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A sword, with the red rust on it,
一把剑，红色的锈迹斑斑，
That flashed in the battle tide,
回想起，弥漫的战火硝烟，
When from Lexington to Yorktown
从克星敦，再到约克镇上，
Sorely men's souls were tried;
伤痛灵魂，经历生死考验；
A plumed chapeau and a buckle,
羽毛装饰的帽子，还有扣带，
And many a relic fine,
珍藏以往，点滴难忘的纪念，
And, an by itself, the sampler,
桩桩件件，讲述血腥昨天，
Framed in with berry and vine.
将漫长过去，雕刻成晶莹珠串。
Faded the square of canvas,
画布上，风景早已黯淡，
And dim is the silken thread,
缕缕丝线，时光褪色成恍然，
But I think of white hands dimpled,
想起那优雅双手凸凹有致，
And a childish, sunny head;
稚气面容，阳光下笑脸。
For here in cross and in tent stitch,
在这座十字架与帐篷缝脚里，
In a wreath of berry and vine,
系着一簇黑莓与葡萄花环，
She worked it a hundred years ago,
一百年前，她在这里缝活，
Elizabeth, Aged Nine.
九岁，九岁的伊丽莎白。
In and out in the sunshine,
昼夜在经久轮回，
The little needle flashed,
细小的银针飞闪，
And in and out on the rainy day,
雨季在走马穿梭，
When the merry drops down plashed,
幸福的水花四溅。
As close she sat by her mother,
她紧挨母亲坐着，
The little Puritan maid,
虔诚的清教徒女孩。
And did her piece in the sampler,
其他孩子攀爬玩耍，
While the other children played.
她忙着飞针走线。
