中英文雙語閱讀：First Snow
來源：育路外語考試網(wǎng)發(fā)布時(shí)間：2011-09-29
第一場(chǎng)雪
吉琳。道格拉斯（1900－1993，加拿大。）
一天晚上，我從隱居的小木屋的窗口往外看，但見柔軟的雪花慵懶地飄進(jìn)了昏黃的燈光中。雪，下了一整夜，而奔騰的梯爾河已經(jīng)漸漸沉寂下來，森林的喧囂也慢慢消失了。黎明時(shí)，那小溪、樹木與山川的世界已被裹在了積雪里，閃著一片美麗的白光。
清晨，我走出去，外面是如此安謐，就連輕微的呼吸也會(huì)破壞這份寧靜。北邊的小山嶺披上了淡雅的素裝，西邊的天空還殘留著朦朧夜色；而東方和南方，一片淡淡的粉紅色正在蔓延。我抬頭仰望，只見閃著銀光的晨星正俯看著這個(gè)白茫茫的世界。
不一會(huì)兒，萬里晴空已是一片火紅。嚴(yán)寒和寂靜重重地壓在每棵樹的枝頭，殘枝斷樁都戴上了水晶皇冠，一根根伐倒在地的原木也披上了厚厚的銀裝。野漿果叢中的枝條間，點(diǎn)綴著棉絨絨的粉球。
一場(chǎng)大雪過后，最美的就是這些常綠樹木了，他們綴滿白雪的樹枝，低垂在樹干周圍，看上去象一只只巨鳥正合攏翅膀抵御寒冬。
而一場(chǎng)小雪之后，最美的還是那些落葉的樹木，他們是那樣的脆弱，那樣的縹緲，就象透明的煙霧正沿著河岸飄動(dòng)，就連潺潺的河水聲也會(huì)把他們震碎似的；低矮的灌木叢猶如銀絲編織成的工藝品，在這令人陶醉的世界里，他們是那么輕盈，那么纖巧，哪怕是一陣最輕的微風(fēng)，也會(huì)使片片雪花從樹上飄落，閃著微光，飄然而下，留下枯黃的樹枝，惹人憐惜。
此刻，天空一片湛藍(lán)，太陽把千萬顆寶石撒在草地上，撒在河流旁，撒在樹木上。美神，這個(gè)純潔的少女，靜靜地漫步在無瑕的雪地上，不見她留下一點(diǎn)兒痕跡。靜，是這般的濃重，這般的深沉，就連松鼠都停止了他們不合時(shí)宜的喧鬧，雪鶩微弱的啼鳴也仿佛在加重這份沉靜。
夜幕降臨，天地間依然萬籟俱寂。面對(duì)這樣的季節(jié)，我心中油然生出一種獨(dú)特的感情——舒適、安寧和孤獨(dú)。置身室外，沉浸在嚴(yán)寒中，令人怡然——這嚴(yán)寒讓人頭腦清醒，心情振奮�；氐轿堇铮q毯般松軟的溫暖包裹全身，那種感覺同樣令人愉快。爐火是最好的伙伴，咖啡散發(fā)出濃烈的香味；暗影在墻上翩翩起舞，而窗外的世界又是那般的寧靜。能在冬日世界的清幽明凈中過上這么一天，我感到說不出的滿足。
窗外，月亮高懸在深藍(lán)的天幕上，而天幕下是銀色的山巒、森林和平川。那些小樹，灌木叢和高高的蕨草就象是用石膏雕刻似的。河水在陶瓷般的河岸之間歡快地流淌著。
大地和天空都在閃閃發(fā)光，蕨草叢恍若別在大地上的胸針，棱棱角角，象寶劍，又象四射的陽光，但所有這一切都沉浸在靜寂之中。星星投下影子，他們?cè)谖缫沟乃{(lán)天里，白得耀眼，好像真地在閃著寒光。我感覺到我們仿佛能看見宇宙中的每一顆星星。
似乎，沒有誰能夠面對(duì)這萬千美景而不心碎�；蛟S，我心中的這份痛楚正是來自于這種意識(shí)：眼前的美景都太短促了，我才剛剛觸摸到它，而它，又要悄然逝去了。
附：原文 First Snow
Gilean Douglas（1900-1993，Canada）
One evening I look out the window of my secluded cabin， and there are soft languid flakes falling in the golden lamplight. They fall all night， while the voice of the Teal River becomes more and more hushed and the noises of the forest die away. By dawn， the whole world of stream and wood and mountain has been kindled to a white flame of beauty.
I go out in the early morning and there is such silence that even breath is a profanation. The mountain to the north has a steel-blue light on it， and to the west the sky still holds something of the darkness of the night. To the east and the south a faint pink is spreading. I look up and see the morning star keeping white watch over a white world.
Soon the whole sky is azure and flamingo. Every branch of every tree is weighted with cold and stillness； every fallen log is overlaid with silver. The wild berry bushes have puffballs of jeweler‘s cotton here and there along their branches， and the stark roots of hemlocks and cedars have become grottoes of quartz and chrysolite.
After heavy snowfalls， it is the evergreens that are the loveliest， with their great white branches weighted down until they are almost parallel with the trunks. They seem like giant birds with their wings folded against the cold.
But after a light fall， it is the deciduous trees that are the most beautiful. They are so fragile， so ethereal， that it seems even the sound of the rivers might shatter them as they appear to drift like crystal smoke along the banks. The bushes are silver filigree， so light， so much on tiptoe in this enchanted world. Even the slightest breeze sends the snow shimmering down from them， leaving the branches brown and bare and rather pitiful.
The sky is clear blue now and the sun has flung diamonds down on meadow and bank and wood. Beauty， the virgin， walks here quietly， quietly. Her feet make no sound and not sign upon the immaculate snow. The silence is dense and deep. Even the squirrels have stopped their ribald chattering. And faint snowbird whisperings seems to emphasize the stillness.
Night comes， and the silence holds. There is a feeling about this season that is in no other—a sense of snugness， security and solitude. It is good to be out in the bracing cold， which clears the mind and invigorate the heart. Blanket， fire is a first-rate companion. The coffee is full-bodied and fragrant； shadows dance on the walls and the world outside my windows is very still. I am more than content to begin and end a day like this amid all the calm clarity of wintered earth.
Outside the moon is high with a dark-blue sky behind it and with mountains， plains and forests of silver lying below. The trees， the bushes and the tall ferns are carved with alabaster. The river runs like quicksilver between the porcelain of its banks.
Earth and heavens glitter， and the sword-fern clumps are diamond sunbursts pinned to the silver-sequined ground. But it is all in silence. There are shadows from the stars. They are white， sharp lights in the midnight blue sky and appear literally to spark with coldness. I feel as though I can see every star in the universe.
It seems impossible for one human heart to contain all this loveliness without breaking. Perhaps the ache that is in mine comes from the knowledge that all this beauty is so ephemeral， that it will be gone almost before I have done more than touch it with my fingertips.
