朗费罗： 逝 去 的 青 春

逝 去 的 青 春

[美国]朗费罗

那美丽的小城常让我怀想

它就座落在大海边上;

多少次,我神游于故乡

那些可爱的街衢,

俨然又回到了年少的时光。

那首拉普兰歌曲的诗句,

一直在我记忆里回荡:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

”青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

我望见排排葱茏的树木,

还瞥见了远处环抱的海洋,

发出的闪闪波光,

那些岛屿,就像是极乐仙境,

增添我多少童年梦想!

那首古老歌曲的复调

依旧在耳边喃喃吟唱:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

我记得乌黑的码头和船台,

海上恣意奔腾的波浪;

满嘴胡须的西班牙水手,

一艘艘船舶的壮丽与神奇,

茫茫大海迷人的魔力。

那萦回不去的执拗歌声

仍然在又讲又唱:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

我记得岸边的防御工事,

记得山头耸立的碉楼;

朝阳的大炮隆隆怒吼,

鼙鼓喧天响不休,

号角激昂锐利地吹奏。

那首老歌的悠扬曲调

依然跳动在我的心头:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

我记得那次远处的海战,

炮声在滚滚海浪上震荡;

两位牺牲的舰长,在墓中安躺,

俯看着宁静的海湾

那就是他们战死的沙场。

那哀怨的歌声,

震颤我的心房:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

我看见微风里摇曳的树林,

熟悉的婆娑树影;

旧日的友谊,早年的恋情

以安适的声音回到我心灵,

宛如幽静邻里的鸽鸣。

那老歌的甜美诗句

依稀在颤动和低语不停:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

我记得丝丝的亮光和暗影

闪过我稚嫩的心灵;

心底蕴藏的歌声和寂静,

有几分是预言,还有几分

是狂热而又虚幻的渴望。

听啊,那起伏不定的歌声

继续唱着,总不平静:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

有一些情景我不能倾诉;

有一些梦想永不会泯灭;

有一些心思,使坚强心灵疲弱,

使脸色苍白,

使眼睛如临薄雾。

那句不祥的歌词好像

一个寒颤袭过全身:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

当重返我亲爱的古城,

眼前的景象已这般陌生;

但故乡的空气甘美而纯净,

熟识的街衢洒满了树影,

树木轻盈摇曳,

正在唱着那美妙的歌声,

正在低声叹息和耳语:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

故乡的森林清新而秀丽;

怀着近乎痛苦的欢喜,

我的心在那游历;

在重温的缤纷旧梦里,

我又觅回逝去的青春。

树林还在吟唱

那奇异而又迷人的歌声:

“少年的愿望就是风的愿望,

青春的遐想是多么悠长悠长。”

My Lost Youth

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Often I think of the beautiful town

That is seated by the sea;

Often in thought go up and down

The pleasant streets of that dear old town,

And my youth comes back to me.

And a verse of a Lapland song

Is haunting my memory still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,

And catch, in sudden gleams,

The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,

And islands that were the Hesperides

Of all my boyish dreams.

And the burden of that old song,

It murmurs and whispers still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the ships,

And the sea-tides tossing free;

And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,

And the beauty and mystery of the ships,

And the magic of the sea.

And the voice of that wayward song

Is singing and saying still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

And the fort upon the hill;

The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,

The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,

And the bugle wild and shrill.

And the music of that old song

Throbs in my memory still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea-fight far away,

How it thundered o'er the tide!

And the dead captains, as they lay

In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay

Where they in battle died.

And the sound of that mournful song

Goes through me with a thrill:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,

The shadows of Deering's Woods;

And the friendships old and the early loves

Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves

In quiet neighborhoods.

And the verse of that sweet old song,

It flutters and murmurs still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart

Across the school-boy's brain;

The song and the silence in the heart,

That in part are prophecies, and in part

Are longings wild and vain.

And the voice of that fitful song

Sings on, and is never still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,

And with joy that is almost pain

My heart goes back to wander there,

And among the dreams of the days that were,

I find my lost youth again.

And the strange and beautiful song,

The groves are repeating it still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."