Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
没有鼓鸣，没有葬礼哀乐，
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
我们匆忙地，将战友掩埋，
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
没有枪声，送行英雄，
O’er the grave where our hero we buried.
我们悲哀地，告别兄弟。
We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
夜幕嗅出，死亡阴森气息，
The sods with our bayonets turning,
草地上，刺刀寒光凛凛，
By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light,
惨白月光下，身影憧憧，
And the lantern dimly burning.
送葬马灯，鬼火忽暗忽明。
No useless coffin inclosed his breast,
长眠兹此，甚至没有棺冢，
Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
亦没有， 最后送终敛衣；
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
那勇猛武士，似乎战时休憩，
With his martial cloak around him.
依然披戴，出征的盔甲战衣。
Few and short were the prayers we said,
几乎没有，祈祷或是祝愿，
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
亦没有，半句悲伤话语；
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead
默默凝视，死者惨白面孔，
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
不由嗟叹，是否明天的自己？
We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,
匆忙平整，那块狭窄墓穴，
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
从今往后，对手抑或过客，
That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head,
再亦不会，惊扰他的睡眠，
And we far away on the billow!
我们又将迎接，新的血雨腥风。
Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone
鬼神们，轻声谈论摩尔先生，
And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him;
尸骨未寒，却遭讥笑奚落；
But little he’ll reck, if they’ll let him sleep on
他全然不理，是否自己获许，
In a grave where a Briton has laid him.
竟径直躺在，英国佬棺椁上面。
But half of our heavy task was done, when the clock struck the hour for retiring
撤离钟声，已经敲响，事业未竟，道路崎岖漫长，
And we heard the distant random gun that the foe was sullenly firing.
远处，敌人的稀疏枪声，黎明将来临，夜色未央。
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
哀伤欲绝，我们掩埋英雄，
From the field of his fame, fresh and gory;
他戎马一生，鲜血浸透大地，
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
不见碑石，甚至没有碑文，
But we left him alone with his glory!
唯有英名，在战士心底追忆。
