BEHOLD her, single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland Lass!

Reaping and singing by herself，

Stop here, or gently pass!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain,

And sings a melancholy strain;

O listen! for the Vale profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt

More welcome notes to weary bands

Of travelers in some shady haunt,

Among Arabian sands:

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard

In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,

Breaking the silence of the seas

Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago:

Or is it some more humble lay,

Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,

That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden

sang

As if her song could have no ending;

I saw her singing at her work,

And o'er the sickle bending;——

I listen'd, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

看，一个孤独的高原姑娘，

在远远的田野间收割，

一边割一边独自歌唱，

请你站住.或者俏悄走过!

她独自把麦子割了又捆，

唱出无限悲凉的歌声，

屏息听吧!深广的谷地

已被歌声涨满而漫溢!

还从未有过夜莺百啭，

唱出过如此迷人的歌，

在沙漠中的绿荫间

抚慰过疲惫的旅客;

还从未有过杜鹃迎春，

声声啼得如此震动灵魂，

在遥远的赫布利底群岛

打破过大海的寂寥。

她唱什么，谁能告诉我?

忧伤的音符不断流涌，

是把遥远的不聿诉说?

是把古代的战争吟咏?

也许她的歌比较卑谦，

只是唱今日平凡的悲欢，

只是唱自然的哀伤苦痛——

昨天经受过，明天又将重逢?

姑娘唱什么，我猜不着，

她的歌如流水永无尽头;

只见她一边唱一边干活，

弯腰挥镰，操劳不休……

我凝神不动，听她歌唱，

然后，当我登上了山岗，

尽管歌声早已不能听到，

它却仍在我心头缭绕。