John Keats to His Brother（Fanny） Dumfries， July 2 nd 1818 My dear Fanny， I intended to have written you from Kirkcudbright，the town I shall be in tomorrow——but Iwill write now because my Knapsack has worn mycoat in the Seams， my coat has gone to the Taylorsand I have but one coat to my back in these parts．I must tell you I went to Liverpool with George and our new Sister and the Gentleman，my fellow traveller， through the Summer andAutumn—— we had a tolerable journey to Liverpool——which I left the next morning beforeGeorge was up for Lancaster．——Then we setoff from Lancaster on foot with our Knapascks on，and have walked a Little zig zag through themountains and lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland—— We came from Carlisle yesterday to this place——We are employed ingoing up Mountains， looking at strange towns，prying into old ruins and eating very heartybreakfasts．Here we are full in the Midst ofbroad Scocth“How is it a'wi yoursel”——the Girls are walking about bare footed and in theworst cottages the smoke finds its way out of thedoor．——Mr． Abbey says we are Don Quixotes——tell him we are more generallytaken for Pedlars．All I hope is that we may not betaken for excise men in this whiskey country．Weare generally up about 5 walking before breakfastand we complete our 20 miles before dinner．——Yesterday we visited Burn's Tomb and thismorning the fine Ruins of Lincluden．——I haddone thus far when my coat came back fortified atall points——so as we lose no time we set forthagain through Galloway——all very pleasant andpretty with no fatigue when one is used to it——We are in the midst of Meg Merrilies' country ofwhom I suppose you have heard． Old Meg she was a Gipsy， And liv'd upon the Moors Her bed it was the brown heath turf And her house was out of doors． Her apples were swart blackberries Her currants pods o' broom Her wine was dew o'the wild while rose Her book a churchyard tomb． No breakfast had she many a day morn No dinner many a noon And'stead of supper she would stare Full hard against the Moon． Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen And tall as Amazon： An old red blanket cloak she wore； A chip hat had she on． God rest her aged bones somewhere She died full long agone！ If you like these sort of Ballads， I will now andthen scribble one for you——if I send any to TomI'll tell him to send them to you． I have so manyinterruptions that I cannot manage to fill a Letterin one day——since I scribbled the song we havewalked through a beautiful Country to Kirkcudbright——at which place I will write you asong about myself． There was a naughty Boy A naughty boy was he He would not stop at home He would not quiet be—— He took In his Knapsack A book Full of vowels And a shirt With some towels—— A slight cap For night cap—— A hair brush Comb ditto New Stockings For old ones Would split O This Knapsack Tight at's back He rivetted close And followed his nose To the North To the North And followed his noseTo the North． There was a naughty Boy And a naughty Boy was he He ran away to Scotland Then he found That the ground Was as hard That a yard Was as long， That a song Was as merry That a cherry Was as red—— That lead Was as weighty That fourscore was as eighty That a door Was as wooden As in England—— So he stood in His shoes And he wondered He wondered He stood in his Shoes and he wonder'd． My dear Fanny，I am ashamed of writing yousuch stuff， nor would I if it were not for beingtired after my day's walking，and ready to tumbleinto bed so fatigued that when I am asleep youmight sew my nose to my great toe and trundle meround the town， like a Hoop， without waking me．Then I get so hungry a Ham goes but a very littleway and fowls are like Larks to me——A batch ofBread I make no more ado with than a sheet ofparliament，and I can eat a Bull's head as easilyas I used to do Bull's eyes． I take a whole string ofPork Sausages down as easily as a Pen－orth ofLady's fingers．Ah dear I must soon be contentedwith an acre or two of oaten cake， a hogshead ofMilk and a basket of Eggs morning noon and nightwhen I get among the Highlanders． Your affectionate Brother John—— 约翰·济慈致弟弟（范尼） 我亲爱的范尼： 我原打算明天到达刻古布立时再给你写信，但现在我就写了，因为背包把我衣服的接缝处磨破了，我已把它送到裁缝店去缝补，所以现在身上只穿着一件衣服了。有必要告诉你，我是和乔治、新结识的一位修女以及整个夏季与秋季与我同行的一位绅士一起去利物浦的。——旅程还比较愉快——我于次日早晨离开利物浦前往兰卡斯特，乔治随后也动身前来。随后我们又从兰卡斯特出发，肩上背着我们的行囊，沿着一条弯弯曲曲的小路，一路步行穿过了昆布兰和威斯特摩兰的群山和湖泊。——昨天我们从喀来尔来到了这个地方——便忙于上山、观看陌生的城镇、考察古老的废墟、吃着丰盛的早餐。在这儿，我们完全置身于一片苏格兰方言之中，如：“一切，哦，顺利”。——女孩子们光着脚四处闲逛；在简陋的农舍里，炊烟夺门而出。阿比先生说我们是堂吉诃德——说实在的人们更通常把我们看作小贩。我所希望的就是在这个威士忌的国度里，人们不会以为我们是收税官。我们通常五点钟左右起床，早餐之前开始行走，晚餐之前走完20英里。——昨天我们参观了伯恩墓，今天早晨参观了保存完好的林克卢登的遗迹——到此我就做了 这件事，我那外套在全部加固后也送来了。为了不浪费时间，我们再次动身穿过加罗威角。一路上很愉快有趣、毫无疲惫感，一个人一旦适应了这种行程定会如此。我们现在行进在梅格·梅里莱斯的故土上，我想你听说过她吧！ 年老的梅格，她是一个吉普赛人， 住在旷野之地， 落满棕色楠叶的草地是她的床， 露天是她的房屋。 黝黑的黑莓是她的果子， 金雀花的果实是她的小葡萄干， 野玫瑰上的露珠是她的酒， 教堂墓地的坟是她的书。 不止一个早晨她没有早餐， 不止一个中午她没有午餐， 替代晚餐的是她的凝视， 全神贯注地凝望着月亮。 年老的梅格像玛格丽特女王一样勇敢， 像古希腊女勇士一样高， 身穿一件旧的红毯子披风， 头戴一顶棕叶草帽。 上帝安置了她年迈的骨头， 很久以前她安详地死去。 如果你喜欢这类民谣，我会不时地为你涂写一首。如果我给汤姆寄去了这类诗，我会告诉他要他再寄给你。经常有人打搅我，所以我无法在一天里写完一封信。——自从我胡画下了那首歌，我们已走过一个美丽的乡村来到了柯尔库布里郡——在这个地方我愿给你写一首描述我自己的歌。 有一个调皮的男孩 他就是一个调皮的男孩 他不愿在家中停留 他不甘于寂静—— 他带了 在他的行囊里 一本书 满载着哲理 一件衬衣 几条毛巾—— 一顶轻便帽 当作夜幕 一把发刷 梳理头发 新袜子 因为旧袜子 会破哦！ 这个行囊 鼓鼓的 在背上 他拉上了它 笔直朝前走 去到北方 去到北方 笔直朝前走 去到北方 有一个顽皮的男孩 他就是一个顽皮的男孩 他跑到了苏格兰 他发现 大地 是坚硬的 院子 是长长的 歌 是欢乐的 草莓 是红红的 铅锤 是重重的 四十的两倍 是八十 门 是木制的 与英格兰一样 因此处在 这个地位 他惊讶 他惊讶 他处在这个地位 他惊讶 亲爱的范尼，很不好意思写给你这样的东西，假如不是在白天步行之后感到如此疲倦，我也不会写出这样的东西。现在我正准备上床睡觉，我是如此疲惫不堪，以致在我睡下之后，如果你将我的鼻子和大脚趾头缝在一起，在城里像滚呼拉圈一样地滚动我，也不会把我弄醒；我又是如此饥饿不堪，一片火腿只够塞我的牙缝，家禽于我仿佛云雀。一炉面包我能毫不费力地吃下，易如吃下一片薄姜饼；一头公牛的头我能轻松地吃下，就像过去吃掉它的眼睛；一整串猪肉香肠，在我眼里不过是女士纤细的手指。哎呀，早晨、中午和晚上，如果有一两亩麦片 糕，一豪格海牛奶和一篮子鸡蛋我就心满意足了，此时我溶入了苏格兰高原人之中。 爱你的哥哥， 约翰 于敦夫里斯 1818年7月2日

英语名人家书之约翰·济慈2（英汉对照读物）