之前在文学翻译课上的作业~当时我还坐在后排感慨所谓的翻译大家也不过尔尔什么的（罪过呀，罪过），后来老师布置作业翻译了其中一部分，自认为翻得不错，拿来与大家看看，学汉语言文学的同学多多指错哈~

爱默生原文如下：

    First, the simple perception of natural forms is a delight. The influence of the forms and actions in nature, is so needful to man, that, in its lowest functions, it seems to lie on the confines of commodity and beauty. To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone. The tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself. The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired, so long as we can see far enough.

    But in other hours, Nature satisfies by its loveliness, and without any mixture of corporeal benefit. I see the spectacle of morning from the hill-top over against my house, from day-break to sun-rise, with emotions which an angel might share. The long slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the sea of crimson light. From the earth, as a shore, I look out into that silent sea. I seem to partake its rapid transformations: the active enchantment reaches my dust, and I dilate and conspire with the morning wind. How does Nature deify us with a few and cheap elements! Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria; the sun-set and moon-rise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms of faerie; broad noon shall be my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy and dreams.

    Not less excellent, except for our less susceptibility in the afternoon, was the charm, last evening, of a January sunset. The western clouds divided and subdivided themselves into pink flakes modulated with tints of unspeakable softness; and the air had so much life and sweetness, that it was a pain to come within doors. What was it that nature would say? Was there no meaning in the live repose of the valley behind the mill, and which Homer or Shakspeare could not reform for me in words? The leafless trees become spires of flame in the sunset, with the blue east for their back-ground, and the stars of the dead calices of flowers, and every withered stem and stubble rimed with frost, contribute something to the mute music.

    The inhabitants of cities suppose that the country landscape is pleasant only half the year. I please myself with the graces of the winter scenery, and believe that we are as much touched by it as by the genial influences of summer. To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again. The heavens change every moment, and reflect their glory or gloom on the plains beneath. The state of the crop in the surrounding farms alters the expression of the earth from week to week. The succession of native plants in the pastures and roadsides, which makes the silent clock by which time tells the summer hours, will make even the divisions of the day sensible to a keen observer. The tribes of birds and insects, like the plants punctual to their time, follow each other, and the year has room for all. By water-courses, the variety is greater. In July, the blue pontederia or pickerel-weed blooms in large beds in the shallow parts of our pleasant river, and swarms with yellow butterflies in continual motion. Art cannot rival this pomp of purple and gold. Indeed the river is a perpetual gala, and boasts each month a new ornament.

    But this beauty of Nature which is seen and felt as beauty， is the least part. The shows of day, the dewy morning, the rainbow, mountains, orchards inblossom, stars, moonlight, shadows in still water, and the like, if too eagerly hunted, become shows merely, and mock us with their unreality. Go out of the house to see the moon, and 't is mere tinsel; it will not please as when its light shines upon your necessary journey. The beauty that shimmers in the yellow afternoons of October, who ever could clutch it? Go forth to find it,and it is gone: 't is only a mirage as you look from the windows of diligence.

试译如下：

  以恬然之心观乎天地之万物，不亦乐乎？观其变，观其形，咸与生息相连。然视其基本，或用焉，或赏焉，君子自明也。今人困于都市樊笼之中，俗务息息，杂事扰扰，然复返自然者，得天地之气以焕其心，风水之流以涤其志。心朗气清，怡然自得，恍若重生之感也。至若商贾之士，戚戚于贫富；律师之流，汲汲于声名。复返自然者，仰观宇宙之无限，俯忖人生之有涯。于天地宁静之中，自得其所，心性复得。目之愈净；观之愈远。是以得极目于天下之人，必有行遍天下之力也。

然天地之美，亦非仅于消损之时见于人。人于自然之爱，不因天地喜于己，不因万物惠与我。出余宅，登高望远，日出破晓，佳景不绝。飘飘如景公之登仙，缈缈如仙女之出世。余以为琼台之胜景，莫非如此。落霞与轻云齐飞，朝阳共薄暮一色。如蛟归汪洋，鸟出樊笼。于山观云，如陆之观海。风起云涌，随吾之呼吸；电闪雷鸣，同吾之举动。回眸一瞬，俯仰之间，浮生已于宇宙一体。一风一云一青天而已，已令匹夫超凡入圣。晨光灿灿，仿若亚述之繁华；日落月起，仿若仙土之古城；天日皓皓，仿若英伦之哲思；夜幕沉沉，仿若玄理之西土。

前日暮迟，余独赏夕阳美景。美哉，腊月之落日！妙哉，昔日之胜景。惟午后心气尚浊，西云漫卷，晚霞流彩。蓬蓬兮若丝幕迷津，绵绵兮若极光盈目。一呼一吸亦充盈精气甜美。久居宅室，必受其乱、天地无语，风景自言。磨坊后，山峡中，恬静之生机，超莎翁之辞藻；谧雅之活力，盖荷马之咏叹，其中何尝不有真意。晚霞泛景，枯树流火，朔天苍蓝，佳境相称，落英缤纷，星光漫撒，残枝枯柳，风华斑斑。种种总总，咸无声之天籁。

久居都市之人，总以为乡间风景仅半年可观。然余独爱冬日之胜景。虽盛夏天朗气和，风景明媚，然冬日之酷景，亦独有风范。一夫有心，四季皆美。乡间一隅，风景各异。今之所见，前所未见，至若后事，必又难见。天色变幻，光暗明晦，皆与袤土之影。阡陌田亩，自萌芽至盈满，每周境况不同，土地之景亦随之发展。田垄之中，大路两傍，芳草野木，四季不同。乃知天地冥冥之中，已有定数。若观者自明，自可见四季之变，朝夕之移，草盛花开，与天时相系。鸟飞虫鸣，何不若此？水际河边，其变幻尤著。既六月之际，水浅未能没足之处，已有鱼涌推波助澜。草青花红，蝶黄虫白，不绝于眼。天光与水色掩映。金光满目，非大千之挥毫；紫影袭人，若天工之妙笔。清溪做曲，风光为画，四时不绝。日日为佳节之美，月月含繁华之景。

至若耳目可辨之美，皆为俗景。阴晴变幻，晨露点点，虹色光华，繁星闪烁，青山重重，桃李成蹊，碧潭疏影。若为悦目而寻之，只得铅色浮华，不得其神，观者亦无雅兴。自室中望月，明月但如铜盘，如是而已。然于穷途之中，举头得月，明月必若玉盘，行者自得幸也。九月午后之美景，何人复得？若故而寻之，化于雨雾之中；于车窗望之，融于黯黯天际矣。