LESSON 132

THE SOLITARY REAPER

孤独的割麦女

William Wordsworth, 1770-1850, the founder of the “Lake School” of poets, was born at Cockermouth, Cumberland, England. From his boyhood he was a great lover and student of nature, and it is to his beautiful descriptions of landscape, largely, that he owes his fame. He was a graduate of Cambridge University, and while there commenced the study of Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, and Shakespeare, as models for his own writings. Two legacies having been bequeathed him, Wordsworth determined to make poetry the aim of his life, and in 1795 located at Racedown with his sister Dorothy, where he commenced the tragedy of “The Borderers.” A visit from Coleridge at this period made the two poets friends for life. In 1802 Wordsworth married Miss Mary Hutchinson, and in 1813 he settled at Rydal Mount, on Lake Windermere, where he passed the remainder of his life.

Wordsworth’s poetry is remarkable for its extreme simplicity of language. At first his efforts were almost universally ridiculed, and in 1819 his entire income from literary work had not amounted to 140 Pounds. In 1830 his merit began to be recognized; in 1839 Oxford University conferred upon him the degree of D. C. L.; and in 1843 he was made poet laureate.

“The Excursion” is by far the most beautiful and the most important of Wordsworth’s productions. “Salisbury Plain,” “The White Doe of Rylstone,” “Yarrow Revisited,” and many of his sonnets and minor poems are also much admired.

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;

Oh listen! for the vale profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

No nightingale did ever chant

More welcome notes to weary bands

Of travelers in some shady haunt,

Among Arabian sands:

A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard

In springtime 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 listened motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

【中文阅读】

看啊，在田里她独自一人，

那个苏格兰高原的少女！

独自收割，独自唱歌；

停下脚步吧，或者悄悄走过去！

她独自割麦，又把它捆好，

唱着一只忧郁的曲调，

啊，听！这深邃的谷地

流淌着悠扬歌声。

从没有夜莺能够唱出

更美的音调来把疲惫的旅人，

迎到一个荫凉的去处。

就在阿拉伯沙漠的中央：

布谷鸟在春天叫得那般动人，

也没有这样优美动听，

惊破了远至赫伯里底群岛的

大海的沉寂。

她唱的是什么，何人说得清？

哀怨的曲调里也许在流传

古老，不幸，悠久的事情，

还有长久以前的征战：

抑或她吟唱的尽是卑微，

道出的是今日熟悉的事情？

那些自然而生的悲哀、丧优或者痛苦，

世间常有，还复再来？

不管这姑娘唱的是什么题目，

她的歌好像没有尽头；

我看见她边唱边干活，

弯着腰，把镰刀挥舞——

我一动也不动，听了许久；

后来，我上山的时候，

那曲调还记在心头，

尽管那歌声已绝响很久。