情人的礼物(爱者之贻)
Lover’s Gifts(2)
泰戈尔
11
初夏，绿叶刚刚吐出嫩芽。夏天来到海边花园里。和煦的南风，轻柔地传来断续的懒洋洋的歌声。一天就这样结束了。
然而，让爱之花盛开的夏天来到海滨的花园里吧。让我的欢乐诞生，让它拍着手儿，和着汹涌澎湃的歌声翩翩起舞吧。让清晨甜蜜而又惊奇地睁大眼睛吧。
IT was only the budding of leaves in the summer, the summer that came into the garden by the sea. It was only a stir and rustle in the south wind, a few lazy snatches of songs, and then the day was done.
But let there be flowering of love in the summer to come in the garden by the sea. Let my joy take its birth and clap its hands and dance with the surging songs, and make the morning open its eyes wide in sweet amazement.
12
啊，春天!很久很久以前，你打开天国的南门，降临混沌初开的大地。人们冲出房屋，欢笑着，舞蹈着，喜极欲狂，互相抛掷着花粉。
岁岁年年，你都带着你第一次走出天堂时撒在路上的四月的鲜花来到人间。因此，你的花的浓郁芬芳里弥漫着如今已成梦境的岁月的声声叹息——那已消亡的世界的眷恋情深的哀思。你的轻风里满载着已从人类语言中消失的古老的爱的传奇。
有一天，你突然闯进我因初恋而焦急震颤的心灵，带来新的奇迹。从此，年复一年，那从未经历过的欢乐的甜柔的羞怯便藏在你柠檬花绿色的蓓蕾里;我心中难描难诉的柔情便留在默默无言，如燃烧的火焰似的红玫瑰中;我生命中最美好的一页——那热情奔放的五月的时光的深切怀念，便和着你年年新绿的嫩叶的沙沙声悄悄低语。
AGES ago when you opened the south gate of the garden of gods, and came down upon the first youth of the earth,O Spring ; men and women rushed out of their houses, laughing and dancing, and pelting each other with flower-dust in a sudden madness of mirth.
Year after year you bring the same flowers that you scattered in your path in that earliest April. There- fore, to-day, in their pervading per- fume, they breathe the sigh of the days that are now dreams, the clinging sadness of vanished worlds. Your breeze is laden with love-legends that have faded from all human language.
One day, with fresh wonder, you came into my life that was fluttered with its first love. Since then the tender timidness of that inexperienced joy comes hidden every year in the early green buds of your lemon flowers ; your red roses carry in their burning silence all that was unutterable in me ; the memory of lyric hours, those
days of May, rustles in the thrill of your new leaves born again and again.
13
昨夜，在花园里，我向你献上青春洋溢的醇酒。你举起杯儿，放在唇边，合上双眼微笑着。我撩起你的面纱，拨散你的长发，将你那宁静而又洋溢着柔情蜜意的脸庞贴在我的胸膛上。昨夜，月光梦一般漫溢在安睡的大地。
今朝，晨露晶莹，黎明岑寂。你，刚刚沐浴归来，身着洁白的长袍，手提满篮的鲜花，向神庙走去。我伫立在通向神庙小路旁的树荫下，在静悄悄的黎明中低垂着头。
LAST night in the garden I offered you my youth’s foaming wine. You lifted the cup to your lips, you shut your eyes and smiled while I raised your veil, unbound your tresses, draw- ing down upon my breast your face sweet with its silence, last night when the moon’s dream overflowed the world of slumber.
To-day in the dew-cooled calm of the dawn you are walking to God’s temple, bathed and robed in white, with a basketful of flowers in your hand. I stand aside in the shade under the tree, with my head bent, in the calm of the dawn by the lonely road to the temple.
14
假如我今天烦躁不安。我爱，宽恕我吧。这是第一场夏雨，河边的树木在摇曳颤抖，花繁叶茂的迦澹波树举着醇香的酒杯，在劝诱过路的风。看呵，天空里道道电光闪烁着投下匆匆的视线，风儿正在你的秀发上狂跳嬉戏。
假如我今天太殷勤，我爱，请不要生气。迷蒙的雨幕掩住我们每日所见的景物，村子里一切劳动已经停止，牧场上杳无人迹。即将降临的雨儿在你的黑眼睛里发现它的音乐，七月在你的门旁等待着用它含苞的素馨簪上你的秀发。
If I am impatient to-day, forgive me, my love. It is the first summer rain, and the riverside forest is aflutter, and the blossoming kadam trees are tempting the passing winds with wine- cups of perfume. See, from all corners of the sky lightnings are darting their glances, and winds are rampant in your hair.
If to-day I bring my homage to you, forgive me, my love. The everyday world is hidden in the dimness of the rain, all work has stopped in the village, the meadows are desolate. In your dark eyes the coming of the rain finds its music, and it is at your door that July waits with jasmines for your hair in its blue skirt.
15
村里人都叫她黑姑娘，可是在我心上，她却是一朵小花——一朵黑色的百合。我第一次见到她是在乌云挟着闪电滚滚而来的田野上。她的面纱拖在地面，乌黑的发辫松垂在肩前。也许她是个黑姑娘，正像村里人说的那样。但是，我只看到她那双小鹿般可爱的黑眼睛。
狂风呼啸，预示着暴雨即将来临。听到小花牛惊慌的哞哞低鸣，她快步跑出茅屋。抬起大眼睛仰望天空，倾听着隐隐的雷声。那时，我站在稻田边——只有姑娘心里明白(或许我也知道)她是否注意到我。。她黑得那样可爱，就像炎热的夏季里带来阵雨的乌云，像密林里温柔的阴影，就像恼人的五月黑夜里渴望爱情的无言的秘密。
HER neighbours call her dark in the village but she is a lily to my heart, yes, a lily though not fair. Light came muffled with clouds when first I saw her in the field ; her head was bare, her veil was off, her braided hair hanging loose on her neck. She may be dark as they say in the village, but I have seen her black eyes and am glad.
The pulse of the air boded storm. She rushed out of the hut when she heard her dappled cow low in dismay. For a moment she turned her large eyes to the clouds, and felt a stir of the coming rain in the sky. I stood at the corner of the rice-field, if she noticed me, it was known only to her (and perhaps I know it). She is dark as
the message of the shower in summer, dark as the shade of the flowering wood- land ; she is dark as the longing for unknown love in the wistful night of May.
16
她曾经住在破损的石阶伸到水面的池塘边。多少个夜晚，她曾凝视过那因竹叶摇曳而变得使人眩晕的溶溶月色;多少个雨季，她嗅到从嫩秧田里飘来的湿润的泥土的清香。
椰枣树下，村庄的院落里，姑娘们谈笑着缝制冬装。她的名字总是被人们亲昵地提起。池水深处还保留着她手臂戏水的记忆，通往村中的小径上还印着她每天经过时潮湿的足迹。
今天，带着水罐来池塘汲水的村姑就曾和她天真地逗趣，看到过她的微笑，那赶着牛群去凫水的老人，也曾每天在她门首停下脚步，向她问候致意。
多少条帆船曾从村边驶过，多少位旅人曾在那榕树下休憩，渡船曾把多少人送到对岸的集市，但是从未有人留意这个地方，乡间小路边，靠近破损的石阶伸近水面的池塘，曾住着我心爱的姑娘。
SHE dwelt here by the pool with its landing - stairs in ruins. Many an evening she had watched the moon made dizzy by the shaking of bamboo leaves, and on many a rainy day the smell of the wet earth had come to her over the young shoots of rice.
Her pet name is known here among those date-palm groves and in the court -yards where girls sit and talk while stitching their winter quilts. The water in this pool keeps in its depth the memory of her swimming limbs, and her wet feet had left their marks, day after day, on the footpath leading to the village.
The women who come to-day with their vessels to the water have all seen her smile over simple jests, and the old peasant, taking his bullocks to their bath, used to stop at her door every day to greet her.
Many a sailing boat passes by this village ; many a traveller takes rest beneath that banyan tree ; the ferry boat crosses to yonder ford carrying crowds to the market ; but they never notice this spot by the village road, near the pool with its ruined landing- stairs, where dwelt she whom I love.
17
很久很久以前，蜜蜂在夏日的花园中恋恋不舍地飞来飞去，月亮向着夜幕中的百合微笑，闪电倏地向云彩抛下它的亲吻，又大笑着跑开。诗人站在树林掩映、云霞缭绕的花园一隅，让他的心沉默着，像花一般恬静，像新月窥人似地注视他的梦境，像夏日的和风似地漫无目的地飘游。
四月的一个黄昏，月儿像一团雾气从落霞中升起。少女们在忙碌地浇花喂鹿，教孔雀翩翩起舞。蓦地，诗人放声歌唱：“听呀，倾听这世间的秘密吧!我知道百合为月亮的爱情而苍白憔悴;芙蓉为迎接初升的太阳而撩开了面纱，如果你想知道，原因很简单。蜜蜂向初绽的素馨低唱些什么，学者不理解，诗人却了解。”
太阳羞红了脸，下山了，月亮在树林里徘徊踟蹰，南风轻轻地告诉芙蓉：这诗人似乎不像他外表那样单纯呀!妙龄少女，英俊少年含笑相视，拍着手说：“世间的秘密已然泄露，让我们的秘密也随风飘去吧!”
WHILE ages passed and the bees haunted the summer gardens, the moon smiled to the lilies of the night, the lightnings flashed their fiery kisses to the clouds and fled laughing, the poet stood in a corner, one with the trees and clouds. He kept his heart silent, like a flower, watched through his dreams as does the crescent moon ;
and wandered like the summer breeze for no purpose.
One April evening, when the moon rose up like a bubble from the depth of the sunset ; and one maiden was busy watering the plants ; and one feeding her doe, and one making her peacock dance, the poet broke out singing " Oh listen to the secrets of the world. I know that the lily is pale for the moon’s love. The lotus draws her veil aside before the morning sun, and the reason is simple if you think. The meaning of the bee’s hum in the ear of the early jasmine has escaped the learned, but the poet knows."
The sun went down in a blaze of blush, the moon loitered behind the trees, and the south wind whispered to the lotus that the poet was not as simple as he seemed. The maidens and youths clapped their hands and cried " The world’s secret is out." They looked into each other’s eyes and sang " Let our secret as well be flung into the winds."
18
假如你一定要倾心于我，你的生活就会充满忧虑。我的家在十字路口，房门洞开着，我心不在焉——因为我在歌唱。
假如你一定要倾心于我，我决不会用我的心来回报。倘若我的歌儿是爱的海誓山盟，请你原谅，当乐曲平息时，我的信证也不复存在，因为隆冬季节，谁会恪守五月的誓约?
假如你一定要倾心于我，请不要把它时刻记在心头。当你笑语盈盈，一双明眸闪着爱的欢乐，我的回答必然是狂热而轻率的，一点儿也不切合实际——你应把它铭记在心，然后再把它永远忘却。
YOUR days will be full of cares, if you must give me your heart. My house by the cross-roads has its doors open and my mind is absent, for I sing.
I shall never be made to answer for it, if you must give me your heart. If I pledge my word to you in tunes now, and am too much in earnest to keep it when music is silent, you must forgive me; for the law laid down in May is best broken in December.
Do not always keep remembering it, if you must give me your heart. When your eyes sing with love, and your voice ripples with laughter, my answers to your questions will be wild, and not miserly accurate in facts, they are to be believed for ever and then forgotten for good.
19
经书中写道，人若年过半百，就应远离喧嚣的尘世，到森林中度隐居生活。然而，诗人却宣称：净修林只应属于年轻人。因为，那里是百花的故乡，是蜂儿鸟儿的家园;那里，幽僻的角落期待着情侣们的私语的震颤。月华亲吻着素馨花，倾诉着深情厚谊。只有远远未到五十的人才能领略其间的深意。
啊，风华少年，既缺乏经验，又固执任性!因此，他们正应隐居在密林，经受谈情说爱的严格训练，而让老人去管理世间营生。
IT is written in the book that Man, when fifty, must leave the noisy world, to go to the forest seclusion. But the poet proclaims that the forest hermitage is only for the young. For it is the birthplace of flowers and the haunt of birds and bees ; and hidden nooks are waiting there for the thrill of lovers’ whispers. There the moon-
light, that is all one kiss for the mdlati flowers, has its deep message, but those who understand it are far below fifty.
And alas, youth is inexperienced and wilful, therefore it is but meet that the old should take charge of the household, and the young take to the seclusion of forest shades and the severe discipline of courting.
20
我的歌呀，你的市场在哪里呢?是在那学者的鼻烟污染了夏日的清风，人们无休止地争论着“是油依赖桶还是桶依赖油”的问题，连那陈旧泛黄的手稿也为那如此无聊地浪费转瞬即逝的生命而蹙起眉峰的地方吗?我的歌大声叫道：呵，不，不，不是!
我的歌呀，你的市场在什么地方?大理石宫殿里住着越来越骄横肥胖的百万富翁，他的书架上堆满皮革装订、黄金描绘的书籍，奴仆们不时地拂去书上的灰尘，这从未被人翻阅过的书籍扉页上的题辞是献给那无名的神明。你的市场是在那里吗?我的歌猛吸一口气，说道：不，不，不是!
我的歌呀，你的市场在什么地方?青年学生坐在桌旁，头儿低垂在书本上，思想却在青春的梦境里漂游;散文在书桌上蹀躞，诗歌深深地埋藏在心里。灰尘铺满零乱的书斋，歌儿呵，你可愿在那里捉迷藏?我的歌踌躇着，没有开口。
我的歌呀，你的市场在什么地方?忙于操持家务的少妇，抽空儿快步跑进卧室，急匆匆从枕头上抽出一本爱情故事，那书儿被小宝贝撕破揉皱，书页散发着她头发上的香气。你的市场是在这个地方么?我的歌叹息着，欲言又止，打不定主意。
我的歌呀，你的市场在什么地方?鸟儿轻轻地啼啭，溪流明睿地欢歌，宇宙的琴弦把歌曲倾在一对恋人两颗颤动的心上，你的市场是在那里吗?我的歌放声高唱：是的，是的，是的!
WHERE is the market for you, my song ? Is it there where the learned muddle the summer breeze with their snuff ; where men endlessly dispute whether the oil depends upon the cask, or the cask upon the oil ; where yellow manuscripts frown upon the fleet- footed frivolousness of life ? My song cries out, Ah, no, no, no.
Where is the market for you, my song ? Is it there where the man of fortune grows enormous in pride and flesh in his marble palace, with his books on the shelves, dressed in leather, painted in gold, dusted by slaves, their virgin pages dedicated to the god obscure ? My song gasped and said, Ah, no, no, no.
Where is the market for you, my song ? Is it there where the young student sits, with his head bent over his books, and his mind straying in youth’s dream-land ; where prose is prowling on the desk, and poetry hiding in the heart ? There among that dusty disorder, would you care to play hide - and - seek ? My song remains silent in shy hesitation.
Where is the market for you, my song ? Is it there where the bride is busy in the house, where she runs to her bedroom the moment she is free, and snatches, from under her pillows, the book of romance so roughly handled by the baby, so full of the scent of her hair ? My song heaves a sigh and trembles with uncertain desire.
Where is the market for you, my song ? Is it there where the least of a bird’s notes is never missed, where the stream’s babbling finds its full wisdom, where all the lute-strings of the world shower their music upon two fluttering hearts ? My song bursts out and cries, Yes, yes.
