John Greenleaf Whittier，1807-1892，was born in Haverhill，Mass.，and，with short intervals of absence，he always resided in that vicinity.His parents were Friends or“Quakers，”and he always held to the same faith.He spent his boyhood on a farm，occasionally writing verses for the papers even then.Two years of study in the academy seem to have given him all the special opportunity for education that he ever enjoyed.In 1829 he edited a newspaper in Boston，and the next year assumed a similar position in Hartford.For two years he was a member of the Massachusetts legislature.In 1836 he edited an anti-slavery paper in Philadelphia，and was secretary of the American Anti-Slavery Society.
Mr.Whittier wrote extensively both in prose and verse.During the later years of his life he published several volumes of poems，and contributed frequently to the pages of the “Atlantic Monthly.”An earnest opponent of slavery，some of his poems bearing on that subject are fiery and even bitter；but，in general，their sentiment is gentle，and often pathetic.As a poet，he took rank among those most highly esteemed by his countrymen.“Snow-Bound，”published in 1805，is one of the longest and best of his poems.Several of his shorter pieces are marked by much smoothness and sweetness.
Blessings on thee，little man，
Barefoot boy，with cheek of tan！
With thy turned-up pantaloons，
And thy merry whistled tunes；
With thy red lip，redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill；
With the sunshine on thy face，
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace；
From my heart I give thee joy，—
I was once a barefoot boy！
Prince thou art，—the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride！
Barefoot，trudging，at his side，
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye，—
Outward sunshine，inward joy:
Blessings on thee，barefoot boy！
Oh for boyhood's painless play，
Sleep that wakes in laughing day，
Health that mocks the doctor's rules，
Knowledge never learned of schools，
Of the wild bee's morning chase，
Of the wild flower's time and place，
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood；
How the tortoise bears his shell，
How the woodchuck digs his cell，
And the ground mole sinks his well
How the robin feeds her young，
How the oriole's nest is hung；
Where the whitest lilies blow，
Where the freshest berries grow，
Where the groundnut trails its vine，
Where the wood grape's clusters shine；
Of the black wasp's cunning way，
Mason of his walls of clay，
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans！
For，eschewing books and tasks，
Nature answers all he asks；
Hand in hand with her he walks，
Face to face with her he talks，
Part and parcel of her joy，—
Blessings on thee，barefoot boy！
Oh for boyhood's time of June，
Crowding years in one brief moon，
When all things I heard or saw
Me，their master，waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees，
Humming birds and honeybees；
For my sport the squirrel played，
Plied the snouted mole his spade；
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone；
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night，
Whispering at the garden wall，
Talked with me from fall to fall；
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond，
Mine the walnut slopes beyond，
Mine，on bending orchard trees，
Apples of Hesperides！
Still，as my horizon grew，
Larger grew my riches too；
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy，
Fashioned for a barefoot boy！
Oh for festal dainties spread，
Like my bowl of milk and bread，—
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood，
On the doorstone，gray and rude！
O'er me，like a regal tent，
Cloudy-ribbed，the sunset bent，
Purple-curtained，fringed with gold，
Looped in many a wind-swung fold；
While for music came the play
Of the pied frog's orchestra；
And to light the noisy choir，
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy！
Cheerily，then，my little man，
Live and laugh，as boyhood can！
Though the flinty slopes be hard，
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward，
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew；
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride，
Lose the freedom of the sod，
Like a colt's for work be shod，
Made to tread the mills of toil，
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground；
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah！that thou shouldst know thy joy
Ere it passes，barefoot boy！
译文 TRANSLATION
约翰·格林利夫·惠蒂尔（1807—1892）出生于马萨诸塞的黑弗里尔，并且一生大部分时间都在故乡生活。他和他的父母一样都是教友派或贵格派的信徒。他少年时代在农庄度过，当时就已开始为几家报社写诗。两年的学院教育是他接受的仅有的正规教育。1829年，他在波士顿任报社编辑，第二年，他到哈特福德一家报社任编辑。在接下来的两年中，他是马萨诸塞立法委员会成员。1836年，他在费城编辑一份宣扬“反奴”思想的报纸，并担任美国反奴协会秘书。
惠蒂尔先生创作了大量诗歌、散文作品。在他晚年，他出版了几部诗集，并经常为《大西洋月刊》撰稿。惠蒂尔是一位热诚的废奴主义者，他关于这一题材的一些诗作颇为尖锐，甚至尖刻。但整体而言，他诗中的情感是温柔感伤的。作为诗人，他深得美国民众爱戴。1865年发表的《雪国》一诗是他篇幅最大、最好的作品之一。他的短诗则以甜美、流畅著称。
祝福你，小男子汉，
赤足的孩子，
你有晒得黑黑的小脸儿！
挽着裤管，吹着欢快的口哨，
红红的嘴唇被山上的草莓吻得更红；
而阳光就在你脸上！
你那旧了的帽檐那么欢快、优美
我要透过它给你源自心底的祝福——
曾经，我也是一个赤足的孩子！
你是王子，而成年的我则只是共和主义者。
任那百万富豪从身畔疾驰而过！
赶路的赤足的孩子，耳目所及，
你就有很多他用金钱无法买到的东西：
外在的阳光、内心的欢乐。
祝福你，赤足的孩子！
啊，无忧无虑的嬉戏，
欢笑着醒来的休憩，
不理会医生告诫的身体，
学校里从未教过的知识，
清晨，野蜂如何采蜜？
野花什么时候在哪里开落？
禽类怎么飞，山民有什么习俗？
乌龟怎么长出壳？
土拨鼠怎么挖洞？
鼹鼠怎么沉到井里？
知更鸟怎么喂它的孩子？
黄莺怎么做窝？
最白的百合在哪里摇曳？
最新鲜的浆果在哪里生？
花生的蔓伸向哪里？
晶莹的葡萄串在哪里闪耀？
还有黄蜂这筑墙的巨匠
它建巢的规划和妙招儿，
避开啃书本和做作业，
因为自然回答了他所有的提问。
手挽着手，他和自然一起漫步，
面对面，他和自然一起谈天，
分享自然无尽的欢乐——
祝福你，赤足的孩子！
啊，儿时的六月，
这短暂的时节挤进多少乐事。
我听到、看到一切等着我，他们的主人。
那时，我有那么多的花朵和绿树，
还有飞鸣的小鸟和蜜蜂，
松鼠是我的玩伴，和我一起玩耍，
长鼻子的土拨鼠挥动着它的锹。
黑莓把篱笆、石头和我的快乐染成紫色。
小溪淙淙地流淌着我的欢笑，
整天整夜，在花园的墙边耳语，
和我聊着、聊着，从秋天到秋天。
我的池塘里小狗鱼从沙岸的一边游到另一边，
我的山坡上长满胡桃林，
我的果树园里金苹果压弯了枝丫。
而随着我的视野越来越宽广，
我的财富也越来越多。
我见识、了解的世界
就像一个复杂的中国玩偶，
那为赤足的孩子制作的玩偶。
啊，节日里摆放着那么多美食，
像我的这碗牛奶和面包，——
白镴的汤匙和木碗，
就在灰色、粗糙的阶石上。
头顶的天空像皇家的帐篷，
云的拱肋，晚霞的排架
紫色的暮云缀着金色的流苏，
宛若帘幕在晚风中漫卷，
此刻，青蛙的管弦乐队开始演奏，
萤火虫燃起灯为合唱队照明。
我是国王，奢华，愉悦
侍奉着这赤足的孩子。
开心起来，小男子汉，
永远像儿时一样，快乐生活！
纵使燧石的山坡坚硬无比，
新剪过的草像戈矛一样锋利，
清晨，依然要领受露珠清新的洗礼，
黄昏，脚下的风同样要亲吻溽热。
很快，这双脚就被年华桎梏，
失去草地上驰骋的自由，
像要参加劳作的小马须钉上蹄铁，
然后，被带入烦劳的磨坊，
来来回回无尽的艰辛，
也许，在已忘怀的土地上
再找不到它们的足迹；
也许，它们不会在原罪
凌厉、背信的流沙中湮灭。
啊，赤足的孩子，体认你的快乐吧，
趁它还未远逝。
免责声明：以上内容源自网络，版权归原作者所有，如有侵犯您的原创版权请告知，我们将尽快删除相关内容。
