高一語(yǔ)文《鳥(niǎo)啼》中英文對(duì)照版

高一語(yǔ)文《鳥(niǎo)啼》中英文比較版高一語(yǔ)文《鳥(niǎo)啼》中英文比較版高一語(yǔ)文《鳥(niǎo)啼》中英文比較版Thefrostheldformanyweeks,untilthebirdsweredyingrapidly.Everywhereinthefieldsandunderthehedgeslaytheraggedremainsoflapwings,starlings,thrushes,redwings,innumerableragged,bloodycloaksofbirds,whencethefleshwaseatenbyinvisiblebeastsofprey.Then,quitesuddenly,onemorning,thechangecame.Thewindwenttothesouth,cameofftheseawarmandsoothing.Intheafternoontherewerelittlegleamsofsunshine,andthedovesbegan,withoutinterval,slowlyandawkwardlytocoo.Thedoveswerecooing,thoughwithalabouredsound,asiftheywerestillwinter-stunned.Nevertheless,alltheafternoontheycontinuedtheirnoise,inthemildair,beforethefrosthadthawedofftheroad.Ateveningthewindblewgently,stillgatheringabruisingqualityoffrostfromthehardearth.Then,intheyellow-gleamysunset,wildbirdsbegantowhistlefaintlyintheblackthornthicketsofthestream-bottom.Itwasstartlingandalmostfrightening,aftertheheavysilenceoffrost.Howcouldtheysingatonce,whenthegroundwasthicklystrewnwiththetorncarcassesofbirds?Yetoutoftheeveningcametheuncertain,silverysoundsthatmadeone’ssoulstartalert,almostwithfear.Howcouldthelittlesilverbuglessoundtherallysoswiftly,inthesoftair,whentheearthwasyetbound?Yetthebirdscontinuedtheirwhistling,ratherdimlyandbrokenly,butthrowingthethreadsofsilver,germinatingnoiseintotheair.Itwasalmostapaintorealize,soswiftly,thenewworld.“Lemondeestmort.Vivelemonde!”Butthebirdsomittedeventhefirstpartoftheannouncement,theircrywasonlyafaint,blind,fecund“vive!”Thereisanotherworld.Thewinterisgone.Thereisanewworldofspring.Thevoiceoftheturtleisheardintheland.Butthefleshshrinksfromsosuddenatransition.Surelythecallispremature,whiletheclodsarestillfrozen,andthegroundislitteredwiththeremainsofwings!Yetwehavenochoice.Inthebottomsofimpenetrableblackthorn,eacheveningandmorningnow,outflickersawhistlingofbirds.Wheredoesitcomefrom,thesong?Aftersolongacruelty,howcantheymakeitupsoquickly?Butitbubblesthroughthem,theyarelikelittlewell-heads,littlefountain-headswhencethespringtricklesandbubblesforth.Itisnotoftheirowndoing.Intheirthroatsthenewlifedistilsitselfintosound.Itistherisingofthesilverysapofanewsummer,gurglingitselfforth.Allthetime,whilsttheearthlaychokedandkilledandwinter-mortified,thedeepunderspringswerequiet.Theyonlywaitfortheponderousencumbranceoftheoldordertogiveway,yieldinthethaw,andtheretheyare,asilverrealmatonce.Underthesurgeofruin,unmitigatedwinter,liesthesilverpotentialityofallblossom.Onedaytheblacktidemustspenditselfandfadeback.Thenall-suddenlyappearsthecrocus,hoveringtriumphantintheyear,andweknowtheorderhaschanged,thereisanewregime,soundofanew“Vive!Vive!”Itisnouseanymoretolookatthetornremnantsofbirdsthatlieexposed.Itisnolongeranyuserememberingthesullenthunderoffrostandtheintolerablepressureofcolduponus.Forwhetherwewillornot,theyaregone.Thechoiceisnotours.Wemanyremainwintryanddestructiveforalittlelonger,ifwewishit,butthewinterisgoneoutofus,andwilly-nillyourheartssingalittleatsunset.Evenwhilstwestareattheraggedhorrorofbirdsscatteredbroadcastpart-eaten,thesoft,unevencooingofthepigeonripplesfromtheouthouses,andthereisafaintsilverwhistlinginthebushescometwilight.Nomatter,westandandstareatthetornandunsightlyruinsoflife,wewatchtheweary,mutilatedcolumnsofwinterretreatingunderoureyes.Yetinourearsarethesilvervividbuglesofanewcreationadvancingonusfrombehind,weheartherollingofthesoftandhappydrumsofthedoves.Wemaynotchoosetheworld.Wehavehardlyanychoiceforourselves.Wefollowwithoureyesthebloodyandhorridlineofmarchofthisextremewinter,asitpassesaway.Butwecannotholdbackthespring.Wecannotmakethebirdssilent,preventthebubblingofthewood-pigeons.Wecannotstaythefineworldofsilver-fecundcreationfromgatheringitselfandtakingplaceuponus.Whetherwewillormo,thedaphnetreewillsoonbegivingoffperfume,thelambsdancingontwofeet,thecelandineswilltwinkleallovertheground,therewillbenewheavenandnewearth.Foritisinus,aswellaswithoutus.Thosewhocanmayfollowthecolumnsofwinterintheirretreatfromofftheearth.Someofus,wehavenochoice,thespringiswithinus,thesilverfountainbeginstobubbleunderourbreast,thereisagladnessinspiteofourselves.Andontheinstantweacceptthegladness!Thefirstdayofchange,outwhistlesanunusual,interruptedpean,afragmentthatwillaugmentitselfimperceptibly.Andthisinspiteoftheextremebitternessofthesuffering,inspiteofthemyriadsoftorndead.Suchalong,longwinter,andthefrostonlybrokeyesterday.Yetitseems,already,wecannotrememberit.Itisstrangelyremote,likeafar-offdarkness.Itisasunrealasadreaminthenight.Thisisthemorningofreality,whenweareourselves.Thisisnaturalandreal,theglimmeringofanewcreationthatstirsinusandaboutus.Weknowtherewaswinter,long,fearful.Weknowtheearthwasstrangledandmortified,weknowthebodyoflifewastornandscatteredbroadcast.Butwhatisthisretrospectiveknowledge?Itissomethingextraneoustous,extraneoustothisthatwearenow.andwhatweare,andwhat,itseems,wealwayshavebeen,isthisquickeninglovelysilverplasmofpurecreativity.Allthemortificationandtearing,ahyes,itwasuponus,encompassingus.Itwaslikeastormoramistorafallingfromaheight.Itwasentangleduponus,likebatsinourhair,drivingusmad.Butitwasneverreallyourinnermostself.Within,wewerealwaysapart,wewerethis,thislimpidfountainofsilver,thenquiescent,risingandbreakingnowintotheflowering.Itisstrange,theutterincompatibilityofdeathwithlife.Whilstthereisdeath,lifeisnottobefound.Itisalldeath,oneoverwhelmingflood.Andthenanewtiderises,anditisalllife,afountainofsilveryblissfulness.Itisoneortheother.Weareforlife,orwearefordeath,oneortheother,butneverinouressencebothatonce.Deathtakesus,andallisatornredness,passingintodarkness.Liferises,andwearefaintfinejetsofsilverrunningouttoblossom.Allisincompatiblewithall.Thereisthesilvery-speckled,incandescent-lovelythrush,whistlingpipinglyhisfirstsongintheblackthornthicket.Howishetobeconnectedwiththebloody,featheredunsightlinessofthrush-remnantsjustoutsidethebushes?Thereisnoconnection.Theyarenottobereferredtheonetotheother.Whereoneis,theotherisnot.Inthekingdomofdeaththesilverysongisnot.Butwherethereislife,thereisnodeath.Nodeathwhatever,onlysilverygladness,perfect,theotherworld.Theblackbirdcannotstophissong,neithercanthepigeon.Ittakesplaceinhim,eventhoughallhisracewasyesterdaydestroyed.Hecannotmourn,orbesilent,oradheretothedead.Ofthedeadheisnot,sincelifehaskepthim.Thedeadmustburytheirdead.Lifehasnowtakenholdonhimandtossedhimintothenewetherofanewfirmament,whereheburstsintosongasifhewerecombustible.Whatisthepast,thoseothers,nowheistossedcleanintothenew,acrosstheuntranslatabledifference?Inhissongisheardthefirstbrokennessanduncertaintyofthetransition.Thetransitfromthegripofdeathintonewbeingisadeathfromdeath,initssheermetempsychosisadizzyagony.Butonlyforasecond,themomentoftrajectory,thepassagefromonestatetotheotherfromthegripofdeathtothelibertyofnewness.Inamomentheisinthekingdomofwonder,singingatthecenterofanewcreation.Thebirddidnothangback.Hedidnotclingtohisdeathandhisdead.Thereisnodeath,andthedeadhaveburiedtheirdead.Tossedintothechasmbetweentwoworlds,heliftedhiswingsindread,andfoundhimselfcarriedontheimpulse.Weareliftedtobecastawayintothenewbeginning.Underourheartsthefountainsurges,totossusforth.Whocanthwarttheimpulsethatcomesuponus?Itcomesfromtheunknownuponus,anditbehovesustopassdelicatelyandexquisitelyuponthesubtlenewwindfromheaven,conveyedlikebirdsinunreasoningmigrationfromdeathtolife.譯文：嚴(yán)寒連續(xù)了好幾個(gè)星期，鳥(niǎo)兒很快地去世了。田間與灌木籬下，橫陳著田鳧、椋鳥(niǎo)、畫(huà)眉等數(shù)不清的腐鳥(niǎo)的血衣，鳥(niǎo)兒的肉已被奧密的老饕吃凈了。突然間，一個(gè)清早，變化出現(xiàn)了。風(fēng)刮到了南方，海上飄來(lái)了溫暖和寬慰。午后，太陽(yáng)露出了幾星光明，鴿子開(kāi)始不中止地緩慢而笨拙地發(fā)出咕咕的叫聲。這聲音顯得有些費(fèi)力，憂如還沒(méi)有從隆冬的打擊下緩過(guò)氣來(lái)。夜晚時(shí)，從河床的薔薇棘叢中，開(kāi)始傳出野鳥(niǎo)稍微的啼鳴。當(dāng)大地還散落著厚厚的一層鳥(niǎo)的尸體的時(shí)候，它們?cè)趺磿?huì)突然歌唱起來(lái)？從夜色中浮起的隱約的清越的聲音，令人驚訝。當(dāng)大地仍在拘束中時(shí)，那小小的清越之聲已經(jīng)在纖弱的空氣中呼叫春天了。它們的啼鳴，誠(chéng)然含糊，若斷若續(xù)，卻把明快而萌發(fā)的聲音拋向蒼穹。冬天走開(kāi)了。一個(gè)新的春天的世界。田地間響起斑鳩的叫聲。在不能夠進(jìn)入的曲折叢底，每一個(gè)夜晚以及每一個(gè)清早，都會(huì)閃爍出鳥(niǎo)兒的啼鳴。它從哪兒來(lái)呀？那歌聲？在這么長(zhǎng)的嚴(yán)酷后，鳥(niǎo)兒們?cè)趺磿?huì)這么快就復(fù)生？它爽朗，像泉水，從那處，春天慢慢滴落又噴涌而出。再生活在鳥(niǎo)兒們喉中凝成悅耳的聲音。它開(kāi)辟了銀色的通道，為著新鮮的春日，一路潺潺而行。當(dāng)冬天控制所有時(shí)，深埋著的春天的活力一片默然，只等著舊序次深重的阻截退去。冰消雪化此后，瞬時(shí)間現(xiàn)出銀光閃爍的王國(guó)。在破壞所有的冬天巨浪之下，冬眠著的是難得的百花吐艷的潛力。有一天，黑色的浪潮精力耗盡，慢慢后移，番紅花就會(huì)突然間顯現(xiàn)，成功地?fù)u晃。于是我們知道，規(guī)律變了，這是一片新的天地，喊出了嶄新的生活！生活！不用再凝視那些裸露四野的破碎的鳥(niǎo)尸，也不用再回憶嚴(yán)寒中愁悶的響雷，以及重壓在我們身上的酷冷。冬天走開(kāi)了，無(wú)論怎樣，我們的心會(huì)放出歌聲。即使當(dāng)我們凝視那些散落遍地、尸身不整的鳥(niǎo)兒腐化而可怕的情形時(shí)，屋外也會(huì)飄來(lái)一陣陣?guó)澴拥墓竟韭?，那從灌木叢中發(fā)出的稍微的啼鳴。那些破碎不堪的破壞了的生命，意味著冬天疲倦而殘缺不全的隊(duì)伍的撤退。我們耳中充塞的，是再生的造物清明而生動(dòng)的號(hào)音，那造物從身后追追上來(lái)，我們聽(tīng)到了鳥(niǎo)兒們發(fā)出的輕柔而快樂(lè)的隆隆鼓聲。世界不能夠選擇。我們用眼睛隨從極端的隆冬那沾滿血跡的駭人的行列，直到它走過(guò)去。春天不能夠控制，任何力量都不能夠使鳥(niǎo)兒靜靜，不