Whitman, on a 1863 photo  by W. Kurtz or M.Brady: "I confess to myself a perhaps capricious fondness for it."

章节十五

风琴旁嗓音圆润的女中音在歌唱，

木匠在修整他的厚木板，刨子的铁舌发出了疯狂上升的嘶叫声，
已婚和未婚的孩子们回家去赴感恩节的筵席，
舵手紧握住那主舵柄，用粗壮的手臂朝下面推送，
大副心无二用地站在捕鲸船上，矛和鱼叉都已经准备好，
打鸭子的悄悄又谨慎地走了一程又一程，
教会的执事们在圣坛前交叉着两手接受圣职，
纺纱女随着大纺轮的鸣响而进退，
农夫在星期日漫步查看燕麦和裸麦时在栅栏那里暂停，
疯子的病已经确诊，终于被送进了疯人院，
(他不会再睡在母亲卧室里的小榻上了；)
头发灰白、下颚瘦削的排字工人在活字盘旁工作，
他咀嚼着烟叶，两眼蒙咙地望着稿样；
畸形的肢体被绑在外科医生的手术台上，
割掉的部分被丢落在桶里，好不怕人；
黑白混血的女孩在拍卖场上被出卖，醉汉在酒吧间的火炉边打瞌睡，
机械工卷起了袖子，值班的警察在巡逻，看门的注视着进出的行人，
小伙子赶着快车，(我爱他，虽然我并不认识他；)
混血儿系上了他的跑鞋，准备参加赛跑，
西部射火鸡的活动吸引了老人和青年，有的倚着枪，有的坐在木料上，
射击手从人堆里走了出来，站好位置，举枪瞄准；
新到的一群群移民站满了码头或大堤，
鬈发的在甜菜田里锄地，监工的在马鞍上监视着他们，
舞厅里的喇叭响了，男的跑去找他们的舞伴，跳舞的各自向对方鞠了一躬，
青年人睁眼躺在松木顶的阁楼上，听着音乐般的雨声，
密歇根人在注入休伦湖的小河湾那里布下了陷阱，

裹着黄色镶边布围子的印第安妇女在出售鹿皮便鞋和珠子串成的钱包，

鉴赏家沿着展览厅的长廊仔细观看，半闭着眼，哈着腰，

水手们拴牢了轮船，为上岸的乘客搭上一块厚木板，

妹妹伸手撑开一束线，姐姐把它绕成团，时而停下来解开疙瘩，
结婚才一年的妻子在恢复体力，因一周前生下了头胎而感到幸福，
头发干净的扬基女孩在操作缝衣机，或在工厂或车间里干活，
筑路工人倚着他那柄双把木槌，新闻记者的铅笔顺着笔记本飞驰，
画招牌的在用蓝金两色涂写着字母，
运河上的少年在踏步拉着纤索走，会计员坐在桌子旁算着账，鞋匠

在给他的麻线打上蜡，

指挥在给军乐队打拍子，所有的演奏员都跟随着他，
孩子受了洗礼，新进教的正在宣讲他的初步心得，
比赛的船只布满了海湾，竞赛已经开始，(白帆的金光闪得有多亮!)
赶牲口的在看守着他的牲口，哪几只走散他就张口吆喝，
小贩背上扛着包、流着汗，(买东西的在斤斤计较那一分钱的零头；)
新娘抹平了她的白礼服，时钟的分针移动得慢吞吞地，
吸鸦片的僵直着头，微张着口，斜躺着，
妓女胡乱披着围巾，她的软帽在她那醉醺醺、长满小瘰疬的颈脖上颤悠，
众人嘲笑她的下流咒骂，男人们嗤笑她，还彼此挤眉弄眼，
(可耻!我决不笑话你的咒骂，也不嗤笑你；)
总统在召开内阁会议，周围是那些部长大人，
广场上是三个庄严而友好的中年妇人在挽着臂膀走路，
一群小渔船上的捕鱼人在船舱里一层一层地铺放比目鱼，
那密苏里人跨越平原，携带着他的货物和牛羊，
收票员在车厢里走过时，响动着手里的零钱以吸引注意，
地板工人在铺地板，铅铁工人在盖屋顶，泥水匠在吆喝着要灰泥，
工人们各自肩扛着灰桶在鱼贯而前，
岁月如流星，难以形容的拥挤人群已集合起来，这是七月四日，

(听那礼炮和轻武器的鸣响声!)

岁月如流星，耕田的耕田，割草的割草，冬天的种子落进了土地；
在大湖那边，捕捉梭鱼的人在冰洞旁边守候着，
新开辟的土地上到处是密密麻麻的树桩，开地的用他那斧子大力地砍伐着，
快到黄昏时，平底船的船夫们在那些白杨或胡桃树附近拴住了船，
寻捕浣熊的人们走遍了红河地区或那些被田纳西河汲干了的

地区或阿肯色河地区，

在恰塔胡支或阿尔塔马哈15周围的黑暗中照亮着火炬，
长辈们坐着用晚餐，周围陪着的是儿子、孙子和曾孙们，
在土坯墙里，篷帐下，经过了一天追逐之后，猎户们和捕兽者在休息，
城市入睡了，乡村入睡了，
活着的，该睡时睡了，死了的，该睡时睡了，
年老的丈夫睡在他妻子身旁，年轻的丈夫睡在他妻子身旁；
这些都内向进入了我心，而我则是外向脸朝着它们，
按目前光景，我争取多少和它们一样，

我为其中的每一个和全体在编织这首我自己的歌。

The pure contralto sings in the organ loft,

The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp,

The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanks- giving dinner,

The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm,

The mate stands braced in the whale-boat, lance and harpoon are ready,

The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches,

The deacons are ordain'd with cross'd hands at the altar,

The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big wheel,

The farmer stops by the bars as he walks on a First-day loafe and looks at the oats and rye,

The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum a confirm'd case,

(He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in his mother's bed-room;)

The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case,

He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blurr with the manu- script;

The malform'd limbs are tied to the surgeon's table,

What is removed drops horribly in a pail;

The quadroon girl is sold at the auction-stand, the drunkard nods by the bar-room stove,

The machinist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat, the gate-keeper marks who pass,

The young fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, though I do not know him;)

The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in the race,

The western turkey-shooting draws old and young, some lean on their rifles, some sit on logs,

Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position, levels his piece;

The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee,

As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them from his saddle,

The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their part- ners, the dancers bow to each other,

The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof'd garret and harks to the musical rain,

The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron,

The squaw wrapt in her yellow-hemm'd cloth is offering moccasins and bead-bags for sale,

The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with half-shut eyes bent sideways,

As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat the plank is thrown for the shore-going passengers,

The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots,

The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago borne her first child,

The clean-hair'd Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in the factory or mill,

The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporter's
         lead flies swiftly over the note-book, the sign-painter is lettering with blue and gold,

The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper counts at his desk, the shoemaker waxes his thread,

The conductor beats time for the band and all the performers follow him,

The child is baptized, the convert is making his first professions,

The regatta is spread on the bay, the race is begun, (how the white sails sparkle!)

The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray,

The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, (the purchaser hig- gling about the odd cent;)

The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly,

The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open'd lips,

The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck,

The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other,

(Miserable! I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you;)

The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries,

On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms,

The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold,

The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle,

As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the jingling of loose change,

The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the roof, the masons are calling for mortar,

In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers;

Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gather'd,
         it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!)

Seasons pursuing each other the plougher ploughs, the mower mows, and the winter-grain falls in the ground;

Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in the frozen surface,

The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep with his axe,

Flatboatmen make fast towards dusk near the cotton-wood or pecan-trees,

Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river or through
         those drain'd by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansas,

Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chattahooche or Altamahaw,

Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grand- sons around them,

In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after their day's sport,

The city sleeps and the country sleeps,

The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time,

The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife;

And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them,

And such as it is to be of these more or less I am,

And of these one and all I weave the song of myself.