不朽颂
本帖最后由 鹤梦白云上 于 2013-10-30 19:28 编辑这篇译文的缘起是朋友给我布置的作业。我本来也在一本育儿书上读过其中的一段，感觉甚合吾心，趁此机会有人推我一把，就努力把它翻译了出来。他说要奖励一瓶德累斯顿产红葡萄酒，这个倒是不必了，因为，这首诗的文中就已经饱含着佳酿，让我如痴如醉，这是一点也不夸张地说的！不信，那您也读读吧。
不朽颂（颂：从童年记忆里得出的永生的暗示）
（Ode：Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood）
－华兹华斯
曾经，一草、一木、一条溪流、
一方泥土、每一处寻常的景致，
对我来说，仿佛
都蒙着天国的明辉，
都浸在荣耀、新奇的梦里。
如今，一切已不复当年；――
不论我转向何方，
不论白天黑夜，
我再也不能见到当初所见的情景。
彩虹显隐，
玫瑰可人；
明月满怀欣喜，
环顾朗朗乾坤；
星光璀璨之夜，
湖水清丽而秀美；
初生的太阳无比绚烂； ［1］
然而我知道，不论我去向哪里，
哪里都从大地上褪去了荣耀。
此刻，小鸟们唱着欢歌，
小羊羔欢跳得
就象敲打着小鼓，
唯独我被一缕忧思所困扰：
恰逢其时的天籁给了我安慰，
使我重新得以振作：
峭壁之上，飞泻的瀑布正号角齐鸣；
不许我的忧思再来败坏这大好时光；
我听见此起彼伏的回声正涌向山岗，
一阵阵清风从沉睡的田野上吹来，
整个大地一片欢腾；
陆地和海洋
都兴高采烈，
怀着五月的心情，
每一个动物都欢欣鼓舞；――
欢乐的孩子啊，
在我周围叫喊吧，快乐的牧童啊，
让我来听听你的叫喊！
你们这些大快人心的生灵，我听见
你们彼此呼唤的声音；我看见
天空大笑着和你们一起欢庆佳节；
我在心中分享你们的节日，
我在头上戴着节日的花冠，
你们丰厚的福泽，我感觉――我感觉到全部。
这样的日子里还怎能忧愁？
在这宜人的五月清晨，
大地已然装扮一新，
各地的孩子们
在成百上千个悠长、宽广的山谷内
采摘着鲜花；
阳光和煦，
婴儿在他母亲的怀抱里雀跃：――
我听着，我听着，我满心喜悦地听着！
――然而有一棵树，许多棵中的一棵，
还有一片在我眼底的田野，
两者都在谈论着逝去的往事：
我脚下的三色堇，
也在重复着同样的话题：
那些想像的光芒如今逸之何方？
那些荣耀和梦境如今在何处隐藏？
我们的诞生不过是入睡，是忘却：
我们与生俱来的灵魂，我们生命的星辰，［2］
原先安放在异域，
如今远道而来：
并未把前缘遗忘殆尽，
并非赤条条身无寸缕，
拖曳着荣耀的祥云，我们来自 ［3］
上帝的身侧，那里是我们的家园：
在我们婴儿时期，天堂就在我们左右！
当一个儿童渐渐成长，牢房的阴影
便渐渐向他逼近，
但他还能看见明辉，还能喜悦地看见
那流布明辉的本源；
青春时代，他必须每日旅行，距离东方 ［4］
渐行渐远，但仍然是造化的祭司， ［5］
在他的旅途之中
仍然被灿烂的想像所照拂；
等到他长大成人，他便意识到明辉泯灭，
消失在平凡生活的流光里。
尘世把她自己的欢娱都搂在膝上；
她自有一套她特有的心愿，
甚至以慈母般的心肠
怀着绝非无益的志向，
这朴实的保姆尽其所能，
要让她的养子，她收容的世人， ［6］
忘记他已经知晓的荣耀，
忘记他所来自的至高无上的宫殿。
瞧这个沉浸在幼年幸福中的孩子，
小矮人一般高的六岁大的小宝贝！
看，他躺在自己手工作品之间，
厌烦了他母亲频频迸发的亲吻，
被他父亲的目光所注视！
看，在他脚下有些小小的计划和蓝图，
有些他人生梦想的零星的片段，
被他用自己新学会的手法勾勒而成；
一场婚礼，或一次庆典，
一场葬礼，或一次悼念；
此刻，这些事物占据了他的心灵，
他把这些编成歌曲：
随后，他便开腔
谈起生意、爱情、或者冲突；
然而不须多久
他就会把这些扔在一边，
怀着新一轮欢欣和豪情，
这位小演员就会琢磨起另一种角色；
不时出入于“谐谑剧舞台”，扮演 ［7］
各种人物，命运之神的列位扈从，
一直演到老态龙钟，瘫痪不起；
仿佛他的全职
就在于模拟。
你外在的表象掩盖了 ［8］
你灵魂的广博；
你是最卓越的哲人，依然保全着
你的秉赋，你是盲人中的明眼人， ［9］
听不见，说不出，凝视着永恒之渊，
那里永远萦绕着永恒的心智，――
强大的智者、有福的先知啊！ ［10］
在你身上栖息着真实，
为此我们劳碌一生，孜孜以求，
却又在幽冥中，在墓穴的幽冥中失去；
在你身上，永生
如同白昼一般笼罩，是一仆之主，
是一个不容回避的存在；
对你来说，墓穴
不过是一张孤单的床榻，
不知白昼，不见阳光，
是一个供我们卧倒、等待的思索之地；
孩子啊，如今你正当生命的高峰，
正享受着天赋自由的权力而充满了荣耀，
又为何要如此迫不及待、如此辛苦地
去招惹岁月来给你戴上无可避免的枷锁，
为何要盲目地和你的天恩发生冲突？
很快你的灵魂就要装满她尘世的负载，
习俗也将在你的身上压上一份担子，
厚重得如同冰霜，深得几乎等同于一生！
庆幸吧！在我们的余烬里
依然有所存留，
那些稍纵即逝的
依然为灵性所铭记！
对往昔岁月的怀想，在我心底
唤起了经久不息的感恩之情：
并非为了这些最值得祝福的――
欢乐和自由，这是孩子们
一静一动都尊奉的信条，
带着在心里振翅欲飞的羽翼初丰的希望：――
并非为了这些我才想发出
感谢和赞美的歌唱；
而是为了那些寻根究底的追问，
追问感官和外在的世界，
那些从我们身上坠落的、消失的事物；
为了一个在不实的境域之中
漂泊的生灵所产生的迷茫的疑虑，
为了一个象受惊的罪人一般
颤抖的凡性所面对的高度的本能： ［11］
也是为了那些最初的情感， ［12］
那些模糊的回忆，
它们，不论究竟是何种模样，
都是我们所有日子的本源之光，
也是我们全部视野的主导之光；
支撑着我们，关怀我们，总有一种力量
能使我们嘈杂的岁月看起来仿佛是在
永恒静穆中存在的片刻：这是觉醒的真实，
决不会消亡：
不论倦怠还是痴狂，
不论成人还是儿童，
不论与欢乐为敌的一切
都无法完全予以抹煞或者磨灭！
因此，在这风平浪静的季节，
尽管我们身处偏远的内地，
我们的灵魂仍可以看见
把我们送至此间的永生之海，
只消片刻便可以飞越到那里，
便可以看见孩子们在海滩上嬉戏，
便可以听见浩瀚的大海在翻腾不息。
歌唱吧，小鸟们，唱一曲欢歌！
让小羊羔欢跳得
就象敲打着小鼓！
我们也打算加入你们的行列，
一起吹笛，一起玩耍，
一起通过自己的心灵
去感受五月的欢欣！
纵然曾经那么灿烂的明辉
已经永远从我的视野里消退，
纵然谁也无法召回当初的那些
草儿上的辉煌、花儿上的荣耀，
纵然如此亦无妨，我们不要悲伤，
我们要在遗存之中汲取力量；
我们力量的源泉在于一直保存完好的
原始的恻隐之心； ［13］
在于从人类苦难发端的
抚慰人心的思想；
在于看透死亡的信仰，
在于产生哲学洞识的岁月。
哦！清泉、草地、山岗、丛林，
不要预示我们之间的情谊会发生任何中断！
在我的内心之心我依然感受着你们的伟力；
我只是舍弃了一份愉悦，
却得到了你们更为潜移默化的陶冶。
我爱冲刷自己河道的溪流
竟甚于我和它们一般步履轻快的早年；
朝昼清新来，
鲜明固可喜；
暮云淡淡去， ［14］
落日不足惜； ［15］
竞路连番过，
赢取棕榈多。 ［16］
感谢我们赖以生存的人心，
感谢人心的柔情、欢欣、和敬畏，
对我来说，那最卑微的一朵花开 ［17］
也能赠予深思，深邃得不消泪水。
注释：
［1］原文：The sunshine is a glorious birth.
［2］星辰：以星喻灵魂，可能部份因为星星有指引的功能。
［3］祥云：说的是灵魂的曳迹。
［4］东方：人的一生被喻为自东向西的旅行。
［5］祭司：取其人神中介之义。
［6］养子：喻尘世所收容的世人。
［7］谐谑剧舞台：出自塞缪尔·丹尼尔(1562-1619)十四行诗《致福克·格雷维尔》。
［8］你：即上文六岁儿童。
［9］眼睛：喻儿童乃是成人的眼睛，聋瞽瘖哑者喻成人。
［10］先知：即上文六岁儿童。
［11］凡性：mortal nature, 即凡人的根本属性，死亡是主要方面，另有贪、嗔、痴等俗念。
［12］最初的情感：即幼年时期的情感。
［13］恻隐之心：孟子有四端说。恻隐之心，仁之端；羞恶之心，义之端；辞让之心，礼之端；是非之心，智之端。
［14］暮云淡淡去：意境极近元好问《颍亭留别》――因看透、看清世界而产生的淡然！
故人重分携，临流驻归驾。
乾坤展清眺，万景若相借。
北风三日雪，太素秉元化。
九山郁峥嵘，了不受陵跨。
寒波澹澹起，白鸟悠悠下。
怀归人自急，物态本闲暇。
壶觞负吟啸，尘土足悲咤。
回首亭中人，平林淡如画。
［15］以上四行原文五行，直译为：
新生之昼的清白的鲜明
依然可喜；
落日周边的暮云
在守望着人之凡性的眼里
呈现出淡淡的颜色；
［16］以上两行原文一行，直译为：
经过又一程竞赛，又赢得束束棕榈。
此言有典出自《新约·哥林多前书》9：24。这里主要意思在于人生道路上的目标、努力、和节制：
“岂不知在场上赛跑的都跑、但得奖赏的只有一人．你们也当这样跑、好叫你们得着奖赏。凡较力争胜的、诸事都有节制．他们不过是要得能坏的冠冕．我们却是要得不能坏的冠冕。所以我奔跑、不像无定向的．我斗拳、不像打空气的。我是攻克己身、叫身服我．恐怕我传福音给别人、自己反被弃绝了。”
［17］一朵花开：布莱克有类似思想：
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
一沙一世界，一花一天堂。
无限掌中置，刹那成永恒。(徐志摩译)
哇~~~巨大的工程噢！
俺没读过~~~先把原文找来，有空再来细看：）
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;--
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every Beast keep holiday;--
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Shepherd-boy!
Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel--I feel it all.
Oh evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,
And the Children are culling
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:--
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
--But there's a Tree, of many, one,
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little Actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his "humorous stage"
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy Soul's immensity;
Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,--
Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by;
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest--
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:--
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise;
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
Are yet a master light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young Lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
还真是巨大工程呢。
如译者说，读诗也可如痴如醉的。
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