下载掌阅APP，畅读海量书库
立即打开
|
|
第17课 |
|
在最后的几天里，天气十分晴好。我远离了书本，远离了住所周围逼人的空气，来到空旷的田野里，享受柔和温暖的阳光和满月撒下的更加柔和的银辉。现在正是一年中最好的季节，那充斥着暴风雨的潮湿秋分时刻刚刚过去，阴暗讨厌的严冬幕布即将拉开，现在陪伴着我们的是中间短暂而美好的过渡时期。太阳从轻柔朦胧的空气中升起，渐渐驱散了覆盖着天空的薄薄的迷雾。正午的阳光晴朗温暖地照耀着静静的树林，波澜不惊的水面和仍沾着深秋雨水的绿色草地。
一个晴朗的早晨，我漫步在马里麦克的塔克斯伯瑞岸边
。据我所知，从北威尔村开始沿着河岸向前近一英里这样的小路在罗威尔附近根本找不到。小路蜿蜒向前，满是绿色和鲜花，你能瞥见两旁榉树和枥树的枝条上还有露珠在闪烁，并不时溅落几滴。美丽而巨大的岩石延伸进溪水里，使得河流和远处城市的风景都格外美丽。
走得有些累了，我在河岸的一块岩石坡上坐了下来。大地、天空、溪水都明朗清晰地全部展现在眼前。前方远处，城市好似一幅安静模糊的图画，巨大的泥瓦工厂、纷杂的烟囱顶和教堂的塔尖都若隐若现。近处是北威尔山，那荒弃的坟地和已被人们遗忘的墓碑把它那清冷荒芜刻画得淋漓尽致，空留下光秃秃的山顶向着天空。河水在我眼前奔流向前，冲击着不平坦的河道，发出持久不散的低声抱怨。上方的赤杨枝条像流苏一般垂下来，秋天里最后的野花繁盛地给布满岩石的河岸镶上了一道花边。
右边正对面，拉克特森林从岸边一直向上延伸，笼罩薄霜的淡淡色彩。比克劳德
和普桑
在画中调和的还要丰富的深深浅浅的颜色把树林点缀得分外美丽，如同夏日暴雨后的彩虹落了下来。右边稍远一些地方，一群牛浅浅地站在水中，一群孩子躲在一块大石头后面向牛群丢着石子，他们欢笑着，眼睛清澈而明亮。一片温暖而柔和的阳光穿过宁静的秋日天空照射着这一切。
我的幻想却不幸被打断了。一阵低低的呼噜声吸引了我的注意，一半像人发出的，一半像野兽。看来我并不是独自一人。就在我的旁边的灌木丛中，半隐半现地躺着一个人，四肢舒展，脸都已经贴到了砂石地面。一个有着棕色卷发和蓝色眼睛的干净健康的五六岁小男孩正站在上方的岸边，带着孩童幼稚天真的遗憾表情盯着那个人。
“什么让你这么难受？”男孩最终开口问道，“你为什么在这里躺着？”
那卧倒在地上的人费了好大力气半坐起来，看起来像个讨厌的醉汉。他费劲地试了两三次想站起来，但还是失去了平衡，脸朝地跌了下去。
“你在这里干什么？”男孩问道。
“我在享受快乐！”他咕哝着说，嘴巴还埋在泥土里。
享受他的快乐！他就躺在那儿，肮脏可恶地躺在如此明亮的天空下，真是个卑劣的人！如此空灵和谐的大自然，奔流不息的河流，上方沙沙作响的树叶，野花和森林里覆盖着薄薄冰霜的花朵，这些对他来说意味着什么？他毫无知觉，又聋又哑地躺在那里，就像一具行尸走肉，真是应验了东方那句最普遍的诅咒，“真希望你去吃脏土！”
（惠蒂尔）
For the last few days, the fine weather has led me away from books and papers, and the close air of dwellings, into the open fields, and under the soft, warm sunshine, and the softer light of a full moon.The loveliest season of the whole year — that transient but delightful interval between the storms of the“wild equinox, with all their wet.”and the dark, short, dismal days which precede the rigor of winter — is now with us.The sun rises through a soft and hazy atmosphere; the light mist clouds melt gradually before him; and his noontide light rests warm and clear on still woods, tranquil waters, and grasses green with the late autumnal rains.
One fine morning, not long ago, I strolled down the Merrimac, on the Tewksbury shore.I know ofno walk in the vicinity ofLowell so inviting as that along the margin of the river, for nearly a mile from the village of Belvidere.The path winds, green and flower-skirted, among beeches and oaks, through whose boughs you catch glimpses ofwaters sparkling and dashing below.Rocks, huge and picturesque, jut out into the stream, affording beautiful views of the river and the distant city.
Half fatigued with my walk, I threw myself down upon a rocky slope of the bank, where the panorama ofearth, sky, and water lay clear and distinct about me.Far above, silent anddim as a picture, was the city, with its huge mill masonry, confused chimney tops, and church spires; near it rose the height ofBelvidere, with its deserted burial place and neglected gravestones sharply defined on its bleak, bare summit against the sky; before me the river went dashing down its rugged channel, sending up its everlasting murmur; above me the birch tree hung its tassels; and the last wild flowers ofautumn profusely fringed the rocky rim ofthe water.
Right opposite, the Dracut woods stretched upwards from the shore, beautiful with the hues of frost, glowing with tints richer and deeper than those which Claude or Poussin mingled, as if the rainbows of a summer shower had fallen among them.At a little distance to the right, a group of cattle stood midleg deep in the river; and a troop of children, bright-eyed and mirthful, were casting pebbles at them from a projecting shelf of rock.Over all a warm but softened sunshine melted down from a slumberous autumnal sky.
My reverie was disagreeably broken.A low, grunting sound, halfbestial, halfhuman, attracted my attention.I was not alone.Close beside me, halfhidden by a tuft of bushes, lay a human being, stretched out at full length, with his face literally rooted into the gravel.A little boy, five or six years of age, clean and healthful, with his fair brown locks and blue eyes, stood on the bank above, gazing down upon him with an expression of childhood's simple and unaffected pity.
“ What ails you?”asked the boy at length. “ What makes you lie there?”
The prostrate groveler struggled halfway up, exhibiting the bloated and filthy countenance of a drunkard.He made two or three efforts to get upon his feet, lost his balance, and tumbled forward upon his face.
“ What are you doing there?”inquired the boy.
“ I'm taking comfort.”he muttered, with his mouth in the dirt.
Taking his comfort! There he lay, —squalid and loathsome under the bright heaven, —an imbruted man.The holy harmonies of Nature, the sounds ofgushing waters, the rustle ofthe leaves above him, the wild flowers, the frost bloom of the woods, —what were they to him?Insensible, deaf, and blind, in the stupor of a living death, he lay there, literally realizing that most bitterly significant eastern malediction, “May you eat dirt.”
（ Whittier ）