I sat upon a high gnarled root

I sat upon a high gnarled root
Counting the songs of sap and fruit
When from a pine tree straight and tall
That grew amid my mountain dens
A small bird let some catches fall
As though he would some song recall
As is the way with wrens.
Then from the pines’ eternal feet
To him I cried these measures meet:
“Peace be with you brother mine
Peace be with you golden crested
Peace unto you, somber breasted
Dweller in the tufted pine.
Whither is that song of thine
That bucolic wild of thine?
In some fay-delighting glade
In the soft and purple shade
That the mountain ashes made
By all other birds forgotten
Wast that song of thine begotten?”
Then the wren this answer made:
“In no fay-delighting glade
By all other birds forgotten
Was this song of mine begotten,
But when the great sun revelled high
And drunk the blood of hot July
I sought the woodland’s sweet dominions
Where Zephyr sits with folden pinions
And the streams roll on in their mystic slumbers
Wearily beating their dulcet numbers,
Singing, singing, along
And the still leaves rejoice
As they fondle the voice
Of their sweet summer song.”

Then a wonderful spirit arose
Out of the soul of a wild wood rose,
In its hand was a golden lyre
Every note was a quivering fire.
I trembled and gazed on his cold blue eyes
Whose light was the light of far away skies,
He sang me a song of primal things
A tale of the souls of ancient springs,
I think the wee wild fairy folk
In many hidden places
And in the hearts of pine and oak
Treasure the rhythmical paces,
But I am very sad when I think
As I sit here in the sun and blink
Mayhap ’twas nothing at all
Only the clarion call
Of a far-off water fall.

我坐在高大虬结的树根上

我坐在高大虬结的树根上
数着树液与果实的歌唱，
忽然从生长在山谷中的
一棵又直又高的松树上，
一只小鸟把猎物掉落，
就仿佛它要回忆某支歌，
就像鹪鹩那样。
于是从松树永恒的脚下
我朝它喊出合律的这番话：
“愿你平安，兄弟，
愿你平安，金冠者，
祝你平安，黑脯者，
蓬茸松间的居士。
你那歌哪里去了，
你那支乡曲野调？
在精灵欢喜的林地，
在山中梣树洒下的
柔和紫色的阴影里，
别的鸟都已遗忘处，
你那歌才得以生出？”
然后那鹪鹩作答如是：
“不是在精灵欢喜的林地，
别的鸟都已遗忘处，
我这歌才得以生出，
而是当大太阳纵情恣意
畅饮炎热七月的热血时，
我寻觅林地的美妙领地：
在那里西风敛翅栖息；
溪水在神秘睡眠中奔流，
倦怠地打着甜美的节奏，
一路唱啊，唱；
平静的树叶边欣赏
边抚弄那一阵阵
甜美的夏季歌声。”

于是一个奇妙的小仙子
从一朵野玫瑰灵魂中升起，
手握一把金色的竖琴，
每个音都是颤动的火星。
我颤抖着凝视他冷冷的蓝眼睛，
那眼光是遥远天空的光明；
他为我唱元始事物之歌，
古代泉水精灵的传说；
我想许多隐蔽之处，
松树橡树的内心里
那些小小野生仙族
都珍爱这节奏拍子，
但我在此坐在阳光里
想到那也许什么都不是，
只不过是远处瀑布
有如号角的啸呼，
就不禁悲伤痛苦。

傅浩　译

附

tuft: a bunch or collection of threads, grass, hair, etc., held or growing together at the base. "tufts of grass"

tufted: having or growing in a tuft or tufts.

Whither: where.

bucolic: relating to the pleasant aspects of the countryside and country life.

Wast: second person singular past of be.

begotten: brought into existence.

dominions: territory of a sovereign or government.

pinions: the outer part of a bird's wing including the flight feathers.

西风: 原文Zephyr，应为“微风”。

slumbers: sleep.

dulcet: (of sound) sweet and soothing.

wee: little.

’twas: it was.

维护者注——

“I sat upon a high gnarled root” is the last poem from the early album transcribed in the present edition. In general structure as a woodland vision and sometimes in specific phraseology (like that of the last three lines) it has similarities to “The Old Grey Man,” while as an early verse dialogue it anticipates “Love’s Decay” (transcribed below) and Yeats’s many published dialogue poems. Birds, of course, were among Yeats’s favorite symbols throughout his poetic career.

Of their sweet summer song: It is difficult to tell exactly where the wren’s song ends. I have followed here the most likely solution, but the manuscript’s irregular and overfrequent use of inverted commas, combined with the scantiness of its other punctuation, would allow for other choices. Indeed, the manuscript text concludes with a quotation mark.

George Bornstein—