It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred mound beneath which I had seen her buried.
母親已經(jīng)去世十三年了,離開家鄉(xiāng)十三年后,我站在了這片神圣的土堆旁,我曾親眼看見她被埋葬在這里。
Since that mournful period, a great change had come over me.
從那悲傷的時刻以后,我的生活也已經(jīng)發(fā)生了很大的變化。
My childish years had passed away, and with them my youthful character.
我的孩提歲月已成往事,青年時光也一去不返。
The world was altered, too; and as I stood at my mother's grave,
世界也發(fā)生了變化;當(dāng)我站在母親的墳?zāi)骨埃?/p>
I could hardly realize that I was the same thoughtless, happy creature, whose cheeks she so often kissed in an excess of tenderness.
難以想象我曾經(jīng)是天真無邪、快快樂樂的小孩子,是那個雙頰被母親無數(shù)遍親吻的。
But the varied events of thirteen years had not effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile.
十三年的歲月也無法抹去記憶中媽媽的笑容。
It seemed as if I had seen her but yesterday—as if the blessed sound of her well-remembered voice was in my ear.
一切就好像是在昨天——我的耳畔依然響著她親切的聲音。
The gay dreams of my infancy and childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind that, had it not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have been gentle and refreshing.
兒時和童年的夢境清晰地出現(xiàn)在腦海,要不是一件痛苦的回憶,我流出的淚水一定是柔情似水和心曠神怡的。
The circumstance may seem a trifling one, but the thought of it now pains my heart; and I relate it, that those children who have parents to love them may learn to value them as they ought.
盡管發(fā)生的只是一件小事,卻依然刺痛著我的心;我描述它,就是希望那些依然享受著父母之愛的孩子們能珍惜這一切。
My mother had been ill a long time, and I had become so accustomed to her pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as children usually are.
我的母親長期生病,我也習(xí)慣了她蒼白的臉色和微弱的聲音,不再像孩子一般害怕。
At first, it is true, I sobbed violently; but when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same,
開始的時候,我哭泣不止,可是日漸一日,當(dāng)從學(xué)校返回,見到她和從前一樣,
I began to believe she would always be spared to me; but they told me she would die.
我開始相信她會永遠(yuǎn)和我在一起,可是別人告訴我她快死了。