My Lost Youth by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 青春祭

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." 

 

青春祭

 

常常我想起挨着海洋

那个美丽的小城；

常常我的心徜徉

在心爱老城开心的小巷，

就这样重回我的青春。 

而那句拉普兰歌谣

依然在记忆里盘旋：

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

我看到一排排树荫，

也瞥到， 环绕的海湾

闪烁着波光粼粼，

还有那些海岛的低吟

是我儿时梦想的来源。

而那歌谣的副歌，

依然低语喃喃：

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

我想起船坞和黑色的码头，

伴着海浪的拍击；

想起满腮胡须的水手，

和神秘又美丽的泊舟，

还有大海的魔力。

而那飘忽的歌谣

依然吟唱不断：

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

我想起海边的堤坝， 

和山坡上的军营；

日出的令枪， 把长空划，

和着操练的鼓声哒哒，

喇叭声嘹亮轻盈。

而那歌谣的旋律

依然在记忆里震颤：

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

我记得那个远海的战役，

如同雷鸣击打海浪！

战死的水手们， 安息

在他们的墓地， 守望着海湾的静寂， 

那是他们战死的地方。 

而那哀痛的歌谣

依然令我全身冷颤：

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

我看到猎鹿林随风摇摆，

和茂密的树荫；

昔日的友情和恋爱

带着安息的声音归来，

像鸽子飞翔在寂静的右舍左邻。 

而那句甜美的歌谣，

依然顿挫喃喃：

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

我记得那些飘忽的悲欢

穿过男孩的脑海；

心中的歌声和无言，

有些是预示， 还有些是期盼

疯狂而又苍白。

而那断续的歌谣

依然回旋： 

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

有我讲不出的事；

有我停不下的梦，

有让坚强的心虚弱的心思，

给脸颊苍白的病意，

和眼前的迷蒙。 

而那致命的歌谣

依然带给我寒颤：

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

当我访问心爱的老城边 

遇到很多奇妙的事。

那里空气清甜，

树丛掩映每条熟知的小巷，

当枝叶上下浮起，

唱着美妙的歌谣， 

依然低语轻叹： 

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”

 

猎鹿林清新艳丽，

带着几乎成痛的欢欣

我的心回到那里迷失，

在那昔日的梦里，

寻回逝去的青春。 

而那奇妙美丽的歌谣，

依然被小树林喃喃：

“男孩的心愿是风的心愿， 

少年的心思是长长的梦想。”