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【孤竹译作】
英诗汉译
乡村墓地挽歌
Elegy Written In A Country Church Yard
《乡村墓地挽歌》是 Thomas Gray 的著名诗篇。诗中流露出对乡村普通人生活的浓厚兴趣。并对墓中人卑微的命运寄以深切同情，认为他们只是没有遇到机会，否则同样可以成为著名人物。这是一首组诗，各组之间联系紧密。
翻译过程中曾参考了北斗第一星先生的译文，在此谨致谢意。
译文一：
晚钟敲起，送别缓缓逝去的白天，
牛群哞哞，纡越离离牧草之荒原，
耕人回舍，迈动沉沉脚步而蹒跚，
天色渐暝，惟留寂寂小我与黑暗。
神圣肃穆，凝重空气悄悄的弥漫，
眼前风物，渐幽渐隐渐渐的黯淡，
嗡嗡飞旋，不断绕来绕去在耳边，
铃声叮咚，传自远处催眠的羊栏。
枝叶掩映，那边常春藤布满塔尖，
凄凉哀怨，这里猫头鹰对月抱怨，
是谁侵入，徘徊于它领地的旁边，
打扰清净，破坏了它原先的安闲。
榆树旁边，有高大紫杉浓荫遮蔽，
草皮开裂，一个个土丘高高隆起，
狭小低湿，这是乡间父老的墓地，
永远安息，他们就只能长眠在此。
浑然不觉，新鲜空气伴轻拂晨凤，
呢喃聒噪，燕子窝里正吵个不停，
号角嘹亮，公鸡报晓在高声啼鸣，
墓中沉睡，彼等这里得到了永恒。
炉火免点，他们无感于晨间微寒，
晚餐不具，再也没有急切的饿感，
远离儿童，从此不闻稚气的呼唤，
亲情断绝，也无攀膝索吻之纠缠。
割稻收麦，弯腰屈膝挥汗镰刀舞，
耕田成垄，铁犁手握奋力破坚土，
驱牛赶马，欣然自得草原去放牧，
斧声叮咚，身健体壮曾经伐林木。
日常劳作，高才精英不必来嘲笑，
自得其乐，家人团聚安贫知命了，
简朴生活，豪华贵绅无需白眼瞧，
人生苦短，年年月月平凡过得好。
豪华显赫，位高权重堪夸达极度，
美色财富，全部占有无法计其数，
等到最后，不能避免只有一条路，
时辰一到，黄泉大道引领入坟墓。
墓旁教堂，圣殿巍峨曲拱又迴廊，
赞诗高唱，声音嘹亮悠扬传远方，
高傲之人，不必轻视坟前少排场，
纵然豪华，归根结底实际也一样。
技艺高超，立碑刻甏生前像留住，
黄泉路遥，故居虽在谁有招魂术？
颂语赞词，激情洋溢死者难复苏，
谄谀之言，即使中听亡人耳岂入？
漠漠田野，点点荒丘埋着心几棵，
济世胸怀，也许曾有终究无着落，
帝国权杖，若是在手岂能不捭阖，
生命琴弦，欢乐曲调也凭他掌握。
知识无涯，博深广大卷帙太浩繁，
生也有涯，费时良多从来未展卷，
寒门出身，贫贱穷苦有志只空谈，
灵性枯萎，天赋虽好最终亦枉然。
海沟深深，幽邃黑暗永远绝人烟，
宝石闪闪，晶莹皎洁默然卧其间，
红花艳艳，生长荒原难能被观看，
旷野茫茫，纵有奇香芬芳徒弥散。
其间亡灵，未必不是刚直好灵魂，
如同侠士，仗义出手敢斗小劣绅，
或有天才，灵性泯灭未得成诗人，
英雄禀赋，埋没草莽平凡终其身。【注1】
若有机遇，控制议会掌声也热烈，
藐视威胁，敢于面对痛苦与毁灭，
领导有方，社会富裕无处不欢乐，
历史评价，民族来做结论将如何？
命运安排，平凡之人大恶无权作，
条件所限，有心无力好事也多魔，
远离中心，王位虽好不靠杀戮夺，
人类良知，爱心常在善门岂能锁！
痛苦挣扎，良知所在岂肯隐真理，
纯真未泯，羞涩仍存哪能无羞耻。
上天垂顾，具有高才应用要适宜，
控制私欲，断然拒绝骄奢与淫逸。
无义争斗，洁身远离避免去参预，
清醒理想，始终坚持从来不迷路，
幽静孤独，人生正道永远向前走，
毫不动摇，悄然无声迈进此征途。
草莽枯骨，同样需求避免遭践踏，
纵然单薄，也有墓碑立于坟茔旁，
词语拗口，字迹歪斜雕刻在其上，
只求路人，一声叹息尊重此灵魂。
姓名年龄，粗疏写下难免笔体差，
没有碑文，生平事迹全都无解答，
只此情况，提醒后人应该有想法，
归根结底，死生之道贵贱属一家。
人间百味，即便生活烦恼也愉悦，
欢乐岁月，温馨情景总会记心窝，
谁又甘心，无声无息从此全忘却？
频频回头，依依惜别实在难割舍！
亲人胸前，弥留之际片刻仍依偎，
留恋情怀，瞑目时刻期盼泪珠垂，
坟茔之间，天性未泯依然有光辉，
人类良知，薪火相传应该永不违。
抚今追昔，不弃草野写下哀悼诗，
平凡生活，朴实善良人性得阐述，
或许有人，因你行为引动他遐思，
幽怀念古，多愁善感命运将谁知？
际遇遭逢，白发老人或有谋面缘，
述说往事，晨曦时分每每曾看见，
当日此人，匆匆忙忙疾步露珠间，
芳草岗上，迎来旭日耀眼红又圆。
枝条垂悬，山毛榉树婆娑有阴凉，
郁郁苍苍，老根盘绕隆起地面上，
晌午时分，倦怠躯体舒适此处躺，
凝神注目，流水潺潺小溪经身旁。
也曾见他，远处林边似笑含嘲讽，
孤独徘徊，喃喃自语抒发奇幻想，
忽而垂首，面容憔悴伶仃又彷徨，
或如癫狂，或如失恋极端陷失望。
忽而一天，山岗寂寂没有他身影，
小径无人，常去林边此时也空空，
翌日凌晨，溪水潺潺未见谁倾听，
不在草地，不在树旁各处俱无踪。
再过一天，教堂旁边灵柩路上行，
葬礼如仪，坟场肃穆传出哀歌声，
荆棘丛下，树立石碑文字说生平，
各位来此，欲知九里请读墓志铭。
墓志铭
土层覆盖，大地之下长眠一青年，
平平常常，无名无财当然也无权，
智慧之神，未因卑微弃他而不管，
忧郁仙子，引作知己只为心相连。
他的性情，慷慨大方真诚而宽宏，
天道酬善，对他回报一样也丰盛；
面对苦难，他能给予泪滴表同情，
上天给他，如其所愿情怀知友懂。
成就如何，不必寻觅无需再揭示，
缺点毛病，也应放过让它永沉寂，
功过是非，均已远去岂愿重提起，
天高地厚，广阔胸怀一切尽安息。
孤竹 汉译
译文二：
暮钟声声送黄昏，
群牛哞哞恋草原，
耕夫蹒跚回农舍，
黑夜与我共盘桓。
四顾肃穆心茫然，
眼前风物渐暗淡，
微闻嗡嗡觉虫飞 ，
远响悠悠促羊眠。
塔尖缠绕常春藤，
枭鸟对月呜咽鸣，
一向无人寂寥地，
谁来踯躅扰清净！
紫杉荫复榆树旁，
远祖长眠此坟茔，
荒草离离土馒头，
狭窄墓穴永不醒。
浑然一任晨凤吹，
不理燕子呢喃催，
号角嘹亮雄鸡啼，
彼等依旧沉沉睡。
晨间炉火免点燃，
夜餐不再费经营，
没有呀呀迎爸语，
也无攀膝抢吻情。
也曾挥镰收稻谷，
耕成田垄坚土破，
欣驱牛马下田野，
为伐林木奋力斫。
莫笑众人劳作苦，
卑微家庭有欢乐，
朝朝暮暮寻常过，
生活贫穷又如何！
豪华荣耀皆虚妄，
美丽财富也成空，
最后难免那条路，
一切归于坟茔中。
莫怨碑上无颂词，
高傲自许亦枉然，
迴廊曲拱圣殿上，
赞诗高唱声远传。
纵能雕刻生前像，
故居难返已逝魂，
颂德声声中何用，
亡人之耳岂能闻！
漠漠无奇荒丘地，
或许所埋不平凡，
帝国权杖若在手，
生杀予夺喜怒间。
可惜目光有局限，
无涯知识未展卷。
也有赤贫压高才，
天生灵性不能显。
无数宝石光灿烂，
海沟深处把身安，
许多鲜花红艳艳，
芬芳弥散在荒原。
或葬乡村侠义士，
敢斗劣绅手不软，
或有诗人未成名，
或有英雄出道前。【注1】
不惧恐吓与威胁，
能惹议院掌声热，
导引富庶社会喜，
历史评价民族做。
命运安排已限定，
不积大德不做恶，
不能杀戮夺王位，
人类良知莫泯灭，
应甘痛苦为真理，
不弃纯真知羞耻，
纵然上天生奇才，
驕奢浮华岂所期。
愿望清醒不迷途，
远离群氓无义争，
遵循人生孤寂路，
悄然坚守此征程。
冀免枯骨遭践踏，
亦有粗糙墓碑立，
俚词陋字缺规格，
只求路人一顾惜。
碑文粗疏无生平，
只有姓名与年龄，
却让心灵有震撼，
启迪人们懂死生。
喜忧交织经历多，
谁能甘心被忘却，
欢乐愉悦幸福日，
岂不留连难遽舍？
偎依亲人弥留际，
瞑目但期泪泫然，
坟墓犹在唤人性，
应有良知薪火传。
今你有心写诗文，
关怀此处乡里人，
或许有人要询问，
知否自己啥命运？
际遇遭逢白发翁，
说常见他晨曦里，
急步踏破曉露珠，
芳草岗上迎旭日。
婆娑摇曵山毛榉，
老根盘错高隆起，
午间舒体树荫下，
凝视潺潺小流溪。
喃喃自语不寻常，
有时憔悴若失恋，
徘徊讽笑远林边，
有时忧心类癫狂。
忽而一日山岗静，
林间小径也空空，
翌晨溪边不见人，
草地树旁俱无踪。
翌日忽闻哀歌声，
列队送他进坟茔，
荆棘丛下碑有文，
识字读出墓志铭。
墓志铭
青年无财亦无名，
长眠于此永不醒，
寒微并不少智慧，
凄凉哀怨伴生平，
慷慨大方心真诚，
上天酬劳同样丰，
清泪洒落怜苦难，
会有知友寄同情。
成就不需再寻觅，
缺点何劳更探求，
功过是非俱往矣，
天地对之永收留。
孤竹 汉译
【注1】
诗人在这里以没有受过良好教育的乡人与前一世纪最有名、最有地位的三个人相比: John Hampden,是一位议会领导人，他捍卫民众利益，反对Charles I的暴政；John Milton,是一位大诗人，他的著名诗篇有Paradise Lost （失乐园），他也反对Charles I；而Oliver Cromwell,Lord Protector of England from 1653 to 1658，他是1653—1658的英格兰摄政大臣。诗人暗示此处墓地埋葬的乡下人说不定也可能会有像以上三位一样反对暴政的能力，但是没有得到施展的机会。译文没有提出人名，只译出大概意思。水平有限，不当之处在所难免，欢迎批评指正。
原文：
"ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD"
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share,
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the Poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:-
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, --
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn;
"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high.
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
"The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,-
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
The Epitaph
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melacholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.
By Thomas Gray (1716-1771).
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发表于 2010-8-21 11:44:30