一只燕子像箭一样迅速地飞进凉棚,在飞行中转弯,在死者头顶叽叽喳喳叫着。
A swallow flew with the swiftness of an arrow into the arbour, turning in its flight, and twittered over the dead man’s head.
翻阅我们年轻时的旧信件,这是一种多么奇怪的感觉啊 —— 我们肯定都有过这种感觉 —— 仿佛一种不同的生活从过去浮现出来,带着所有的希望和悲伤。
what a strange feeling it is — surely we all know it — to look through old letters of our young days; a different life rises up out of the past, as it were, with all its hopes and sorrows.
在那些日子里,我们曾经亲密无间的许多人,在我们看来仿佛已经去世了,然而他们还活着 —— 只是我们已经很久没有想起他们了,我们曾以为会永远把他们留在记忆里,与他们分享每一份喜悦和悲伤。
how many of the people with whom in those days we used to be on intimate terms appear to us as if dead, and yet they are still alive — only we have not thought of them for such a long time, whom we imagined we should retain in our memories for ever, and share every joy and sorrow with them.
这本书里的这片干枯的橡树叶让他想起了那位朋友,那位同学,本应是他一生的挚友。
the withered oak leaf in the book here recalled the friend, the schoolfellow, who was to be his friend for life.
他们在绿树林里把这片树叶别在学生帽上,当时他们发誓要结下永恒的友谊。
he fixed the leaf to the student’s cap in the green wood, when they vowed eternal friendship.
他现在住在哪里呢?树叶还留着,但友谊已不复存在。
where does he dwell now? the leaf is kept, but the friendship does no longer exist.
这里有一株外来的温室植物,对于北方的花园来说太娇弱了。它的叶子仿佛还散发着甜香呢!这是一位贵族小姐从自家花园里送给他的。
here is a foreign hothouse plant, too tender for the gardens of the North. It is almost as if its leaves still smelt sweet! She gave it to him out of her own garden — a nobleman’s daughter.
这里有一朵他亲手采摘的睡莲,曾用咸涩的泪水浇灌过 —— 一朵淡水百合。
here is a water-lily that he had plucked himself, and watered with salt tears — a lily of sweet water.
这里还有一株荨麻:它的叶子会向我们诉说些什么呢?他采摘并留存它的时候可能在想些什么呢?
And here is a nettle: what may its leaves tell us? what might he have thought when he plucked and kept it?
这里有一朵来自那片偏僻树林的雪花莲;这里有一株来自酒馆花盆里的常青植物;这里还有一片简简单单的草叶。
here is a little snowdrop out of the solitary wood; here is an 常绿植物 from the flower-pot at the tavern; and here is a simple blade of grass.
丁香花把它清新芬芳的花朵垂在死者的头上;燕子又飞过去了 ——“叽叽,叽叽”;现在人们拿着锤子和钉子来了,棺盖被盖在了死者身上,而他的头枕在那本哑书上 —— 这本被长久珍视的书,如今永远合上了!
the lilac bends its fresh fragrant flowers over the dead man’s head; the swallow passes again— “twit, twit;” now the men e with hammer and nails, the lid is placed over the dead man, while his head rests on the dumb book — so long cherished, now closed for ever!