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84。赤足男孩

祝福你啊，小小男孩，
 赤足男孩，脸儿晒得褐黄黄，
 将马裤高高卷，
 口哨里尽是些欢快，
 嘴唇红润润，鲜丽又安详，
 在山坡上被草莓亲吻过，
 挂着一脸的阳光，
  破帽沿上充满自信的优雅，
 真心想给你些欢乐，
 我也曾是个赤足男孩。

 哦少年时光无忧无虑，
 睡醒了欢快着每一天，
 健康得似乎将医生看扁，
 满肚子学校外学到的知识，
 知道为何蜜蜂早晨追逐，
 知道野花开放的时间地址，
 知道老鹰为何争斗和它的习性，
 知道那些林中鸟儿的知识，
 知道乌龟怎样背着个壳儿，
 知道土拨鼠如何造窝，
 知道鼹鼠会淹没他的井洞，
 知道罗宾鸟如何养她的孩子，
 知道金莺鸟如何将巢悬着，
 知道哪有百合在吹喇叭，
 知道哪长最新鲜的草莓，
 知道哪有番薯追着它的藤草，
 知道哪的葡萄饱满圆亮，
 知道黑马蜂如何地狡猾，
 知道泥匠如何筑墙，
 知道如何做楼宇的计划，
 还知道灰马蜂的狡诈，
 因为不必去查看书本和知识，
 大自然会回答他所有的问题。
 他与她手拉着手一起走路，
 他与她面对面地谈述，
 他也是她的欢乐，
 祝福那裸足男孩！ 

 少年在那六月时光，
 似乎一年的活要在一个月里作光。
 我耳闻和目睹，
 是我，他们的主人在等待，
 我曾有许多的花儿树木，
 哼唱的鸟儿和踩蜜的蜂，
 我眼里的运动是松鼠的玩耍，
 尖嘴的鼹鼠用铲子辛勤地工作；
 我喜欢那长长黑草莓的滋味，
 那草莓将紫色蔓出篱笆和石头。
 欢笑的溪水让我快乐，
 夜以继日地，
 对着花园的墙悄悄地说，
 与我从秋季谈到另一个秋季，
 我将沙子圈在小鱼游的池塘，
 我和核桃一起滚下山坡，
 我还坐在弯弯的果树枝上，
 那是赫斯帕里得斯女神的苹果！
 当我的视野越来越宽阔，
 我所明知识也越来越多；
 我所耳闻目睹的世界，
 看着像是个复杂的中国玩具，
 那玩具为赤足男孩不断更新！

 哦，过节时美味多多，
 如我那盛牛奶和面包的碗，
 是锡制的调羹木制的碗，
 邻居门前粗鲁和调皮！
 罩在我头顶，好似皇家的帐篷，
 云彩如织，黄昏变得扭曲，
 紫色作帷幕，金色嵌着边。
 打着圈子，风儿荡秋千；
 音乐作响好戏开始，
 是青蛙乐队在哇哇奏音，
 为使那合唱减轻声音，
 萤火虫点燃了灯具，
 我是那君主威风又高兴，
 赤足等待啊，男孩！

 高兴起来吧，我的小男孩，
 活泼又欢快，就像男孩该过的日子！
 别管石板的斜坡那么的硬，
 刚割过的草茬也剑般锋硬，
 每个晨曦将带你度过，
 露浥给你新的洗礼，
 每个夜晚对你的足，
 会有凉凉风儿亲吻的。
 很快你将掩藏着双足，
 将它们监在你高傲的牢，
 给那可怜的脚自由吧，
 就如工作的小马应该着双鞋，
 好给磨坊辛勤拉磨，
 来来回回辛苦劳作，
 若工作的成果被察觉就很快乐。
 不要涉足禁止去的地方，
 沉溺声色是快乐的，切莫进入
 那迅将结束狡诈的罪，
 啊！那样你就会真正快乐，
 听听我这话，赤足的男孩！

原 文--

选自《BEST LOVED POEMS/最受喜爱的诗歌》

美国著名诗人John Greenleaf Whittier所作
1807-1892

84。THE BAREFOOT BOY

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberrys on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,--
I was once a barefoot boy!

Prince thou art,--the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou more hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,--
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned in schools,
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild-flower's time and place,
Fight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung,
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,--
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw and knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O'er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire,
I was a monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prisons cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!