。在美丽的卡迪根郡，离美丽的艾弗霍尔不远，住着一位老人，一个小个子，据说他曾经很高。三十五年来，他一直像个快乐的奔跑的猎人;他的面颊中央仍然红得像熟透的樱桃。没有人能像他那样吹响号角，当回声一圈又一圈地唱着西蒙·李的赞歌时，小山和山谷欢腾起来。在那些骄傲的日子里，他很少关心耕作或耕作;西蒙唤醒了全村熟睡的人，让他们做些无聊的工作。他能跑得更快，把人和马都抛在后面;常常，在追捕完成之前，他就摇摇晃晃，瞎了眼。世上仍有某种东西使他的心欢喜; For when the chiming hounds are out, He dearly loves their voices! But, oh the heavy change!--bereft Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see! Old Simon to the world is left In liveried poverty. His Master's dead--and no one now Dwells in the Hall of Ivor; Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; He is the sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick; His body, dwindled and awry, Rests upon ankles swoln and thick; His legs are thin and dry. One prop he has, and only one, His wife, an aged woman, Lives with him, near the waterfall, Upon the village Common. Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, Not twenty paces from the door, A scrap of land they have, but they Are poorest of the poor. This scrap of land he from the heath Enclosed when he was stronger; But what to them avails the land Which he can till no longer? Oft, working by her Husband's side, Ruth does what Simon cannot do; For she, with scanty cause for pride, Is stouter of the two. And, though you with your utmost skill From labour could not wean them, 'Tis little, very little--all That they can do between them. Few months of life has he in store As he to you will tell, For still, the more he works, the more Do his weak ankles swell. My gentle Reader, I perceive, How patiently you've waited, And now I fear that you expect Some tale will be related. O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in every thing. What more I have to say is short, And you must kindly take it: It is no tale; but, should you think, Perhaps a tale you'll make it. One summer-day I chanced to see This old Man doing all he could To unearth the root of an old tree, A stump of rotten wood. The mattock tottered in his hand; So vain was his endeavour, That at the root of the old tree He might have worked for ever. "You're overtasked, good Simon Lee, Give me your tool," to him I said; And at the word right gladly he Received my proffered aid. I struck, and with a single blow The tangled root I severed, At which the poor old Man so long And vainly had endeavoured. The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. --I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.