A simple child，
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."
Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."
"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.
"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
我们七个（胡虚一、李敖译）
一个单纯的小孩，
他呼吸，轻快无比，
每只手脚都充满了生命，
他哪管什么叫死。
我碰到一个小女孩，
住乡下小屋，说她八岁。
她有着一头乱发，
在头上，一一下坠。
她一派乡野土气，
穿着随便失体，
她眼睛漂亮、真漂亮，
——她的美使我欢喜。
“小姑娘啊，”我问道，
“你可有几个兄弟姊妹？”
“几个呢？一共七个。”她答道，
看着我，奇怪有什么不对。
“告诉我，他们都在哪儿？”
她答道：“一共七位，
两个去航海，
两个住康卫。
“哥哥姐姐两个，
埋在坟里。
靠近他们，那小屋
妈妈和我住在一起。”
“你说两个去航海，
两个住康卫。
但你们有七个，
可爱的姑娘，这有点不对。”
小姑娘还是照说：
“我们七个不差，
两个埋在坟里，
就在那棵树下。”
“我的小姑娘，活着的才算，
你说得不对，
坑里躺着两个，
你们只有五位。”
“他们坟上有青草，
看得到他们，那么明显，
他们在一起做邻居，
离妈妈家门十二步远。
“我常在那儿织袜子，
我常在那儿缝手帕，
我坐在那儿地上，
对他们唱歌说话。
“我常在太阳下山，
看天上又睛又亮。
我端着我的小碗，
在那儿把晚饭吃上。
“珍姐死得最早，
她躺在床上喊疼。
最后她终于走了，
当上帝慈悲万能。
“当草地又枯又干，
她的坑出现眼前，
绕着纹，约翰和我
在一起大家游玩。
“当地上雪白一片，
又跑步又滑冰，我可真忙，
这时候约翰走了，
也埋在珍姐身旁。”
“如果两位在天上，”我问道，
“那么还有几个？”
“啊，先生，我们七个。”
她回答，干净利落。
“但他们死了，两个死了，
他们的灵魂，上了天了！”
这些话，是耳边风，一说而过
小姑娘执意她没有错，
小姑娘照说：“不对，我们七个！”
[此贴子已经被作者于2005-5-26 21:39:07编辑过] | 
