我翻译的The HIghwayman

我这里是原诗的翻译，歌词删去了其中几节。 强盗 by Alfred Noyes (1880-1958) 风，是骤然汹涌的树浪间黑暗的急流 月，是幽灵般颠簸在云海上的三桅帆船 路，是紫色荒野上一条月光织成的缎带 这时强盗纵马奔来 飞奔，飞奔 强盗飞奔而来，疾停在路旁那古老的客栈门边 他前额扣法式三角帽，鄂下扎带飘飘 酒红天鹅绒与褐色鹿皮长裤 合身得毫无褶绉；而长靴笔挺至大腿！ 他奔驰间如同宝石般闪耀 他的手枪闪耀 他的长剑闪耀，在璀璨星空下 马蹄碎步，黑色院子卵石喀塔 他用鞭子轻打百叶窗，客栈门窗紧闭 他仰首对窗口轻吹一曲，谁在那儿等待 是房东的女儿贝丝 老房东的黑眸少女 正给她的长长黑发，绑上深红的不变爱结

漆黑的老客栈里小门吱哑 马夫提姆在偷听。他脸色惨白 目光愚蠢而空洞，头发如发霉的干草 他爱着房东的女儿 老房东的红唇女儿 他如狗窃窃，听见强盗说： “来吻一下亲爱的，今晚我要追逐一笔财宝 早晨的第一缕阳光前我将带着黄金归来； 如果我遇上麻烦，被纠缠一整天，那么 在月光下为我守望 在月光下等我归来 即便闯过地狱，我也要回到你身边，月光下。” 他在马上蹬直，仍够不上她垂下的手 于是窗扉前她散开长发 伴着醉人香气如瀑布倾泻他胸前 他脸如燃烧的火炬，亲吻这月光下的黑色波浪 （阿，这月下飘动的甜美波浪！） 他紧勒缰绳，月光下向西疾驰而去 二 拂晓时他没回来。晌午时他没回来 茶色夕阳下，月亮尚未升起 驿道如吉普赛缎带，回游曲绕在紫色荒野上 一群红衣的英国士兵列队行军 行军，行军 乔治国王的士兵，涌到这座古老客栈的门前

他们什么都没说，径直喝光了房东的啤酒 他们堵住房东女儿的嘴，把她捆到小床边 两个士兵驻枪跪窗前 每一个窗口都弥漫着死亡的气息 透过地狱般漆黑的窗口 贝丝可以看到那条路，那里他将飞奔而来 他们把她捆绑起来，吃吃狞笑 他们在她身上捆了一杆枪，枪口正对她胸膛 “来，好好站岗！”他们调戏吻她。这时她又听见 “在月光下为我守望 在月光下等我归来 即便闯过地狱，我也要回到你身边，月光下。” 她扭绞着反绑的双手，它们捆得如此的牢！ 她用尽力气翻腾，直到手指倘满鲜血和汗滴！ 它们在黑暗中紧绷纠缠，一秒，一秒，爬得如此迟缓 终于在午夜钟声敲响的时刻 在午夜钟声的寒气中 她的指尖触到扳机！至少她可以扣响属于自己的一枪！ 指尖停在扳机上 她小心站起来，枪口顶着胸膛 她不会让他们听见，她不再作任何挣扎 为了月光下的空荡大道 为了她通往爱的苍白驿路 她心脏砰动，她血液沸腾 “特-特；特-特！”他们听见了吗？马蹄声由远而至 “特-特；特-特，”已经近了！难道他们聋了难道他们没听见？ 月光织成白缎，沿山脊垂下 强盗疾驰奔来 飞奔，飞奔！ 红衣士兵开始准备弹药！她昂首而立，笔直而平静 “特-特，”冰霜的死寂里，“特-特，”回荡夜空中 他越来越近，她脸上泛起华光 她眼睛闪亮了一会儿，深深的吸了最后一口气 然后她的手指在月光下扣动 枪声震碎了这个世界的月光 撕碎了她的胸膛。她用尽最后的生命来示警，为她的爱人 他策马向西，他不知道她立在那里 她依在枪膛上，满是她的鲜血！ 终于在黎明前明白这枪声，他面如死灰 阿，贝丝，房东的女儿 老房东的黑眸姑娘 在月光下为爱守望整整一夜，死在浓黑的夜色中 他疯狂地策马回头，尖声诅咒刺破了天空 他挥舞长剑，身后苍白的驿道尘土飞扬 午夜月光下是他鲜红的马刺，酒红天鹅绒大衣 砰砰！他们把他射倒在大路上 如狗一般躺在大路上 他的鲜血淌满大地，染红了他腭下扎带飘飘 * * * * * * 于是某个冬天的夜晚，人们依然会说，当风涌林间 当月如同幽灵般颠簸在云海上的三桅帆船 当驿路如同紫色荒野上一条月光织成的缎带 一个强盗会纵马奔来 飞奔，飞奔 一个强盗飞奔而来，疾停在路旁那古老的客栈门边 马蹄碎步，黑色院子鹅卵石喀塔 他用鞭子轻打百叶窗，那里门窗紧闭 他对窗口轻吹一曲，她在那儿等待 那是房东的女儿贝丝 房东的黑眸少女 正给她的长长黑发，绑上深红的不变爱结 原诗： The Highwayman Alfred Noyes (1880-1958) Part One I The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding- Riding-riding- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. II He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. III Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. IV And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, But he loved the landlord's daughter, The landlord's red-lipped daughter, Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say- V "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." VI He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West. Part Two I He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching- Marching-marching- King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. II They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. III They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say- Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! IV She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! V The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. VI Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still! VII Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night ! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death. VIII He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. IX Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat. * * * * * * X And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding- Riding-riding- A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. XI Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.