Elizabeth Barrett Browning
1
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows,
The young birds are chirping in the nest,
The young fawns are playing with the shadows ,
The young flowers are blowing toward the west—
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly !
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.
2
Do you question the young children in the sorrow
Why their tears are falling so?
The old man may weep for his to-morrow
Which is lost in Long Ago;
The old tree is leafless in the forest,
The old year is ending in the frost,
The old wound, if stricken , is the sorest,
The old hope is hardest to be lost:
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy Fatherland ?
3
They look up with their pale and sunken faces,
And their looks are sad to see,
For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses
Down the cheeks of infancy ;
Your old earth, they say, "is very dreary,"
Our young feet, they say, "are very weak;
Few paces have we taken, yet are weary—
Our grave-rest is very far to seek:
Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children,
For the outside earth is cold,
And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering ,
And the graves are for the old."
4
True, say the children, "it may happen
That we die before our time:
Little Alice died last year, her grave is shapen
Like a snowball , in the rime.
We looked into the pit prepared to take her:
Was no room for any work in the close clay!
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her,
Crying, 'Get up, little Alice! it is day.'
If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower,
With your ear down, little Alice never cries;
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her,
For the smile has time for growing in her eyes:
And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in
The shroud by the kirk chime!
It is good when it happens," say the children,
That we die before our time.
5
Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have:
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking,
With a ceremen from the grave.
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city,
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do;
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty,
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through!
But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?
Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,
From your pleasures fair and fine!
6
For oh, say the children, "we are weary,
And we cannot run or leap;
If we cared for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping,
We fall upon our faces, trying to go;
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping,
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow;
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring
Through the coal-dark, underground;
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron
In the factories, round and round.
7
For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning, — Their wind comes in our faces, — Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning, And the walls turn in their places: Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling, Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling, All are turning, all the day, and we with all. And all day, the iron wheels are droning, And sometimes we could pray, 'O ye wheels.' (breaking out in a mad moaning) 'Stop! be silent for to-day!'
8
Ay, be silent! Let them hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth!
Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals:
Let them prove their living souls against the notion
That they live in you, or under you, O wheels!
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindly in the dark.
9
Now tell the poor young children; O my brothers,
To look up to Him and pray;
So the blessed One who blesseth all the others,
Will bless them another day.
They answer, "Who is God that He should hear us,
While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred?
When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word.
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door:
Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him,
Hears our weeping any more?
10
Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, And at midnight's hour of harm, 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber , We say softly for a charm. We know no other words except 'Our Father', And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, And hold both within His right hand which is strong. 'Our Father!' If He heard us, He would surely (For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, 'Come and rest with me, my child.' 11 But, no!" say the children, weeping faster,
He is speechless as a stone: And they tell us, of His image is the master Who commands us to work on. Go to! say the children, —"up in Heaven,
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find.
Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving :
We look up for God, but tears have made us blind."
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving,
O my brothers, what ye preach?
For God's possible is taught by His world's loving,
And the children doubt of each.
12
And well may the children weep before you!
They are weary ere they run;
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun.
They know the grief of man, without its wisdom ;
They sink in man's despair, without its calm;
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom,
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm:
Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly
The harvest of its memories cannot reap, —
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly.
Let them weep! let them weep!
13
They look up with their pale and sunken faces,
And their look is dread to see,
For they mind you of their angels in high places,
With eyes turned on Deity.
How long, they say, "how long, O cruel nation,
Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart, —
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation ,
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper,
And your purple shows your path!
But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath."
* * *
[ˈsɔrəu] n.
悲哀，悲痛
[ˈʃædəu] n.
阴影，影子
[ˈbitəli] adv.
痛苦地
[ˈstrikən] adj.
被打中的
[ˈbuzəm] n.
胸怀，胸部
[ˈfɑːðəˌlænd] n.
祖国
[ˈsʌŋkən] adj.
沉没的，凹陷的
[ˈæŋɡwiʃ] n.
痛苦，苦恼
[ˈinfənsi] n.
幼年
[biˈwildəriŋ] n.
困惑，思想混乱
[ˈsnəubɔːl] n.
雪球
[(h)wɛərˈin] adv.
在何处，在其中
[ʃraud] n.
裹尸布
[θrʌʃ] n.
画眉
[ˈkauslip] n.
黄花九轮草，樱草花
[ˈtrembl] vi.
战栗，发抖
[ˌʌndəˈniːθ] prep.
在…下面
[ˈailid] n.
眼睑，眼皮
-iron
[ˈaiən] n.
铁制品，铁
[pʌls] n.
脉搏
[krɔːl] vi.
爬行，蠕动，徐徐行进
[ˈsailənt] adj.
寂静的，沉默的，无声的
[miˈtælik] adj.
金属（性）的
[ˈfæʃən] vt.
把…塑造成，形成
[ˈnəuʃən] n.
概念，想法，意见
[bles] vt.
祝福，保佑
[ˈkriːtʃə] n.
人，动物，生灵
[ˈtʃeimbə] n.
室，房间
[ˈspiːtʃlis] adj.
不说话的，无言的
[ˈʌnbiˈliːviŋ] adj.
不相信的，怀疑的
[ˈɡlɔːri] n.
荣耀，光荣
[ˈwizdəm] n.
智慧，明智的行为
[ˈlibəti] n.
自由
[ˈɔːfən] n.
孤儿，失去生母的幼小动物
[ˈstaifl] vi.
窒息，闷死
[pælpiˈteiʃ(ə)n] n.
心悸，悸动，颤抖
[splæʃ] v.
溅，泼，溅湿
[ˈsailəns] n.
静，寂静
* * *
伊丽莎白·巴瑞特·布朗宁
伊丽莎白·巴瑞特·布朗宁（Elizabeth Barrett Browning，1806-1861），英国维多利亚时期有影响的女诗人。她小时天真、活泼，15岁时坠马受伤，长期卧床。养病期间，她博览群书，写作诗歌。1844年，她的诗集出版，获得成功，成为当时著名的诗人。后与布朗宁相识，产生真挚的爱情，秘密结婚，移居意大利。她的病也因爱情的力量逐渐好转。《葡萄牙人十四行诗》是她写给丈夫的爱情诗，真挚动人，语言优美，才华横溢。她关心社会，《孩子们的哭声》对童工的苦难生活表示极大同情，对资本主义社会发出强烈抗议。
一
你们听到孩子们在哭泣吗，我的兄弟？
他们还没到发愁的年岁！
他们把幼小的头儿靠在妈妈的怀里，
这也止不住他们流泪。
幼小的羔羊在草地上咩咩叫，
幼小的鸟雀在窝里叽叽唱，
幼小的鹿在跟影子嬉闹，
幼小的花朵正向西方开放——
可是幼小的、幼小的孩子们，我的兄弟呵，
他们正在苦苦地哭泣！
当别的孩子们游戏的时候他们哭泣呵，
在这个属于自由人的国度里。
二
你们可曾问问这些伤心的孩子
为什么这样地止不住流泪？
老人会为了自己的明天而哭泣——
他们的明天远不能追回；
老树在林子里失落了一身绿叶，
老迈的一年结束在漫天的冰雪，
老伤口受到触击疼得最剧烈，
老盼着的希望破灭了感到最痛切。
可是幼小的，幼小的孩子们，我的兄弟呵，
你们不问问他们为什么
在自己妈妈的怀里还这样苦苦地哭泣呵——
在我们这个幸福的祖国？
三
他们仰望着，双颊下陷，面色苍白，
那神态叫人看了悲伤，
因为成年人久积的痛苦已深深刻画在
他们童年的面颊之上。
他们说：“你们这古老的大地非常阴暗，
我们幼小的脚呵非常虚弱！
我们只走了几步，就感到疲倦——
休息的墓地又太远，真难觅得。
去问老人为什么哭泣吧，别问孩子们；
坟墓外面的世界太冷酷；
我们孩子们站在墓外，困惑不明，
而坟墓只允许老人进入。”
四
孩子们说道：“真的，这完全可能，
时候没到我们就死亡；
小阿丽丝去年死了——她的坟堆成
一个雪球，蒙上了白霜。
我们探望过那准备埋她的土坑：
粘结的泥土里没干活的地方！
她躺下安睡了，没人再把她唤醒，
叫‘天亮了，阿丽丝赶快起床！’
无论晴天雨天，如果在坟旁
你侧耳倾听，阿丽丝从不哭叫；
如果见到她，一定认不出她的模样，
因为她的眼睛里显出了微笑：
她过得挺愉快，裹着布，听教堂的钟声
给她安宁，为她唱催眠曲！”
孩子们这样说，“那将是一件好事情，
如果我们早早地死去。”
五
可悲呵，可叹，孩子们！他们在追寻
生中之死，当作最好的慰藉；
他们用坟墓里面的裹尸布裹紧
自己的心，免得心儿碎裂。
走出去，孩子们，走出矿井和城市吧，
唱起来，孩子们，像小画眉一样歌唱；
大把采摘草地上漂亮的樱草花吧，
大声笑，让樱草花从指缝里撒到地上！
可是他们回答说：“你们草地上的樱草花
像不像我们矿井附近的野草？
让我们安静地呆在煤层的阴影下吧，
哪管你们的欢乐有多么美好！”
六
“因为呵，”孩子们说，“我们已经太累，
没力气奔跑也不能蹦跳；
要是我们想着草地，那只是因为
可以在那里躺倒，睡觉。
我们弯腰，膝盖就酸疼发颤，
我们想走，却扑面摔倒在地上；
在我们沉重下垂的眼皮下面，
最红的花儿苍白得像霜雪一样；
因为，我们整天吃力地拖运重担，
穿过地下黑暗的煤矿巷道——
要不，我们就整天在厂房里运转
铁的轮子，转得没完没了。
七
“因为，铁轮整天转着，隆隆地叫——
卷起的风吹向我们的脸，——
直到我们的心发慌，头发晕，脉搏燃烧，
四面的墙壁也在晃动打旋：
高窗外茫茫的天空在动荡摇摆，
射到墙上的长长的光线在摇曳，
天花板上爬着的黑苍蝇都转了起来，
一切都在转，整天转，我们和一切。
整天，铁轮子发出隆隆的响声，
有时候我们会这样祈祷，
‘轮子呵！’（我们迸发出疯狂的悲鸣）
‘停下！安静一天吧，至少！’”
八
是的，安静！让他们听见彼此呼吸，
哪怕一会儿，一口口气息相通！
让他们手触着手，在这少年时期，
纯洁温柔的人情水乳交融！
让他们感到这里钢铁的冷酷运转
并不是上帝塑造揭示的全部人生：
让他们活生生的灵魂表明否定这概念：
他们只是在轮子里、轮子下生存！——
钢铁的轮子依然整天在滚动奔忙，
把生活碾得粉碎，落入底层；
孩子们的灵魂呵，尽管上帝召唤向太阳，
仍在黑暗中盲目地冲撞不停。
九
我的兄弟呵，请你们嘱咐可怜的孩子们
抬头看上帝，向他祈求；
慈悲的上帝既然降福给一切别的人，
也总会给他们降福保佑。
他们回答说，“上帝是谁？铁轮在滚转，
轰响，我们的话他听得出来？
我们高声哭诉，可人类从我们身边
走过，充耳不闻，根本不理睬。
我们听不见（因为铁轮在隆隆地响）
陌生人在门边说什么话语。
那么上帝，既然有天使围着他歌唱，
还能再听到我们的泣诉？
十
“祷词中只有两个字我们记得，
在午夜那个凶险的时刻，
‘父亲，’我们在房里轻轻地这样说，
像念咒语，我们向上望着。
除了‘父亲’，我们不知道说别的什么，
我们想，有时候天使们暂停歌颂，
上帝会摘取这两个字和温柔的沉默，
把两者握在他有力的右手掌中。
‘父亲！’如果他听见了，他必定会应声
（因为人们说他慈祥和蔼）
带着真情的微笑，俯视险峻的红尘：
‘孩子，跟我一同休息吧，快来。’
十一
“但是，不！”孩子们说，哭得更厉害，
“上帝像石头一样不言不语；
有人告诉我们，上帝的形象实在
就是命令我们拼命干活的厂主。
算了吧！”孩子们说，——“就是在天堂
也只能找到轮子般转动的黑云。
别嘲弄我们了；苦难使我们失去了信仰——
我们仰望上帝，却已经哭瞎了眼睛。”
哦，我的兄弟呵，你们可听见孩子们
在哭泣，在驳诘你们宣讲的教义？
上帝的博爱教人信奉上帝的万能，
这两者孩子们都不再深信不疑。
十二
在你们面前，孩子们哭泣，这很自然！
他们还没有奔跑就已经疲惫；
他们从没见过太阳光，更不曾看见
比太阳更灿烂的天国光辉。
他们有成人的悲伤，缺乏成人的智力；
陷入成人的绝望，没有成人的镇静；
是奴隶，没有基督教世界的自由权利，
是殉难者，极度痛苦，却毫无荣名，——
仿佛老人耗尽了精力，却无法回顾，
不能收获多少回忆的产物，——
他们是被剥夺了尘世和天堂之爱的遗孤。
让他们啼哭吧！让他们啼哭！
十三
他们苍白而凹陷的面孔向上仰视，
那些脸都显出骇人的模样，
他们使你想起他们的守护天使
在天上抬眼向上帝凝望！——
他们说，“残酷的国家呵，为了推动地球，
你将多久地踏在孩子的心上？
还将扼杀孩子的心跳，任铁蹄驰骤。
带你走向王座，在市场中央？
我们的鲜血迸溅着！堆积金元的人呵，
紫衣华衮表明了你们的道路！
但是静寂中孩子的哭泣却诅咒得深呵，
远远超过了壮汉的冲天暴怒。”