LESSON 25

THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE

快活的老先生

George Arnold, 1834—1865, was born in New York City. He never attended school, but was educated at home, by his parents. His literary career occupied a period of about twelve years. In this time he wrote stories, essays, criticisms in art and literature, poems, sketches, etc., for several periodicals. Two volumes of his poems have been published since his death.

’T was a jolly old pedagogue, long ago,

Tall, and slender, and sallow, and dry;

His form was bent, and his gait was slow,

And his long, thin hair was white as snow,

But a wonderful twinkle shone in his eye:

And he sang every night as he went to bed,

“Let us be happy down here below;

The living should live, though the dead be dead,”

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

He taught the scholars the Rule of Three,

Reading, and writing, and history too;

He took the little ones on his knee,

For a kind old heart in his breast had he,

And the wants of the littlest child he knew.

“Learn while you’re young,” he often said,

“There is much to enjoy down here below;

Life for the living, and rest for the dead!”

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

With the stupidest boys, he was kind and cool,

Speaking only in gentlest tones;

The rod was scarcely known in his school—

Whipping to him was a barbarous rule,

And too hard work for his poor old bones;

Besides it was painful, he sometimes said:

“We should make life pleasant down here below—

The living need charity more than the dead,”

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

He lived in the house by the hawthorn lane,

With roses and woodbine over the door;

His rooms were quiet, and neat, and plain,

But a spirit of comfort there held reign,

And made him forget he was old and poor.

“I need so little,” he often said;

“And my friends and relatives here below

Won’t litigate over me when I am dead,”

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

But the pleasantest times he had of all,

Were the sociable hours he used to pass,

With his chair tipped back to a neighbor’s wall,

Making an unceremonious call,

Over a pipe and a friendly glass:

This was the finest pleasure, he said,

Of the many he tasted here below:

“Who has no cronies had better be dead,”

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

The jolly old pedagogue’s wrinkled face

Melted all over in sunshiny smiles;

He stirred his glass with an old-school grace,

Chuckled, and sipped, and prattled apace,

Till the house grew merry from cellar to tiles.

“I’m a pretty old man,” he gently said,

“I’ve lingered a long time here below;

But my heart is fresh, if my youth is fled!”

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

He smoked his pipe in the balmy air

Every night, when the sun went down;

And the soft wind played in his silvery hair,

Leaving its tenderest kisses there,

On the jolly old pedagogue’s jolly old crown;

And feeling the kisses, he smiled, and said:

“ ’T is a glorious world down here below;

Why wait for happiness till we are dead?”

Said this jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

He sat at his door one midsummer night,

After the sun had sunk in the west,

And the lingering beams of golden light

Made his kindly old face look warm and bright,

While the odorous night winds whispered, “Rest!”

Gently, gently, he bowed his head;

There were angels waiting for him, I know;

He was sure of his happiness, living or dead,

This jolly old pedagogue, long ago!

【中文阅读】

很久以前，他是一位快活的老先生，

个子高高又纤瘦，脸色蜡黄又干枯；

弯腰弓背，步履蹒跚，

稀疏的长发白如雪，

可他眼睛闪耀奇异的光芒：

唱歌到很晚才上床，

“我们就在高高兴兴安眠吧；

活着的终究要活着，该死的终究要死，”

很久以前，这个欢快的老先生说。

他教给学生三条法则，

读书，写东西和历史；

他把最小的孩子抱在膝上，

他的胸膛里有一颗善良的心，

他知道最小的孩子需要什么。

“少壮要读书，”他常说，

“死了倒是能享受更多的快乐；

生活是给活着人的，其余的才留给死人！”

很久以前，这个欢快的老先生说。

对最懒惰的孩子，他既和善又严肃，

连说话都那么温柔；

在他的学堂没人晓得棍棒——

对他来说鞭笞是野蛮人的规则，

他那把老骨头也打不了人；

况且这是痛苦的，他有时说：

“我们应该让那里的生活充满欢乐——

活人对仁慈的需要更甚于死人，”

很久以前，这个欢快的老先生说。

他住在山楂树巷的一幢房子里，

门口掩映玫瑰和忍冬；

他的房间静谧，整洁又简朴，

但充满温馨和惬意，

他简直忘了自己年事已高又贫穷。

“我无所求，”他常说。

“我死时，我的朋友和亲戚在阴间

不会起诉我的。”

很久以前，这个欢快的老先生说。

他的全部快活的时光

就是那几小时与人交流的时间，

他的椅子向后抵着邻家的墙，

随意叫人给他拿来

烟斗和花镜

这是最纯粹的快乐，他说，

他在那里已经尝试很多回了：

“没有朋友的人生不如死，”

很久以前，这个欢快的老先生说。

这个欢快的老先生那张闪闪发光的脸

绽出愉快的微笑；

他扶了一下花镜，姿势那般优雅，

咯咯一笑，呷了一口茶，像孩子般天真无邪地说着什么，

直到整幢房子从地窖到瓦片都透着欢乐。

“我真的老了，”他轻声说，

“我在阴间门口已经徘徊很久了；

可我的心是年轻的，要是我的青春能再来的话！”

很久以前，这个欢快的老先生说。

在温暖的氛围里，他吸着烟斗

每个晚上，当太阳落下

微风轻抚他那满头银发，

留下最温柔的吻，

在这个欢快的老先生那欢快的头上；

觉察到那轻吻，他微笑道：

“下界是令人快乐的世界；

为什么到死都等待幸福？”

很久以前，这个欢快的老先生说。

一个仲夏夜，斜阳西下后，

他坐在门口，

金色余晖徜徉，

他那张和蔼的老脸愈发温和明亮，

香风低语，“休息吧！”

轻轻的，他低下头；

我知道天使来接他；

他肯定沐浴在幸福中，不管活着还是撒手人寰，

很久以前，有位欢快的老先生。