hoosewherethouwilt,whilstIsitbyandsing,
Orgatherrushestomakemanyaring,
Forthelongfingers;telltheetalesoflove,
HowthealePhoebe,huntinginagrove,
FirstsawtheboyEndymion,fromwhoseeyes
Shetooketernalfirethatneverdies;
Howsheconvey’dhimsoftlyinaslee
Histemlesboundwithoy,tothestee
HeadofoldLatmos,whereshestooseachnight,
Gildingthemountainwithherbrother’slight,
Tokisshersweetest。”
。。。
Ihavenoobjectiontogotoseeruins,aqueducts,ictures,incomanywithafriendoraarty,butratherthecontrary,fortheformerreasonreserved。Theyareintelligiblematters,andwillbeartalkingabout。Thesentimenthereisnottacit,butcommunicableandovert。SalisburyPlainisbarrenofcriticism,butStonehengewillbearadiscussionantiquarian,icturesque,andhilosohical。Insettingoutonaartyofleasure,thefirstconsiderationalwaysiswhereweshallgoto,intakingasolitaryramble,thequestioniswhatweshallmeetwithbytheway。“Themindisitsownlace”;norareweanxioustoarriveattheendofourjourney。Icanmyselfdothehonoursindifferentlywelltoworksofartandcuriosity。IoncetookaartytoOxfordwithnomeanéclat—showedthemthatseatoftheMusesatadistance,“Withglisteringsiresandinnaclesadorn’d—”descantedonthelearnedairthatbreathesfromthegrassyquadranglesandstonewallsofhallsandcolleges—wasathomeintheBodleian;AndatBlenheimquitesuersededtheowderedCiceronethatattendedus,andthatointedinvainwithhiswandtocommonlacebeautiesinmatchlessictures。Asanotherexcetiontotheabovereasoning,Ishouldnotfeelconfidentinventuringonajourneyinaforeigncountrywithoutacomanion。Ishouldwantatintervalstohearthesoundofmyownlanguage。ThereisaninvoluntaryantiathyinthemindofanEnglishmantoforeignmannersandnotionsthatrequirestheassistanceofsocialsymathytocarryitoff。Asthedistancefromhomeincreases,thisrelief,whichwasatfirstaluxury,becomesaassionandanaetite。AersonwouldalmostfeelstifledtofindhimselfinthedesertsofArabiawithoutfriendsandcountrymentheremustbeallowedtobesomethingintheviewofAthensoroldRomethatclaimstheutteranceofseech;andIownthatthePyramidsaretoomightyforanysinglecontemlation。Insuchsituations,sooositetoallone’sordinarytrainofideas,oneseemsaseciesbyone’sself,alimbtornofffromsociety,unlessonecanmeetwithinstantfellowshiandsuort。—YetIdidnotfeelthiswantorcravingveryressingonce,whenIfirstsetmyfootonthelaughingshoresofFrance。Calaiswaseoledwithnoveltyanddelight。Theconfuse,busymurmurofthelacewaslikeoilandwineouredintomyears;nordidthemariners’hymn,whichwassungfromthetoofanoldcrazyvesselintheharbour,asthesunwentdown,sendanaliensoundintomysoul。Ionlybreathedtheairofgeneralhumanity。Iwalkedover“thevine-coveredhillsandgayregionsofFrance,”erectandsatisfied;fortheimageofmanwasnotcastdownandchainedtothefootofarbitrarythrones:Iwasatnolossforlanguage,forthatofallthegreatschoolsofaintingwasoentome。Thewholeisvanishedlikeashade。Pictures,heroes,glory,freedoms,allarefled,nothingremainsbuttheBourbonsandtheFrencheole!—Thereisundoubtedlyasensationintravellingintoforeignartsthatistobehadnowhereelse,butitismoreleasingatthetimethanlasting。Itistooremotefromourhabitualassociationstobeacommontoicofdiscourseorreference,and,likeadreamoranotherstateofexistence,doesnotieceintoourdailymodesoflife。Itisananimatedbutamomentaryhallucination。Itdemandsanefforttoexchangeouractualforouridealidentity;andtofeeltheulseofouroldtransortsreviveverykeenly,wemust“jum”allourresentcomfortsandconnexions。Ourromanticanditinerantcharacterisnottobedomesticated。Dr。Johnsonremarkedhowlittleforeigntraveladdedtothefacilitiesofconversationinthosewhohadbeenabroad。Infact,thetimewehavesentthereisbothdelightful,andinonesenseinstructive;butitaearstobecutoutofoursubstantialdownrightexistence,andnevertojoinkindlyontoit。Wearenotthesame,butanother,anderhasmoreenviableindividual,allthetimeweareoutofourowncountry。Wearelosttoourselves,aswellasourfriend。Sotheoetsomewhatquaintlysings,“OutofmycountryandmyselfIgo。”Thosewhowishtoforgetainfulthoughts,dowelltoabsentthemselvesforawhilefromthetiesandobjectsthatrecallthem;butwecanbesaidonlytofulfillourdestinyinthelacethatgaveusbirth。Ishouldonthisaccountlikewellenoughtosendthewholeofmylifeintravelingabroad,ifIcouldanywhereborrowanotherlifetosendafterwardsathome!
林湖重游
OnceMoretotheLake
埃尔文·布鲁克斯·怀特
ElwynBrooksWhite
大约在1904年的夏季,我父亲在缅因州的一个湖畔租了一间临时住房,把我们都带去了。整个八月,我们都是在那里度过的。我们从一些小猫身上传染了金钱癣,一天到晚不得不在胳膊和腿上都擦满旁氏冷霜;还有一次,我父亲从船上掉入水中,当时他穿着西装革履。不过除了这些,我们度过了一个愉快的假期。从那时起,我们大家都公认缅因州的这个湖是世上无与伦比的地方。连续几个夏天,我们都在那里度过——通常八月一日到达,过完整个八月。再后来,我爱上了海滨生活。但是在夏季的有些日子里,海浪汹涌不息,海水冰凉刺骨,海风从上午到下午吹个不停,这一切让我很是渴望山林中小湖边的清静。几周以前,这种情形愈加强烈。于是,我买了两根鲈鱼钓竿和一些诱饵,重新回到以前我们常去的那个湖畔,故地重游,钓上一个星期的鱼。
我是带着我儿子一起去的。他从没有游过淡水湖,只是透过火车上的玻璃窗看见过漂浮在水面上的莲叶。在驶向湖畔的路上,我开始想象它现在的样子。我猜测岁月会把这片独一无二的圣地破坏成怎样一副模样——那里的海湾和小溪、笼罩在落日里的山峦,还有宿营的小屋和屋后的小路。我相信这条柏油马路已经给了我答案,我还在想象其他哪些地方也被破坏了。很奇怪,一旦你任由思绪回归往日,很多旧地的记忆就会被重新唤醒。你记起了一件事情,就会联想起另一件事情。我想我记得最清楚的是那些爽朗的清晨,清凉的湖水;平静的湖面;卧室里弥漫着木屋的清香;屋子外面,湿润的树林散发的芳香穿透房间的墙板,依稀可嗅。木屋的隔板很薄,而且离房顶有一段距离。我总是第一个起床的人,为了不吵醒别人,我蹑手蹑脚地穿好衣服,悄悄地溜出屋来。外面一片馥郁芬芳,我坐上小船出发,沿着湖岸,在一条长长的松树阴影里划过。我记得当时我总是很谨慎,从来不让我的桨与船舷的上缘碰在一起,以免打破教堂的宁静。
这个湖绝不是人们所说的那种荒郊野湖。一些村舍零星地坐落在湖岸边上,尽管湖边都是茂密的树木,但这里还是农区。有些村舍是附近农家的,你可以住在湖边,到农舍里用餐——我们一家就是这样。不过,这个湖并不显得荒凉,它相当大且不受外界干扰。至少对于一个孩子来说,有些地方确实太过于沉静,而且有点儿原始的味道。