“有一棵荆棘——它看起来很老，事实上，你很难说它怎么会年轻，它看起来又老又灰。还不到两岁的孩子高，这棵老刺笔直地站着;它没有叶子，没有刺;它是一堆打结的关节，一个可怜的东西被遗弃。它挺立，像石头一样，上面长满了地衣。“像岩石或石头一样，它没有生长，地衣一直长到最上面，挂着一簇簇沉重的苔藓，一种忧郁的作物:这些苔藓从地上爬出来，它们紧紧地抓住这可怜的刺，你会说它们弯着腰，明显地想把它拖到地上;所有人都同心协力要永远埋葬这可怜的荆棘。在高山最高的山脊上，冬天的狂风像一把镰刀，穿过云层，从一个山谷扫到另一个山谷;离山路不到五码，这荆棘在你的左边;在左边三码远的地方，你会看到一个小泥塘，里面的水从来没有干涸过，虽然只有指南针那么小，在干渴的太阳和干燥的空气下光秃着。 IV "And, close beside this aged Thorn, There is a fresh and lovely sight, A beauteous heap, a hill of moss, Just half a foot in height. All lovely colours there you see, All colours that were ever seen; And mossy network too is there, As if by hand of lady fair The work had woven been; And cups, the darlings of the eye, So deep is their vermilion dye. V "Ah me! what lovely tints are there Of olive green and scarlet bright, In spikes, in branches, and in stars, Green, red, and pearly white! This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, Which close beside the Thorn you see, So fresh in all its beauteous dyes, Is like an infant's grave in size, As like as like can be: But never, never any where, An infant's grave was half so fair. VI "Now would you see this aged Thorn, This pond, and beauteous hill of moss, You must take care and choose your time The mountain when to cross. For oft there sits between the heap So like an infant's grave in size, And that same pond of which I spoke, A Woman in a scarlet cloak, And to herself she cries, 'Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!' VII "At all times of the day and night This wretched Woman thither goes; And she is known to every star, And every wind that blows; And there, beside the Thorn, she sits When the blue daylight's in the skies, And when the whirlwind's on the hill, Or frosty air is keen and still, And to herself she cries, 'Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!'" VIII "Now wherefore, thus, by day and night, In rain, in tempest, and in snow, Thus to the dreary mountain-top Does this poor Woman go? And why sits she beside the Thorn When the blue daylight's in the sky Or when the whirlwind's on the hill, Or frosty air is keen and still, And wherefore does she cry?-- O wherefore? wherefore? tell me why Does she repeat that doleful cry?" IX "I cannot tell; I wish I could; For the true reason no one knows: But would you gladly view the spot, The spot to which she goes; The hillock like an infant's grave, The pond--and Thorn, so old and grey; Pass by her door--'tis seldom shut-- And, if you see her in her hut-- Then to the spot away! I never heard of such as dare Approach the spot when she is there." X "But wherefore to the mountain-top Can this unhappy Woman go? Whatever star is in the skies, Whatever wind may blow?" "Full twenty years are past and gone Since she (her name is Martha Ray) Gave with a maiden's true good-will Her company to Stephen Hill; And she was blithe and gay, While friends and kindred all approved Of him whom tenderly she loved. XI "And they had fixed the wedding day, The morning that must wed them both; But Stephen to another Maid Had sworn another oath; And, with this other Maid, to church Unthinking Stephen went-- Poor Martha! on that woeful day A pang of pitiless dismay Into her soul was sent; A fire was kindled in her breast, Which might not burn itself to rest. XII "They say, full six months after this, While yet the summer leaves were green, She to the mountain-top would go, And there was often seen. What could she seek?--or wish to hide? Her state to any eye was plain; She was with child, and she was mad; Yet often was she sober sad From her exceeding pain. O guilty Father--would that death