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We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,
我们想着，当我们挖空了他狭窄的床，
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
平整了他孤独的枕头，
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
敌人和陌生人将会踩着他的头，
And we far away on the billow.
我们会在遥远的地方感到激奋。
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
轻轻的他们将会带走那种精神，
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;
对着他已经冷掉的骨灰责骂他；
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
但是他会小小的介意，如果他们让他睡在
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
一个英国人躺着的坟墓里。
But half of our heavy task was done,
但是我们已经完成了一半沉重的任务，
When the clock struck the hour for retiring;
当钟声敲起了休息的时间；
And we heard the distant and random gun
我们听到了远处的胡乱的枪响
That the foe was sullenly firing.
那是敌人阴郁地射击。
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
我们在悲伤之中让他慢慢倒下，
From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
他在这片土地上的名声是无礼与残酷的；
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
我们雕刻的不是一行，我们抬起的不是石头，
But we left him alone with his glory.
而是我们让他与他的荣耀共眠。
—Wolfe
——乌尔夫
