Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
孤独的割禾女
你看！那高原上年轻的姑娘，
独自一人正在田野上。
一边收割，一边在歌唱。
请你站住，或者悄悄走过！
她独自在那里又割又捆，
她唱的音调好不凄凉；
你听！你听她的歌声，
在深邃的峡谷久久回荡。
在荒凉的阿拉伯沙漠里，
疲惫的旅人憩息在绿阴旁，
夜莺在这时嘀呖啼啭，
也不如这歌声暖人心房；
在最遥远的赫伯利群岛，
杜鹃声声唤醒了春光，
啼破了海上辽阔的沉寂，
也不如这歌声动人心肠。
谁能告诉我她在唱些什么？
也许她在为过去哀伤，
唱的是渺远的不幸的往事，
和那很久以前的战场？
也许她唱的是普通的曲子，
当今的生活习以为常？
她唱生活中的忧伤和痛苦，
从前发生过，今后也这样？
不论姑娘在唱些什么吧，
歌声好像永无尽头一样；
我见她举着镰刀弯下腰去，
我见她边干活儿边歌唱。
我凝神屏息地听着，听着，
直到我登上高高的山冈，
那乐声虽早已在耳边消失，
却仍长久地留在我的心上。
