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美國第一詩人郎斐羅

紀念郎斐羅誕生二百週年

凌風

 


郎斐羅(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

  郎斐羅(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882),在1807年二月二十七日,生於緬因州波特崙(Portland, Maine),是美國第一馳名世界的詩人。


郎斐羅的胸像放置於倫敦
西大教堂的“詩人角落”

  畢業於保德因學院(Bowdoin College),1825年,赴歐洲學習語言三年,通曉法文,意大利文,西班牙文,德文,和葡萄牙文。在母校教授歐洲語言五年,並寫作詩和劇本,並翻譯名著。1831年,於1834年,再度往歐,這次停留二年,學瑞典,丹麥,芬蘭,古冰島,及荷蘭語文;至於希臘文,希伯來文,拉丁文,早就精通。從1836年,有約二十年,他在哈佛大學是最受歡迎的名教授;然後退休,在家專從事寫作,他的作品,譯成十種以上語文,銷行世界各地。
  郎斐羅在歐洲也同樣享譽,獲牛津大學和劍橋大學的榮譽學位。
  1882年三月二十四日,郎斐羅逝世。美國各地舉行紀念,他是第一位美國詩人,享有胸像放置在倫敦西大教堂(Westminster Abbey)“詩人角落”(Poets' Corner)的榮譽。

 

鄉村鐵匠

       Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

有個鄉村的鐵匠鋪,
  在一棵大栗子樹旁;
  那鐵匠非常的強壯,
  有雙巨大有力的手掌,
  滿有筋肉褐色的臂膀,
  像一束鋼鐵一樣。

他的頭髮光亮,黑而且長,
  臉面如同皮革皺紋;
  眉梢流着誠實的汗珠,
  盡可能的賺錢生存,
  他面對全世界沒有愧怍,
  因為他從不虧欠任何人。

一週復又一週,從早到晚,
  他風箱的聲音可以聽見;
  你聽到他揮動沉重的大錘,
  擊打有節奏有時緩慢,
  像管教堂的敲動那鄉村的鐘,
  當夕陽低沉下山。

當孩子們放學回家
  從那敞開的門張望;
  他們愛看那爐中的火焰,
  聽那風箱吼叫的聲響,
  看到那迸起的火花
  像禾場上颺起的糠。

主日他去到教堂,
  坐在他兒子們的中央;
  聽牧師禱告和傳講,
  聽他女兒的歌唱,
  在鄉村詩班的歌聲,
  使他的心歡喜飛揚。

聽來如同她母親的聲音,
  歌唱在天上的樂園!
  他不免又一次的想起她,
  如何在墳墓裏安眠;
  淚珠流出了他的雙眼,
  就用粗硬的手擦乾。

勞苦,—歡樂,—憂傷,
  伴隨着生命前進不止;
  每早晨看工作開始,
  每晚間看工作完畢;
  有的事試去作,有的事成就,
  他獲得一夜的安息。

感謝,感謝你,我尊貴的朋友,
  你所教導我們的課程!
  在人生命的煉爐中,
  我們的前途如此作成;
  如此的在砧上錘煉又鑄形,
  每一燃燒的思想和行動。

 

  The Village Blacksmith

Under a spreading chestnut-tree
  The village smithy stands:
The smith, a mighty man is he,
  With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
  Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
  His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
  He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
  For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
  You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
  With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
  When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
  Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
  And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
  Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
  And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
  He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
  And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
  Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
  How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
  A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,
  Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
  Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
  He earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
  For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
  Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
  Each burning deed and thought.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882
American poet and educator

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2019.11

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