章节正文
And, year by year, one step will break
The sleep of far hill-folded streams,
And seek, if only for thy sake
Thy home of many dreams.
Page: 80
BILLY VICKERS
NO song is this of leaf and bird,
And gracious waters flowing;
I'm sick at heart, for I have heard
Big Billy Vickers ``blowing''.
He'd never take a leading place
In chambers legislative:
This booby with the vacant face -
This hoddy-doddy native!
Indeed, I'm forced to say aside,
To you, O reader, solely,
He only wants the horns and hide
To be a bullock wholly.
Page: 81
But, like all noodles, he is vain;
And when his tongue is wagging,
I feel inclined to copy Cain,
And ``drop'' him for his bragging.
He, being Bush-bred, stands, of course,
Six feet his dirty socks in;
His lingo is confined to horse
And plough, and pig and oxen.
Two years ago he'd less to say
Within his little circuit;
But now he has, besides a dray,
A team of twelve to work it.
No wonder is it that he feels
Inclined to clack and rattle
About his bullocks and his wheels -
He owns a dozen cattle.
Page: 82
In short, to be exact and blunt,
In his own estimation
He's ``out and out'' the head and front
Top-sawyer of creation!
For, mark me, he can ``sit a buck''
For hours and hours together;
And never horse has had the luck
To pitch him from the leather.
If ever he should have a ``spill''
Upon the grass or gravel,
Be sure of this, the saddle will
With Billy Vickers travel.
At punching oxen you may guess
There's nothing out can ``camp'' him:
He has, in fact, the slouch and dress
Which bullock-driver stamp him.
Page: 83
I do not mean to give offence,
But I have vainly striven
To ferret out the difference
'Twixt driver and the driven.
Of course, the statements herein made
In every other stanza
Are Billy's own; and I'm afraid
They're stark extravaganza.
I feel constrained to treat as trash
His noisy fiddle-faddle
About his doings with the lash,
His feats upon the saddle.
But grant he ``knows his way about'',
Or grant that he is silly,
There cannot be the slightest doubt
Of Billy's faith in Billy.
Page: 84
Of all the doings of the day
His ignorance is utter;
But he can quote the price of hay,
The current rate of butter.
His notions of our leading men
Are mixed and misty very:
He knows a Cochin-China hen -
He never speaks of Berry.
As you'll assume, he hasn't heard
Of Madame Patti's singing;
But I will stake my solemn word
He knows what maize is bringing.
Surrounded by majestic peaks,
By lordly mountain ranges,
Where highest voice of thunder speaks
His aspect never changes.
Page: 85
The grand Pacific there beyond
His dirty hut is glowing:
He only sees a big salt pond,
O'er which his grain is going.
The sea that covers half the sphere,
With all its stately speeches,
Is held by Bill to be a mere
Broad highway for his peaches.
Through Nature's splendid temples he
Plods, under mountains hoary;
But he has not the eyes to see
Their grandeur and their glory.
A bullock in a biped's boot,
I iterate, is Billy!
He crushes with a careless foot
The touching water-lily.
Page: 86
I've said enough - I'll let him go!
If he could read these verses,
He'd pepper me for hours, I know,
With his peculiar curses.
But this is sure, he'll never change
His manners loud and flashy,
Nor learn with neatness to arrange
His clothing, cheap and trashy.
Like other louts, he'll jog along,
And swig at shanty liquors,
And chew and spit. Here ends the song
Of Mr. Billy Vickers.
Page: 87
PERSIA
I AM writing this song at the close
Of a beautiful day of the spring
In a dell where the daffodil grows
By a grove of the glimmering wing;
From glades where a musical word
Comes ever from luminous fall,
I send you the song of a bird
That I wish to be dear to you all.
I have given my darling the name
Of a land at the gates of the day,
Where morning is always the same,
And spring never passes away.
Page: 88
With a prayer for a lifetime of light,
I christened her Persia, you see;
And I hope that some fathers to-night
Will kneel in the spirit with me.
She is only commencing to look
At the beauty in which she is set;
And forest and flower and brook,
To her are all mysteries yet.
I know that to many my words
Will seem insignificant things;
But you who are mothers of birds
Will feel for the father who sings.
For all of you doubtless have been
Where sorrows are many and wild;
And you know what a beautiful scene
Of this world can be made by a child:
Page: 89
I am sure, if they listen to this,
Sweet women will quiver, and long
To tenderly stoop to and kiss
The Persia I've put in a song.
And I'm certain the critic will pause,
And excuse, for the sake of my bird,
My sins against critical laws -
The slips in the thought and the word.
And haply some dear little face
Of his own to his mind will occur -
Some Persia who brightens his place -
And I'll be forgiven for her.
A life that is turning to grey
Has hardly been happy, you see;
But the rose that has dropped on my way
Is morning and music to me.
Page: 90
Yea, she that I hold by the hand
Is changing white winter to green,
And making a light of the land -
All fathers will know what I mean:
All women and men who have known
The sickness of sorrow and sin,
Will feel - having babes of their own -
My verse and the pathos therein.
For that must be touching which shows
How a life has been led from the wild
To a garden of glitter and rose,
By the flower-like hand of a child.
She is strange to this wonderful sphere;
One summer and winter have set
Since God left her radiance here -
Her sweet second year is not yet.
Page: 91
The world is so lovely and new
To eyes full of eloquent light,
And, sisters, I'm hoping that you
Will pray for my Persia to-night.
For I, who have suffered so much,
And know what the bitterness is,
Am sad to think sorrow must touch
Some day even darlings like this!
But sorrow is part of this life,
And, therefore, a father doth long
For the blessing of mother and wife
On the bird he has put in a song.
Page: 92
LILITH
Strange is the song, and the soul that is singing
Falters because of the vision it sees;
Voice that is not of the living is ringing
Down in the depths where the darkness is clinging,
Even when Noon is the lord of the leas,
The sleep of far hill-folded streams,
And seek, if only for thy sake
Thy home of many dreams.
Page: 80
BILLY VICKERS
NO song is this of leaf and bird,
And gracious waters flowing;
I'm sick at heart, for I have heard
Big Billy Vickers ``blowing''.
He'd never take a leading place
In chambers legislative:
This booby with the vacant face -
This hoddy-doddy native!
Indeed, I'm forced to say aside,
To you, O reader, solely,
He only wants the horns and hide
To be a bullock wholly.
Page: 81
But, like all noodles, he is vain;
And when his tongue is wagging,
I feel inclined to copy Cain,
And ``drop'' him for his bragging.
He, being Bush-bred, stands, of course,
Six feet his dirty socks in;
His lingo is confined to horse
And plough, and pig and oxen.
Two years ago he'd less to say
Within his little circuit;
But now he has, besides a dray,
A team of twelve to work it.
No wonder is it that he feels
Inclined to clack and rattle
About his bullocks and his wheels -
He owns a dozen cattle.
Page: 82
In short, to be exact and blunt,
In his own estimation
He's ``out and out'' the head and front
Top-sawyer of creation!
For, mark me, he can ``sit a buck''
For hours and hours together;
And never horse has had the luck
To pitch him from the leather.
If ever he should have a ``spill''
Upon the grass or gravel,
Be sure of this, the saddle will
With Billy Vickers travel.
At punching oxen you may guess
There's nothing out can ``camp'' him:
He has, in fact, the slouch and dress
Which bullock-driver stamp him.
Page: 83
I do not mean to give offence,
But I have vainly striven
To ferret out the difference
'Twixt driver and the driven.
Of course, the statements herein made
In every other stanza
Are Billy's own; and I'm afraid
They're stark extravaganza.
I feel constrained to treat as trash
His noisy fiddle-faddle
About his doings with the lash,
His feats upon the saddle.
But grant he ``knows his way about'',
Or grant that he is silly,
There cannot be the slightest doubt
Of Billy's faith in Billy.
Page: 84
Of all the doings of the day
His ignorance is utter;
But he can quote the price of hay,
The current rate of butter.
His notions of our leading men
Are mixed and misty very:
He knows a Cochin-China hen -
He never speaks of Berry.
As you'll assume, he hasn't heard
Of Madame Patti's singing;
But I will stake my solemn word
He knows what maize is bringing.
Surrounded by majestic peaks,
By lordly mountain ranges,
Where highest voice of thunder speaks
His aspect never changes.
Page: 85
The grand Pacific there beyond
His dirty hut is glowing:
He only sees a big salt pond,
O'er which his grain is going.
The sea that covers half the sphere,
With all its stately speeches,
Is held by Bill to be a mere
Broad highway for his peaches.
Through Nature's splendid temples he
Plods, under mountains hoary;
But he has not the eyes to see
Their grandeur and their glory.
A bullock in a biped's boot,
I iterate, is Billy!
He crushes with a careless foot
The touching water-lily.
Page: 86
I've said enough - I'll let him go!
If he could read these verses,
He'd pepper me for hours, I know,
With his peculiar curses.
But this is sure, he'll never change
His manners loud and flashy,
Nor learn with neatness to arrange
His clothing, cheap and trashy.
Like other louts, he'll jog along,
And swig at shanty liquors,
And chew and spit. Here ends the song
Of Mr. Billy Vickers.
Page: 87
PERSIA
I AM writing this song at the close
Of a beautiful day of the spring
In a dell where the daffodil grows
By a grove of the glimmering wing;
From glades where a musical word
Comes ever from luminous fall,
I send you the song of a bird
That I wish to be dear to you all.
I have given my darling the name
Of a land at the gates of the day,
Where morning is always the same,
And spring never passes away.
Page: 88
With a prayer for a lifetime of light,
I christened her Persia, you see;
And I hope that some fathers to-night
Will kneel in the spirit with me.
She is only commencing to look
At the beauty in which she is set;
And forest and flower and brook,
To her are all mysteries yet.
I know that to many my words
Will seem insignificant things;
But you who are mothers of birds
Will feel for the father who sings.
For all of you doubtless have been
Where sorrows are many and wild;
And you know what a beautiful scene
Of this world can be made by a child:
Page: 89
I am sure, if they listen to this,
Sweet women will quiver, and long
To tenderly stoop to and kiss
The Persia I've put in a song.
And I'm certain the critic will pause,
And excuse, for the sake of my bird,
My sins against critical laws -
The slips in the thought and the word.
And haply some dear little face
Of his own to his mind will occur -
Some Persia who brightens his place -
And I'll be forgiven for her.
A life that is turning to grey
Has hardly been happy, you see;
But the rose that has dropped on my way
Is morning and music to me.
Page: 90
Yea, she that I hold by the hand
Is changing white winter to green,
And making a light of the land -
All fathers will know what I mean:
All women and men who have known
The sickness of sorrow and sin,
Will feel - having babes of their own -
My verse and the pathos therein.
For that must be touching which shows
How a life has been led from the wild
To a garden of glitter and rose,
By the flower-like hand of a child.
She is strange to this wonderful sphere;
One summer and winter have set
Since God left her radiance here -
Her sweet second year is not yet.
Page: 91
The world is so lovely and new
To eyes full of eloquent light,
And, sisters, I'm hoping that you
Will pray for my Persia to-night.
For I, who have suffered so much,
And know what the bitterness is,
Am sad to think sorrow must touch
Some day even darlings like this!
But sorrow is part of this life,
And, therefore, a father doth long
For the blessing of mother and wife
On the bird he has put in a song.
Page: 92
LILITH
Strange is the song, and the soul that is singing
Falters because of the vision it sees;
Voice that is not of the living is ringing
Down in the depths where the darkness is clinging,
Even when Noon is the lord of the leas,
- gracious [´greiʃəs]
a.和蔼可亲的；任慈的 (初中英语单词) - vacant [´veikənt] a.空虚的，无表情的 (初中英语单词)
- saddle [´sædl] n.鞍子 v.装鞍(于) (初中英语单词)
- doings [´du:iŋz] n.行动；所作的事 (初中英语单词)
- ignorance [´ignərəns] n.无知，愚昧 (初中英语单词)
- solemn [´sɔləm] a.严肃的；隆重的 (初中英语单词)
- thunder [´θʌndə] n.雷 vi.打雷 vt.吼出 (初中英语单词)
- aspect [´æspekt] n.面貌；神色；方向 (初中英语单词)
- highway [´haiwei] n.公路，大道 (初中英语单词)
- careless [´keəlis] a.粗心的；草率的 (初中英语单词)
- pepper [´pepə] n.胡椒 vt.加胡椒 (初中英语单词)
- peculiar [pi´kju:liə] a.特有的；奇异的 (初中英语单词)
- writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- musical [´mju:zikəl] a.音乐的；悦耳的 (初中英语单词)
- darling [´dɑ:liŋ] n.爱人 a.亲爱的 (初中英语单词)
- doubtless [´dautlis] ad.无疑地；大概，多半 (初中英语单词)
- quiver [´kwivə] v.抖动 n.颤动(声) (初中英语单词)
- critic [´kritik] n.批评家；吹毛求疵者 (初中英语单词)
- sickness [´siknis] n.生病；呕吐，恶心 (初中英语单词)
- glitter [´glitə] n.光辉 vi.闪烁，炫耀 (初中英语单词)
- therefore [´ðeəfɔ:] ad.&conj.因此；所以 (初中英语单词)
- blessing [´blesiŋ] n.祝福 (初中英语单词)
- vision [´viʒən] n.视觉；想象力；幻影 (初中英语单词)
- plough [plau] n.耕地 v.犁 (高中英语单词)
- vainly [´veinli] ad.虚荣地；自负地 (高中英语单词)
- majestic [mə´dʒestik] a.雄伟的；崇高的 (高中英语单词)
- pacific [pə´sifik] a.和平的；温和的 (高中英语单词)
- stately [´steitli] a.庄严的，雄伟的 (高中英语单词)
- lifetime [´laiftaim] n.一生，终生，寿命 (高中英语单词)
- persia [´pə:ʃə] n.波斯 (高中英语单词)
- tenderly [´tendəli] ad.娇嫩地；柔和地 (高中英语单词)
- critical [´kritikəl] a.批评的；关键性的 (高中英语单词)
- bitterness [´bitənis] n.苦味；辛酸；苦难 (高中英语单词)
- grandeur [´grændʒə] n.伟大；富丽；壮观 (英语四级单词)
- touching [´tʌtʃiŋ] a.动人的 prep.提到 (英语四级单词)
- luminous [´lu:minəs] a.发光的；明晰的 (英语四级单词)
- insignificant [,insig´nifikənt] a.无意义的；无价值的 (英语四级单词)
- forgiven [fə´givn] forgive的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- radiance [´reidjəns] n.发光；光彩；辐射 (英语四级单词)
- eloquent [´eləkwənt] a.流利的；雄辩的 (英语四级单词)
- herein [,hiər´in] ad.在此，鉴于 (英语六级单词)
- lordly [´lɔ:dli] a.高贵的；高傲的 (英语六级单词)
- daffodil [´dæfədil] n.水仙 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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