BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself,
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travelers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden
sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;——
I listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
看,一个孤独的高原姑娘,
在远远的田野间收割,
一边割一边独自歌唱,
请你站住.或者俏悄走过!
她独自把麦子割了又捆,
唱出无限悲凉的歌声,
屏息听吧!深广的谷地
已被歌声涨满而漫溢!
还从未有过夜莺百啭,
唱出过如此迷人的歌,
在沙漠中的绿荫间
抚慰过疲惫的旅客;
还从未有过杜鹃迎春,
声声啼得如此震动灵魂,
在遥远的赫布利底群岛
打破过大海的寂寥。
她唱什么,谁能告诉我?
忧伤的音符不断流涌,
是把遥远的不聿诉说?
是把古代的战争吟咏?
也许她的歌比较卑谦,
只是唱今日平凡的悲欢,
只是唱自然的哀伤苦痛——
昨天经受过,明天又将重逢?
姑娘唱什么,我猜不着,
她的歌如流水永无尽头;
只见她一边唱一边干活,
弯腰挥镰,操劳不休……
我凝神不动,听她歌唱,
然后,当我登上了山岗,
尽管歌声早已不能听到,
它却仍在我心头缭绕。
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