我失去的青春 亨利·沃兹沃斯·郎费罗（穆旦 译）

我常常想到那美丽的小城， 它就座落在海岸； 我常常幻想走进那古老的小城， 在它快乐的街道上来回步行， 于是青春又回到我身边。 那北欧歌谣里的一句话 仍旧在我的记忆里回荡： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望， 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 我能看见小城参差的树影． 我眼前还忽而掠过 环抱它的海上远远闪来的光明 和一列岛屿(它们为我少年的梦 做了乐园的守护者)。 那支古老的歌的叠唱 仍旧在对我低语、倾诉： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望． 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 我记得那乌黑的码头和停泊地 和海涛的自由奔腾． 还有西班牙的水手留着髭须， 还有船只的可爱和神秘， 大海是这般迷人! 那一段固执的歌声 仍旧在诉说和振荡： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望． 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 我记得海边和山上的碉堡； 在太阳初升的时候， 传过来大炮低沉的咆哮， 鼓也在不停地咚咚地敲． 号声壮阔而又颤抖。 那支古老的歌的音调 仍旧在我的心里激荡： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望． 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 我记得战争在远方的海上， 轰隆之声传过了水面! 我记得如何埋葬了战死的船长， 他们的坟墓就对着他们的战场—— 那一片寂静的海湾。 那悲哀之歌的音响 痛楚地刺过了我的心： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望， 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 我能看见轻风拂着丛林的圆顶 和狄令森林的荫翳； 于是旧日的友谊和青春的恋情 带着安息的乐音流往我心中． 像是鸽子回旋在寂静里。 那甜蜜的古老的歌辞 仍旧在起伏和低唱： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望． 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 我记得那掠过学童的脑海的 闪烁的光亮和幽暗； 我记得有过心灵的歌唱和沉寂 一半是预言，一半是热狂的 枉然的追求与梦幻。 而那任性的歌仍旧 唱下去，仍旧在波荡： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望， 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 有一些事物我不想再倾吐； 有一些梦想从不死去： 有一些怀念使心灵变为脆弱， 它会给面颊带来苍白的颜色， 使眼睛感到模糊。 那致命的歌的一句话 像一阵灵气扑到我心上： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望． 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 我在那古老的小城所见的形体 如今已显得陌生 但乡土的空气确是纯洁而甜蜜 而那荫蔽每条熟悉的街道的 林木，当它们来回摆动， 就唱出一支美丽的歌， 这歌曲仍在叹息和低唱： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望． 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” 狄令森林幽静、新鲜而美丽． 我的心怀着一种 近似痛楚的快乐飞回到那里， 而当我萦回于那往日的梦迹， 我又找到失去的青春。 那奇异而美丽的歌 在树林里发出了回响： “少年的愿望好似风的愿望． 呵，青春的心思是多么、多么绵长。” My Lost Youth 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 slips, 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."