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盔甲不怪响的骑士  

2015-08-19 11:30:05|  分类: 英诗汉译 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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盔甲不怪响的骑士

 

【英】阿·阿·米尔恩 著

熊良銋 译

 

在艾坡尔都的所有骑士中,

托马斯·汤姆爵士最精明。

他会做乘法乘到四,

他知道要想得数是十一,

须从多少减去九。他还能

给另一位骑士写信沟通。

 

在这里,他能办的事情,

别的骑士没人办得成。

他不仅懂得如何擦剑,

而且还知道随机应变。

骑士盔甲一有怪响,

他就找得到补救良方。

 

如果他没有辉煌战绩,

那并不是他没有留意

火光和袭击,去冲锋陷阵,

而是他感到这很不公平:

伤痕累累,还要拿他那么

灵巧的脑袋去冒险一搏。

 

他那座汤姆城堡,

在小山巅精心营造。

每当天阴不下雨,

他就在城垛上漫步。

有个小骑士不会游泳,

居然到护城河向他挑战。

 

有时他感到斗志昂扬,

急匆匆出城堡巡视战场。

一看见有个骑士渐渐逼近,

他要么又慌忙拔腿回家转,

要么躲藏。单等脚步声一过,

就立即吹响胜利的号角。

 

托马斯·汤姆爵士机动灵活

有一天正在简易战壕里躺卧。

对嘶杀声他从来不闻不问,

尽管这阵子动静大得很。

他以前也常这样不予理睬,

打斗声小些大些,似乎不奇怪!

 

战马奔腾,号角吹响,

刀剑呼啸,盔甲哐啷.

这一切,尤其是盔甲声怪,

整整一周在他耳边响不衰。

这次是一样的,还是不一样?

有些不同,可又有何不同?

 

托马斯爵士竖起谨慎的耳朵,

仔细倾听休爵士从旁走过,

突然他似乎听出了不同,

也许没听清,理由却分明:

与其他骑士发出的声音相比,

这位陌生人的响声更甜蜜。

 

托马斯爵士观察他走路的模样,

他愤怒已极,顿时不能把话讲。

肯特郡的人们多年来都很仇视他,

那个盔甲不怪响的骑士,活该挨骂!

然而恰在此时此地他抬头观望,

那一个骑士的盔甲声已无影踪。

 

匆匆赶到他系马的地方,

他策马飞奔一路无阻挡。

他内心深处的唯一惧怕,

关于敌情方面,并非他

“剑锋不锋利?”“心坚不坚强?”

而是“他这场惊吓究竟有多长?”

 

休爵士正在高歌,手叉在腰上,

突然觉察到身后有什么动向。

他的歌声还在婉转悠扬,

凄厉一声响,吓得他心慌。

他想,“暴风雨果然来啦!”

然后轻缓地从马背上倒下。

 

这时候托马斯爵士壮了壮胆,

翻身下马,亲切友善忙开言:

“你穿的盔甲沉重无比,

我定能把你从中拉出来。

最勇敢的骑士有时也这样,

可能会遇到盔甲太紧但无妨。”

 

在大约一百码开外的地方,

是休爵士英勇喋血的疆场。

托马斯爵士发现有个水池可以利用,

于是他小心翼翼,生怕湿了脚踵,

他扛起这副盔甲来到池边,

把它扔进水中,看着它下沉。

 

因此从那以后,越来越多的

肯特郡人骄傲地说起,

艾坡尔都的托马斯·汤姆就是

那位“盔甲不怪响的骑士。”

而那位给了他最好祝福得骑士休,

象其他骑士,盔甲还在厉声尖叫。

 

      The Knight Whose Armour Didn’t Squeak

 

Written by A. A. Milne

Translated by L. R. Xiong

 

            Of all the knights in Appledore

            The wisest was`Sir Thomas Tom.

            He multiplied as far as four,

            And knew what nine was taken from

            To make eleven. He could write

            A letter to another Knight.

 

            No other Knight in the land

            Could do the things which he could do

            Not only did he understand

            The way to polish swords, but knew

            What remedy a Knight should seek

            Whose armour had begun to squeak.

 

            And, if he didn’t fight too much,

            It wasn’t that he did not care

            For blips and buffetings and such,

            But felt that it was hardly fair

            To risk, by frequent injuries,

            A brain as delicate as his.

 

            His castle (Castle Tom) was set

            Conveniently on a hill;

            And daily, when it wasn’t wet,

            He paced the battlements until

            Some smaller Knight who couldn’t swim

            Should reach the moat and challenge him.

 

            Or sometimes, feeling full of fight,

            He hurried out to scour the plain;

            And, seeing some approaching Knight,

            He either hurried home again,

            Or hid; and, when the foe was past,

            Blew a triumphant trumpet-blast.

 

            One day when good Sir Thomas Tom

            Was resting in handy ditch,

            The noises he was hiding from,

            Though very much the noises which

            He’d always hidden from before,

            Seemed somehow less… Or was it more?

 

            The trotting hors, the trumpet’s blast,

            The whistling sword, thr armour’s squeak,

            These, and especially the last,

            Had clattered by him all the week,

            Was this the same, or was it not?

            There’s some difference, and what?

 

            Sir Thomas raised a`cautious ear

            And listened as Sir Hugh went by,

            And suddenly he seemed to hear

            (Or not to hear) the reason why

            This stranger made a nicer sound

            Than other Knight who lived around.

 

            Sir Thomas watched the way he went –

            His rage was such he couldn't speak,

            For years they'd called him down in Kent

            The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak!

            Yet here and now he looked upon

            Another Knight whose squeak had gone.


            He rushed to where his horse was tied;

            He spurred it to a rapid trot.

            The only fear he felt inside

            About his enemy was not

            "How sharp his sword?" "How stout his heart?"

            But "Has he got too long a start?"


            Sir Hugh was singing, hand on hip,

            When something sudden came along,

            And caught him a terrific blip

            Right in the middle of his song.

            "A thunderstorm!" he thought. "Of course!"

            And toppled gently off his horse.


            Then said the good Sir Thomas Tom,

            Dismounting with a friendly air,

            "Allow me to extract you from

            The heavy armour that you wear.

            At times like these the bravest Knight

            May find his armour much too tight."


            A hundred yards or so beyond

            The scene of brave Sir Hugh's defeat

            Sir Thomas found a useful pond,

            And, careful not to wet his feet,

            He brought the armour to the brink,

            And flung it in...and watched it sink.


            So ever after, more and more,

            The men of Kent would proudly speak

            Of Thomas Tom of Appledore,

            "The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak."

            Whilst Hugh, the Knight who gave him best,

            Squeaks just as badly as the rest.

 

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