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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 travelers 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 listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
看，一个孤独的高原姑娘，
在远远的田野间收割，
一边割一边独自歌唱，
请你站住．或者俏悄走过！
她独自把麦子割了又捆，
唱出无限悲凉的歌声，
屏息听吧！深广的谷地
已被歌声涨满而漫溢！ 还从未有过夜莺百啭，
唱出过如此迷人的歌，
在沙漠中的绿荫间
抚慰过疲惫的旅客；
还从未有过杜鹃迎春，
声声啼得如此震动灵魂，
在遥远的赫布利底群岛
打破过大海的寂寥。 她唱什么，谁能告诉我？
忧伤的音符不断流涌，
是把遥远的不聿诉说？
是把古代的战争吟咏？
也许她的歌比较卑谦，
只是唱今日平凡的悲欢，
只是唱自然的哀伤苦痛——
昨天经受过，明天又将重逢？ 姑娘唱什么，我猜不着，
她的歌如流水永无尽头；
只见她一边唱一边干活，
弯腰挥镰，操劳不休……
我凝神不动，听她歌唱，
然后，当我登上了山岗，
尽管歌声早已不能听到，
它却仍在我心头缭绕。
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