窗前的伊诺克·阿登

Alfred Tennyson，1809—1892，was born in Somerby，Lincolnshire，England；his father was a clergyman noted for his energy and physical stature.Alfred，with his two older brothers，graduated at Trinity College，Cambridge.His first volume of poems appeared in 1830；it made little impression，and was severely treated by the critics.On the publication of his third series，in 1842，his poetic genius began to receive general recognition.On the death of Wordsworth he was made poet laureate，and he was then regarded as the foremost living poet of England.“In Memoriam，”written in memory of his friend Arthur Hallam，appeared in 1850；the “Idyls of the King，”in 1858；and “Enoch Arden，”a touching story in verse，from which the following selection is taken，was published in 1864.In 1883 he accepted a peerage as Baron Tennyson of Aldworth，Sussex，and of Freshwater，Isle of Wight.

But Enoch yearned to see her face again；

“If I might look on her sweet face again

And know that she is happy.”So the thought

Haunted and harassed him，and drove him forth，

At evening when the dull November day

Was growing duller twilight，to the hill.

There he sat down gazing on all below；

There did a thousand memories roll upon him，

Unspeakable for sadness.By and by

The ruddy square of comfortable light，

Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house，

Allured him，as the beacon blaze allures

The bird of passage，till he mildly strikes

Against it，and beats out his weary life.

For Philip's dwelling fronted on the street，

The latest house to landward；but behind，

With one small gate that opened on the waste，

Flourished a little garden，square and walled:

And in it throve an ancient evergreen，

A yew tree，and all round it ran a walk

Of shingle，and a walk divided it:

But Enoch shunned the middle walk，and stole

Up by the wall，behind the yew；and thence

That which he better might have shunned，if griefs

Like his have worse or better，Enoch saw.

For cups and silver on the burnished board

Sparkled and shone；so genial was the hearth:

And on the right hand of the hearth he saw

Philip，the slighted suitor of old times，

Stout，rosy，with his babe across his knees；

And o'er her second father stooped a girl，

A later but a loftier Annie Lee，

Fair-haired and tall，and from her lifted hand

Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring

To tempt the babe，who reared his creasy arms，

Caught at and ever missed it，and they laughed:

And on the left hand of the hearth he saw.

The mother glancing often toward her babe，

But turning now and then to speak with him，

Her son，who stood beside her tall and strong，

And saying that which pleased him，for he smiled.

Now when the dead man come to life beheld

His wife，his wife no more，and saw the babe，

Hers，yet not his，upon the father's knee，

And all the warmth，the peace，the happiness.

And his own children tall and beautiful，

And him，that other，reigning in his place，

Lord of his rights and of his children's love，

Then he，tho' Miriam Lane had told him all，

Because things seen are mightier than things heard，

Staggered and shook，holding the branch，and feared

To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry，

Which in one moment，like the blast of doom，

Would shatter all the happiness of the hearth.

He，therefore，turning softly like a thief，

Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot，

And feeling all along the garden wall，

Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found，

Crept to the gate，and opened it，and closed，

As lightly as a sick man's chamber door，

Behind him，and came out upon the waste.

And there he would have knelt but that his knees

Were feeble，so that falling prone he dug

His fingers into the wet earth，and prayed.

“Too hard to bear！why did they take me thence？

O God Almighty，blessed Savior，Thou

That did'st uphold me on my lonely isle，

Uphold me，Father，in my loneliness

A little longer！aid me，give me strength

Not to tell her，never to let her know.

Help me not to break in upon her peace.

My children too！must I not speak to these？

They know me not.I should betray myself.

Never！—no father's kiss for me！—the girl

So like her mother，and the boy，my son！”

There speech and thought and nature failed a little，

And he lay tranced；but when he rose and paced

Back toward his solitary home again，

All down the long and narrow street he went

Beating it in upon his weary brain，

As tho' it were the burden of a song，

“Not to tell her，never to let her know.

译文　TRANSLATION

阿尔弗莱德·丁尼生（1809—1892），生于英国林肯郡萨摩比市。丁尼生的父亲是位牧师，以充沛的活力和健硕的体魄著称。同他的两位哥哥一样，丁尼生毕业于剑桥大学三一学院。他的第一部诗集出版于1830年，尚显稚嫩，受到批评家的严厉指摘。待到1842年，第三部诗集出版后，丁尼生精湛的诗艺得到广泛认可。华兹华斯去世后，丁尼生受封为桂冠诗人，并被时人推许为当世最伟大的诗人。他的代表作有：1850年出版的《悼念集》，悼念的对象是诗人大学同窗好友亚瑟·哈勒姆；1858年问世的《国王之歌》及发表于1864年的《伊诺克·阿登》。1883年，丁尼生被封为男爵。下面这首诗节选自《伊诺克·阿登》。

然而，伊诺克仍渴望着重逢：

“但愿我能再看一眼她甜美的容颜，

确知她幸福安康。”这个念头

让他魂牵梦绕。十一月的日子原本平淡，

黄昏则更其沉闷，而就在那月的某个黄昏。

伊诺克走上山冈，坐在那儿遥望。

万千往事涌上心怀，悲伤难以言说。

渐渐地，一方温馨的光远远亮起，

亮在菲利普家的后窗。于他，那是一种吸引，

就像灯塔的焰火诱惑着飞鸟在光明中结束疲惫的旅程。

菲利普家的前门临着街；

而后院的小门则朝向荒野，

那围起了一方小小的花园，

园中花木葱茏：一株古老的紫衫，

四季常青，发荣滋长；小园四周是

圆石铺就的行道，其中一条贯穿小园，

将其一分为二。但伊诺克避开了这条路。

他躲在紫衫后面，循着墙潜行。

这样，若他看到不忍看到的情形，

就可悄然离去。

光可鉴人的桌面上摆放着各式杯子和银器；

炉火那样温暖，伊诺克看到在壁炉的右手坐着菲利普，

从前那个被拒绝的求婚者，而今壮硕、红润；一个幼儿坐在他膝上。

一个女孩站在继父跟前，俯身逗弄着幼儿。

那金发、苗条的女孩活脱就是另一个安妮·李，

只是比安高；女孩抖动着一条系着圆环的缎带

在与幼弟嬉笑、玩耍——幼儿想抓那圆环却又总是抓个空。

伊诺克看到在壁炉的左手坐着这家的女主人，他从前的妻，

只见她注视着幼儿，又不时转向站在身旁的高大、健美的少年——

母子的话想必风趣又体贴，看那少年笑得多甜。

像亡灵复生，看到妻子已为人妇，

看到她与新夫的骨肉，

看到她那其乐融融、安宁、幸福的新家，

看到自己的孩子美丽、高挑，

看到另一个男人，成了一家之主，

坐在曾经属于自己的位置上，

享受自己妻儿的爱戴。

虽然这种种老板娘都已对他明言。

可亲见总比耳闻力道更强。

他脚步踉跄，赶紧握住树干，免得跌倒；

他生怕忍不住哀哭与浩叹，像宿命的霹雳，

一瞬间，击碎了那炉边的幸福。

于是，他像窃贼一样，悄悄转过身，

以免脚下粗糙的石子发出声响；

循着花园的墙，摸索着前行，

担心跌倒、晕厥、被发现。

他蹑手蹑脚走到花园门前，

轻轻轻轻轻轻地打开、合上，

就像打开、合上一扇病室的门。

伊诺克走出了花园，又踏上了荒野。

他本想跪下祈祷，却双膝一软，

竟然匍匐在地上，手指嵌进湿土。

“我受不了了，他们为什么带我回来？

万能的上帝啊，我的主，在那孤单的荒岛上

您曾赐我力量。父，还请您继续佑护我去迎击孤独。

助我、赐我力量，不告诉她，不让她知晓，

不打破她的安宁，也不惊扰孩子们！要对孩子们说吗？

他们都已把我忘怀。我要说出实情吗？

不，绝不！我宁愿不能像父亲一样吻他们！

我的女儿多么像她妈妈，而那男孩，我的儿子，他多像我！”

他躺在那出神，一时间，言语、思想、自然都无力。

待他起身，沿着逼仄、悠长的街道踱回自己孤单的家，

像歌中的叠句，他疲惫的脑海中回荡着这样的词句：

“不能告诉她，不能让她知晓！”