我常想起海边那美丽的小镇，
亲切古老的小镇，
令人愉快的街道，
常在我脑海中荡漾，
仿佛青春又回到我的身旁。
还有拉普兰的歌谣
又缭绕在我心上：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
我能看见树影的幽暗，
我能捕捉遥远大海波面
瞬息的闪光，
那些海岛是我儿时全部
梦中的金苹果园。
古老歌谣中的韵律
还在耳语，还在哼唱：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
我还记得那黑色的码头和船，
还有翻滚着波浪的海潮，
还有大胡子的西班牙水手，
还有天际边美丽神秘的三桅帆船，
还有充满魔力的大海。
还有倔强的歌声在传唱：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
我还记得海边的防波堤，
还有山上的展望台；
日出时的炮声还在空中回响，
还有密集的鼓声，
狂野而嘹亮的军号。
古老歌谣中的谐音
还在我心中跳跃：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
我还记得那遥远的海战，
雷声般的炮声如潮！
死去的船长，
他们还静静地躺在坟地上，
噢，你看那平静的海湾
就是他们战死的沙场。
那悲歌中的哀鸣
还在我心中颤抖：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
我还看到微风中
如华盖般的小树林，
还有鹿林日落后渐渐的暗影；
旧时的友谊和早先的爱意
是安息日的谐音，
就象邻居家鸽子呜呜的低鸣。
古老歌谣中的诗句
还在飘荡，还在低语：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
我还记得心中的闪光和愁绪，
快速穿越孩子的脑际；
心中的歌和静默，
一半是预言，
一半是渴望狂热的空虚。
那阵阵的歌声会永不停息
地唱下去：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
有些事儿我不能讲；
有些梦儿不可以忘；
有些念头使心儿软，
带给脸上的苍白，
会模糊我的眼。
歌中的词儿如寒风般
扑打我的脸：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
古老的小镇已使我生眼，
故乡的空气还是纯又甜，
树儿摇晃渐变着熟悉街道的脸，
美丽的歌谣还在唱，
低鸣仿佛在呜咽：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
鹿林还是美又鲜，
漫游在那儿我的心儿
却不是那么甜，
找到失去的青春似梦烟，
生疏而美丽的歌谣
还在林中唱：
“男孩的意志是风的意志，
年青人的心既深又远。”
原文：
MY LOST YOUTH
Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o’er and o’er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o’er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o’erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering’s Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy’s brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
And Deering’s Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”