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Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow-Part17_Jerome K.Jerome(1859-1927)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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writers long before that. And for the same thing sighed the early

prophets and the philosophers of ancient Greece. From all accounts,



the world has been getting worse and worse ever since it was created.

All I can say is that it must have been a remarkablydelightful place



when it was first opened to the public, for it is very pleasant even

now if you only keep as much as possible in the sunshine and take the



rain good-temperedly.

Yet there is no gainsaying but that it must have been somewhat sweeter



in that dewy morning of creation, when it was young and fresh, when

the feet of the tramping millions had not trodden its grass to dust,



nor the din of the myriad cities chased the silence forever away.

Life must have been noble and solemn to those free-footed, loose-robed



fathers of the human race, walking hand in hand with God under the

great sky. They lived in sunkissed tents amid the lowing herds. They



took their simple wants from the loving hand of Nature. They toiled

and talked and thought; and the great earth rolled around in



stillness, not yet laden with trouble and wrong.

Those days are past now. The quiet childhood of Humanity, spent in



the far-off forest glades and by the murmuring rivers, is gone

forever; and human life is deepening down to manhood amid tumult,



doubt, and hope. Its age of restful peace is past. It has its work

to finish and must hasten on. What that work may be--what this



world's share is in the great design--we know not, though our

unconscious hands are helping to accomplish it. Like the tiny coral



insect working deep under the dark waters, we strive and struggle each

for our own little ends, nor dream of the vast fabric we are building



up for God.

Let us have done with vain regrets and longings for the days that



never will be ours again. Our work lies in front, not behind us; and

"Forward!" is our motto. Let us not sit with folded hands, gazing



upon the past as if it were the building; it is but the foundation.

Let us not waste heart and life thinking of what might have been and



forgetting the may be that lies before us. Opportunities flit by

while we sit regretting the chances we have lost, and the happiness



that comes to us we heed not, because of the happiness that is gone.

Years ago, when I used to wander of an evening from the fireside to



the pleasant land of fairy-tales, I met a doughty knight and true.

Many dangers had he overcome, in many lands had been; and all men knew



him for a brave and well-tried knight, and one that knew not fear;

except, maybe, upon such seasons when even a brave man might feel



afraid and yet not be ashamed. Now, as this knight one day was

pricking wearily along a toilsome road, his heart misgave him and was



sore within him because of the trouble of the way. Rocks, dark and of

a monstrous size, hung high above his head, and like enough it seemed



unto the knight that they should fall and he lie low beneath them.

Chasms there were on either side, and darksome caves wherein fierce



robbers lived, and dragons, very terrible, whose jaws dripped blood.

And upon the road there hung a darkness as of night. So it came over



that good knight that he would no more press forward, but seek another

road, less grievously beset with difficulty unto his gentle steed.



But when in haste he turned and looked behind, much marveled our brave

knight, for lo! of all the way that he had ridden there was naught for



eye to see; but at his horse's heels there yawned a mighty gulf,

whereof no man might ever spy the bottom, so deep was that same gulf.



Then when Sir Ghelent saw that of going back there was none, he prayed

to good Saint Cuthbert, and setting spurs into his steed rode forward



bravely and most joyously. And naught harmed him.

There is no returning on the road of life. The frail bridge of time



on which we tread sinks back into eternity at every step we take. The

past is gone from us forever. It is gathered in and garnered. It



belongs to us no more. No single word can ever be unspoken; no single

step retraced. Therefore it beseems us as true knights to prick on



bravely, not idly weep because we cannot now recall.

A new life begins for us with every second. Let us go forward



joyously to meet it. We must press on whether we will or no, and we

shall walk better with our eyes before us than with them ever cast



behind.

A friend came to me the other day and urged me very eloquently to






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