Mary Russell Mitford，1786 — 1855.She was the daughter of a physician，and was born in Hampshire，England.At twenty years of age，she published three volumes of poems；and soon after entered upon literature as a lifelong occupation.She wrote tales，sketches，poems，and dramas.“Our Village”is the best known of her prose works；the book describes the daily life of a rural people，is simple but finished in style，and is marked by mingled humor and pathos.Her most noted drama is “Rienzi.”Miss Mitford passed the last forty years of her life in a little cottage in Berkshire，among a simple，country people，to whom she was greatly endeared by her kindness and social virtues.
I come not here to talk.You know too well
The story of our thraldom.We are slaves！
The bright sun rises to his course，and lights
A race of slaves！He sets，and his last beams
Fall on a slave；not such as，swept along
By the full tide of power，the conqueror led
To crimson glory and undying fame；
But base，ignoble slaves；slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants，feudal despots，lords，
Rich in some dozen paltry villages；
Strong in some hundred spearmen；only great
In that strange spell，——a name.
Each hour，dark fraud，
Or open rapine，or protected murder，
Cries out against them.But this very day，
An honest man，my neighbor，——there he stands，——
Was struck——struck like a dog，by one who wore
The badge of Ursini；because，forsooth，
He tossed not high his ready cap in air，
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts，
At sight of that great ruffian！Be we men，
And suffer such dishonor？men，and wash not
The stain away in blood？Such shames are common.
I have known deeper wrongs；I that speak to ye，
I had a brother once——a gracious boy，
Full of all gentleness，of calmest hope，
Of sweet and quiet joy，——there was the look
Of heaven upon his face，which limners give
To the beloved disciple.
How I loved
That gracious boy！Younger by fifteen years，
Brother at once，and son！He left my side，
A summer bloom on his fair cheek；a smile
Parting his innocent lips.In one short hour，
That pretty，harmless boy was slain！I saw
The corse，the mangled corse，and then I cried
For vengeance！Rouse，ye Romans！rouse，ye slaves！
Have ye brave sons？Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die.Have ye fair daughters？Look
To see them live，torn from your arms，distained，
Dishonored；and if ye dare call for justice，
Be answered by the lash.
Yet this is Rome，
That sat on her seven hills，and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world！and we are Romans.
Why，in that elder day，to be a Roman
Was greater than a king！
And once again，——
Hear me，ye walls that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus！Once again，I swear，
The eternal city shall be free.
译文 TRANSLATION
玛丽·罗素·米特福德（1786—1855）是一位医生的女儿，出生于英国汉普郡。二十岁时，她出版了三卷诗集。她以文学为终身职业，其作品包括故事、札记、诗歌、戏剧。《我们的村庄》是她最著名的散文作品。该书描述了村民的日常生活，单纯而又精致，并有一丝幽默和感伤。她最知名的剧作是《黎恩济》。米特福德小姐的最后四十年是在伯克郡的一个小村中度过的。她的周到和美德深受村中淳朴民众的敬爱。
我来这里并不是为了讲说，
我们身为奴隶，对此，你们一清二楚。
明丽的朝阳升起，它照耀着一个沦为奴隶的部族；
夕阳西沉，它的最后一缕光落在一个奴隶身上。
不再像那全盛之时，它曾赋予
征服者绯红的荣耀与不死的声名，
而今却沦为低微的、可耻的奴隶。
沦为那群专横的小人，
累世的仇家、领主、土豪、兵痞的奴隶。
在那怪异的符咒里，只剩下一个伟大的空名。
每一刻，黑暗的欺诈，
公开的劫掠，或被庇佑的谋杀，
都在向他们叫嚣。而今天
一个正直的人——我的一个邻居——就站在那里
被殴打，像狗一样被殴打，被一个带着熊菊徽章的人殴打。
只因为看到那个恶棍时，他的帽子抛得不高，
谦卑的呼喊不响亮。如果我们还是人，
岂能忍受这样的凌侮？如果我们还是人，
怎能不想血液中的污垢？若那样的耻辱随处可见，
我还知晓更深的屈枉；我把它说给你们听，
我曾有一个兄弟——一个文静的孩子，
沉静、温文、和气、快乐，
天使般的容颜，画师只会让最钟爱的弟子将它临摹。
我多么爱他
那文静的孩子！他比我小十五岁，
他是我的兄弟，同时，也像我的儿子！
他离开时，他俊美的脸颊展开着夏日的娇蕾，
一缕微笑在他无瑕的唇边荡漾。但只是短暂的瞬间，
这俊朗的、文雅的孩子就被杀害。我看到他的尸体，
血肉模糊的尸体，于是，我呼喊着复仇！
觉醒吧，罗马人！奋起吧，奴隶们！
你们可有勇敢的子孙？忍看他们在下一次争吵中被杀？
你们可有娇美的女儿？忍看她被从你们的怀抱中夺去，忍看她被玷污？
如果你敢于诉求正义，回答你的必是拷打！
然而，这是罗马，
它坐落在七星山上，
它美丽的王座曾君临万邦，
啊，在那古老的往昔，
做一个罗马人，胜过做一个国王。
再一次，听我说，
你们的城墙上
曾回响着布鲁图斯的脚步声，
那么，再一次，我发誓，
这永恒之城终将自由！
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