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我常闻名葛露水：
我尝路经旷野
天明时偶然遇见
这孤独的小孩。
无伴，露水绝无相识，
她家在一荒凉的沼泽
——一颗最稀有的珍珠
偶尔掉落人家呵！
精灵的雏麋嬉嬉茸茸，
玲珑的野兔逐逐猭猭，
可怜露水儿的香踪
已经断绝了尘缘。
“今晚看来要起风涛，
你须镇上去走一遭，
携一个灯，儿呀！去照
你娘雪地里回家才好。”
“爹呀！儿愿意极了，
此刻时光还早——
那教堂钟才打两下，
那边月儿倒起来了！”
露水喜孜孜出门上道，
好比个小鹿儿寻流逐草；
那小足在雪地里乱蹦，
溅起一路的白玉烟梨花脑。
那无情的风涛偏早到，
可怜她如何奋斗得了；
她爬过了田低和山高，
但她目的地总到不了。
那可怜的父母终夜
四处里号呼寻找；
凶惨的黑夜无听无见，
失望的双亲泪竭声槁。
天明了！老夫妇爬上山额，
望见了他们的沼泽，
又望见那座木桥
离家约半里之遥。
他们一头哭一头走，哭道：
“我们除非是在天上相会了。”
——娘在雪里忽然发现，
小小的足印，可不是露水的吗？
于是从山坡下直下去，
他们踪迹那小鞋芒；
穿过一架破碎的荆篱，
缘着直长的石墙；
他们过了一座田，
那足迹依旧分明；
他们又向前，足迹依然，
最后走到了桥边。
河滩雪里点点足印，
不幸的父母好不伤心；
足迹点点又往前引，
引到了——断踪绝影。
——但是至今还有人说，
那孩子依旧生存；
说在寂寞的荒野
有时见露水照样孤行。
她跋涉苦辛，前进前进，
不论甘苦，总不回顾，
她唱一支孤独的歌，
在荒野听如风筝。
OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
— The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
"Tonight will be a stormy night —
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."
"That, Father! will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon —
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!"
At this the Father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band;
He plied his work; — and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.
They wept — and, turning homeward, cried,
"In heaven we all shall meet;"
— When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!
— Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
