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LESSON 19 The song of the shirt
第十九课 衣衫之歌
With fingers weary and worn, with eyelids heavy and red, a woman sat in unwomanly rags, plying her needle and thread—Stitch! stitch! stitch! in poverty, hunger, and dirt; and still with a voice of dolorous pitch she sang the "Song of the Shirt!"
一个衣衫褴褛的女人坐着，她的手指磨出了了厚厚的茧子、苍老而无力；她的眼皮耷拉着，眼珠里布满血丝；她正拿着针和线，不停地缝啊！缝啊！缝啊！她贫穷、饥饿、肮脏；却仍旧哼着忧伤的高音小调儿——衣衫之歌。
"Work! work! work! while the cock is crowing aloof! and work! work! work! till the stars shine through the roof! It's oh, to be a slave along with the barbarous Turk, where woman has never a soul to save, if this is Christian work!
“工作！工作！工作！公鸡在高处啼叫着！工作！工作！工作！直到星星透过屋顶闪烁！哦，成了奴隶，和野蛮的土耳其人一样，如果耶稣能拯救世人，那么土耳其妇女的灵魂已无药可救。
"Work! work! work! till the brain begins to swim; work! work! work! till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band; band, and gusset, and seam; till over the buttons I fall asleep, and sew them on in a dream. O men, with sisters dear! O men, with mothers and wives! it is not linen you're wearing out, but human creatures' lives. Stitch! stitch! stitch! in poverty, hunger, and dirt; sewing at once, with a double thread, a shroud as well as a shirt.
“工作！工作！工作！直到脑浆都开始融化；工作！工作！工作！直到眼皮沉重、眼神黯淡！缝合、衬料、衣带；衣带、衬料、缝合；直到我沉沉睡去好似在梦中缝上衣扣。哦，男人们，亲爱的姐妹们！哦，男人们，母亲和妻子们！你们穿破了的不是亚麻衣裳，而是人类的生命。缝啊！缝啊！缝啊！我贫穷、饥饿、肮脏；我用双螺纹缝制了一件衣衫、和一方裹尸布。
"But why do I talk of Death? that phantom of grisly bone; I hardly fear his terrible shape, it seems so like my own. It seems so like my own, because of the fasts I keep; O God, that bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!
“我怎会提起死亡？那可怕的尸骨幻化成鬼魂；而我并不畏惧那吓人的东西，因为它的样子像我。它的样子像我，因为我一直保有斋戒的习惯；哦，上帝！怎会有如此昂贵的面包，又怎会有如此低廉的血肉！
"Work! work! work! My labour never flags; and what are its wages? A bed of straw, a crust of bread—and rags. That shattered roof and this naked floor, a table, a broken chair, and a wall so blank, my shadow I thank for sometimes falling there.
“工作！工作！工作！我从未停止过工作；但是，我的所得报酬呢？一席稻草床、一块面包——和几块破布。破碎的屋顶、光秃的地板、一张桌子、一把烂椅子、一堵空荡荡的墙、多亏了墙面会时而投上我的影子。
"Work! work! work! from weary chime to chime; work! work! work! as prisoners work for crime. Band, and gusset, and seam; seam, and gusset, and band; till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, as well as the weary hand.
“工作！工作！工作！时间疲倦地流逝着；工作！工作！工作！如同犯人在自我赎罪。衣带、衬料、缝合；缝合、衬料、衣带；直到心脏衰竭、直到大脑僵硬、直到双手疲惫不堪。
"Work! work! work! in the dull December light; and work! work! work! when the weather is warm and bright, while underneath the eaves the brooding swallows cling, as if to show their sunny backs, and twit me with the spring.
“工作！工作！工作！借着十二月昏暗的灯光；工作！工作！工作！当天气变得温暖、当天色变得明亮，屋檐下滞留着孵蛋的燕儿，春天将我包裹，一切又变得欣欣向荣起来。
"Oh, but to breathe the breath of the cowslip and primrose sweet, with the sky above my head, and the grass beneath my feet; for only one short hour to feel as I used to feel, before I knew the woes of want, and the walk that costs a meal! Oh, but for one short hour! a respite however brief! No blessed leisure for love or hope, but only time for grief ! A little weeping would ease my heart; but in their briny bed my tears must stop, for every drop hinders needle and thread."
“哦，呼吸着樱草的芬芳和香甜，头顶是蔚蓝的天空，脚下是翠绿的草儿；在我体会到欲望之悲痛、尝到食之艰辛之前，只有短短一个小时的时间来感受过去之感受！哦，只有短短的一个小时！多么短暂的喘息时间啊！没有美妙的闲暇来感受爱和希望，只有大把的时间来感受悲痛！默默的哭泣一番让内心稍感宽慰；然而工床早已被眼泪浸湿，我必须停止哭泣，因为每一滴泪水，都将成为一针一线的羁绊。“
With fingers weary and worn, with eyelids heavy and red, a woman sat in unwomanly rags, plying her needle and thread—Stitch! stitch! stitch! in poverty, hunger, and dirt; and still with a voice of dolorous pitch—would that its tone could reach the rich! —she sang this "Song of the Shirt!"
一个衣衫褴褛的女人坐着，她的手指磨出了了厚厚的茧子、苍老而无力；她的眼皮耷拉着，眼珠里布满血丝；她正拿着针和线，不停地缝啊！缝啊！缝啊！她贫穷、饥饿、肮脏；却依旧哼着忧伤的高音小调儿——但愿这声音能触动富人！——她唱的这首“衣衫之歌！”
—Thomas Hood
—托马斯·胡德
