The charcoal- burner 烧炭翁（一）

He lives within the hollow wood,

From one clear dell he seldom ranges:

His daily toil in solitude

Revolves, but never changes.

A still old man, with grizzled beard,

Grey eye, bent shape, and smoke-tanned features,

His quiet footstep is not feared

By shyest woodland creatures.

他在空虚的林子里住，

在那空气清新的小谷里很少走动：

他在孤寂中每天辛苦地劳作，

星斗转移，从不惊恐。

寂静的老人，长着灰白的胡子，

灰的眼睛、烟黑的特色与弯曲的形状汇拢，

他那安静的脚步无所畏惧

.最怕羞的林地动物也不会震悚。

I love to watch the pale blue spire

His scented labor builds above it;

I track the woodland by his fire:

And, seen afar, I love it,

It seems among the serious trees

The emblem of a living pleasure,

It animates the silences

As with a tuneful measure.

我喜欢观看淡蓝色的尖顶

;欣赏他的劳动高于它的建造；

我通过他的营火跟踪到林地：

并且，远远看见，我爱上了心高气傲，

那好像在严肃的树丛里

活着快乐的标志，多么幽奥，

这使得沉默具有了生气

如同与一支和谐的心曲一起津津乐道。

The charcoal- burner 烧炭翁（二）

And dream not that such humdrum ways

Fold naught of nature's charm around him;

The mystery of soundless days

Hath sought for him and found him.

He hides within his simple brain

An instinct innocent and holy,

The music of a wood-bird's strain,——

Nor blithe, nor melancholy.

不曾梦想过这样的生活多么乏味

;四周环绕着他的却是天然的魅力；

那也是神秘的无声无息的时空

寻找他并发现了他的真谛。

他的内心隐藏着简单的天性

直觉的纯真与神圣的心意

,——林中小鸟吟出巧妙的乐章，

.既不欢乐，也不忧郁，苍茫大地。

But hung upon the calm content

Of wholesome leaf and bough and blossom

An understate ravishment

Born in a rustic bosom.

He knows the mood of forest things,

He feels, in his own speechless fashion,

For helpless forms of fur and wings

A mild paternal passion.

在平静的内容上方悬挂着

——健康的枝叶和鲜艳夺目之花

柔软无力地陈述那一次的强夺

那起源于乡村深处的泥多佛大

他知道森林中道貌岸然的心情

他感到了自己说不出说时的庞眉皓发，

那可是最适合的用皮毛表露出的无助形式

.一种激情宛如温和的父亲的省悟笑骂。

The charcoal- burner 烧炭翁（三）

Within his horny hand he holds

The warm brood of the ruddy squirrel;

Their bushy mother storms and scolds;

But knows no sense of peril.

The dormouse shares his crumb of cheese,

His homeward trudge the rabbits follow;

He finds, in angles of the trees,

The cup-nest of the swallow.

他的粗硬起茧的手内捧起

那红润的松鼠，那热情的一窝；

灌木茂密的毛茸茸的母亲刮起风暴；

但是知道这是没有危险感觉的诉说。

睡鼠可分享他的乳酪面包屑，

兔子跟着他回家艰难跋涉奔波；

他常常可在树叉上发现到，

燕子的杯子形状般的巢窠。

And through this sympathy, perchance,

The beating heart of life he reaches

Far more than we who idly dance

An hour beneath the beeches.

Our science and our empty pride,

Our busy dream of introspection,

To God seem vain and poor beside

This dumb, sincere reflection.

通过这同情心，偶然的每一次，

他享受到生命中心灵的跳动多多，

这胜过我们空闲乏味的跳舞，

或是一个小时在山毛榉下面蹉跎。

我们的科学，我们的太空的骄傲，

我们反省的忙碌，梦想袅娜，

对着上帝在打哑谜，徒劳无益的贫穷，

诚实地反射在旁边，好像绮罗。

Yet he will die unsought, unknown,

A nameless headstone stand above him,

And the vast woodland, vague and lone,

Be all that's left to love him.

然而他将默默无声地死去，

一块无名的墓碑在他上方哆嗦，

还有那巨大的林地，含糊和孤独，

就是留下来爱他的全部法螺。