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Maid Marian-Part2_Thomas Love Peacock(1785-1866)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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The rose on the nose doth all virtues disclose:

For the outward grace shows



That the inward overflows,

When it glows in the rose of a red, red nose."



"Now," said the little friar, "as is the firmness so is the redness,

and as is the redness so is the shyness."



"Marry why?" said brother Michael. "The solution is not physical-natural,

but physical-historical, or natural-superinductive. And thereby hangs a tale,



which may be either said or sung:

The damsel stood to watch the fight



By the banks of Kingslea Mere,

And they brought to her feet her own true knight



Sore-wounded on a bier.

She knelt by him his wounds to bind,



She washed them with many a tear:

And shouts rose fast upon the wind,



Which told that the foe was near.

"Oh! let not," he said, "while yet I live,



The cruel foe me take:

But with thy sweet lips a last kiss give,



And cast me in the lake."

Around his neck she wound her arms,



And she kissed his lips so pale:

And evermore the war's alarms



Came louder up the vale.

She drew him to the lake's steep side,



Where the red heath fringed the shore;

She plunged with him beneath the tide,



And they were seen no more.

Their true blood mingled in Kingslea Mere,



That to mingle on earth was fain:

And the trout that swims in that crystal clear



Is tinged with the crimson stain.

"Thus you see how good comes of evil, and how a holy friar may fare



better on fast-day for the violent death of two lovers two hundred

years ago. The inference is most consecutive, that wherever you



catch a red-fleshed trout, love lies bleeding under the water:

an occult quality, which can only act in the stationary waters of a lake,



being neutralised by the rapid transition of those of a stream."

"And why is the trout shyer for that?" asked Sir Ralph.



"Do you not see?" said brother Michael. "The virtues of both

lovers diffuse themselves through the lake. The infusion



of masculinevalour makes the fish active and sanguineous:

the infusion of maidenmodesty makes him coy and hard to win:



and you shall find through life, the fish which is most

easily hooked is not the best worth dishing. But yonder are



the towers of Arlingford."

The little friar stopped. He seemed suddenly struck with an awful thought,



which caused a momentary pallescence in his rosy complexion; and after

a brief hesitation, he turned his galloway, and told his companions



he should give them good day.

"Why, what is in the wind now, brother Peter?" said Friar Michael.



"The lady Matilda," said the little friar, "can draw the long-bow. She

must bear no goodwill to Sir Ralph; and if she should espy him from



her tower, she may testify her recognition with a cloth-yard shaft.

She is not so infallible a markswoman, but that she might shoot at a crow



and kill a pigeon. She might peradventure miss the knight, and hit me,

who never did her any harm."



"Tut, tut, man," said brother Michael, "there is no such fear."

"Mass," said the little friar, "but there is such a fear,



and very strong too. You who have it not may keep your way,

and I who have it shall take mine. I am not just now in the vein



for being picked off at a long shot." And saying these words,

he spurred up his four-footed better half, and galloped off



as nimbly as if he had had an arrow singing behind him.

"Is this lady Matilda, then, so very terrible a damsel?"



said Sir Ralph to brother Michael.




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