelary Spirits of those regions take upon them to avenge the crime." The incident was thought fit for the purpose and adopted accordingly. I also suggested the navigation of the ship by the dead men, but do not recollect that I had anything more to do with the scheme of the poem. The Gloss with which it was subsequently accompanied was not thought of by either of us at the time; at least, not a hint of it was given to me, and I have no doubt it was a gratuitous afterthought We began the composition together on that, to me, memorable evening. I furnished two or three lines at the beginning of the poem, in particular:--
"And listened like a three years' child;
The Mariner had his will."
These trifling contributions, all but one (which Mr. C. has with unnecessary scrupulosity recorded) slipt out of his mind as they well might. As we endeavoured to proceed conjointly (I speak of the same evening) our respective manners proved so widely different that it would have been quite presumptuous in me to do anything but separate from an undertaking upon which I could only have been a clog. We returned after a few days from a delightful tour, of which I have many pleasant, and some of them droll- enough, recollections. We returned by Dulverton to Alfoxden. The "Ancient Mariner" grew and grew till it became too important for our first object, which was limited to our expectation of five pounds, and we began to talk of a Volume, which was to consist, as Mr. Coleridge has told the world, of poems chiefly on supernatural subjects taken from common life, but looked at, as much as might be, through an imaginative medium. Accordingly I wrote "The Idiot Boy," "Her eyes are wild," etc., "We are seven," "The Thorn," and some others. To return to "We are seven," the piece that called forth this note, I composed it while walking in the grove at Alfoxden. My friends will not deem it too trifling to relate that while walking to and fro I composed the last stanza first, having begun with the last line. When it was all but finished, I came in and recited it to Mr. Coleridge and my Sister, and said, "A prefatory stanza must be added, and I should sit down to our little tea-meal with greater pleasure if my task were finished." I mentioned in substance what I wished to be expressed, and Coleridge immediately threw off the stanza thus:--
"A little child, dear brother Jem,"--
I objected to the rhyme, "dear brother Jem," as being ludicrous, but we all enjoyed the joke of hitching-in our friend, James T----'s name, who was familiarly called Jem. He was the brother of the dramatist, and this reminds me of an anecdote which it may be worth while here to notice. The said Jem got a sight of the Lyrical Ballads as it was going through the press at Bristol, during which time I was residing in that city. One evening he came to me with a grave face, and said, "Wordsworth, I have seen the volume that Coleridge and you are about to publish. There is one poem in it which I earnestly entreat you will cancel, for, if published, it will make you everlastingly ridiculous." I answered that I felt much obliged by the interest he took in my good name as a writer, and begged to know what was the unfortunate piece he alluded to. He said, "It is called 'We are seven.'" Nay! said I, that shall take its chance, however, and he left me in despair. I have only to add that in the spring of 1841 I revisited Goodrich Castle, not having seen that part of the Wye since I met the little Girl there in 1793. It would have given me greater pleasure to have found in the neighbouring hamlet traces of one who had interested me so much; but that was impossible, as unfortunately I did not even know her name. The ruin, from its position and features, is a most impressive object. I could not but deeply regret that its solemnity was impaired by a fantastic new Castle set up on a projection of the same ridge, as if to show how far modern art can go in surpassing all that could be done by antiquity and nature with their united graces, remembrances, and associations. |
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