BY WALT WHITMAN

作者：瓦尔特·惠特曼      更新时间：2010-10-06 20:34:28

Come up from the fields father, here’s a letter from our Pete,

And come to the front door mother, here’s a letter from thy dear son.

父亲，赶快从田地里上来，这是我们的彼得寄来的一封信，
　　母亲，赶快到前门来，这是你的亲爱的儿子寄来的一封信。
　

Lo, ’tis autumn,

Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder,

Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind,

Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis’d vines,   

(Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?

Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzing?)

　看哪，季节正当秋天，
　　看哪，那里的树变得更绿，更黄，更红了，
　　它在和风中摇荡着的树叶，使俄亥俄的村落更显得清凉、美妙，
　　那里果树园中挂着成熟的苹果，藤蔓上葡萄累累，
　　（你嗅到藤蔓上的葡萄的香味了么？
　　你嗅到近来有蜜蜂在那里嗡鸣着的养麦了么？）

Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds,   

Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm prospers well.

　　在一切上面，看哪，而后的天空是这样地宁静、明澈，点缀着奇妙的云
　　彩，
　　在下面也一样，一切都很宁静，一切都生气勃勃，美丽无比，农庄也很
　　兴旺。

Down in the fields all prospers well,

But now from the fields come father, come at the daughter’s call,

And come to the entry mother, to the front door come right away.

　　田地里的一切也长得很茂盛。
　　现在父亲从田地里来了，因女儿的叫唤回来了，
　　母亲也来到了大门口，马上来到了前门。

Fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling,

She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her cap.

　　她以最大的速度赶来，某种不祥的预感已使她步履歪斜，
　　她来不及梳掠她的乱发，整理她的帽子，

Open the envelope quickly,   

O this is not our son’s writing, yet his name is sign’d,

O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother’s soul!

All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main words only,

Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital,

At present low, but will soon be better.

　　赶快撕开信封，
　　啊，这不是我们的儿子的笔迹，但却又有着他的署名，
　　啊，是一只陌生的手替我们的亲爱的儿子写的，
　　啊，被震击的母亲的灵魂！
　　眼睛发黑，一切在她的眼前浮动，她只看到重要的字，
　　零碎的语句，“胸前受枪弹，”“骑兵散兵战，”“运到医院，”
　　“眼下人很虚弱，”“但不久就会好转。”

Ah now the single figure to me,

Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with all its cities and farms,

Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint,

By the jamb of a door leans.

　　啊，虽然俄亥俄人口众多而富庶，有着很多城市和乡村，
　　但现在我只看见这一个人，
　　面色惨白、头脑迟钝、四肢无力，
　　斜倚着门柱。

Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter speaks through her sobs,

The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay’d,)

See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.

Alas poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to be better, that brave and simple soul,)

While they stand at home at the door he is dead already,

The only son is dead.

　　“别这样伤心，亲爱的母亲，”（刚刚长成的女儿哽咽地说，
　　小妹妹们默不作声地带着惊愕的神色拥挤在周围，）

　　“看吧.亲爱的母亲，信上说着彼得不久就会好转”

　　啊，可怜的孩子，他永不会好转了，（也许用不着好转了，那个勇敢而
　　单纯的灵魂！）

　　But the mother needs to be better,

She with thin form presently drest in black,

By day her meals untouch’d, then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking,

In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing,   

O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape and withdraw,

To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son.

 
　　当他们站立在家门口的时候，他已经死了，
　　这唯一的儿子已经死了。
　　但母亲却需要能好转，
　　她瘦弱的身体很快穿上了黑衣，
　　白天不吃饭，晚上睡不安宁，常常惊醒，
　　夜半醒着，低泣着，她只有一个渴切的愿望——
　　啊，她愿能静悄悄地从人世引退，静静地跳开生命自行引退，
　　去追随，去寻觅亲爱的已死的儿子，去和他在一起。