Did you ever drive in from an Iowa farm to a Fourth of July celebration? A few years back the land wasn't worth quite so much an acre; the sloughs2 hadn't been tiled yet and the country hadn't discovered what a limited section of real good corn land there was after all. But she was Iowa then! Remember how the hot sun dawned early to shimmer3 across the knee-high fields and blaze against the side of the big red barn, how the shadows of the willow4 windbreak shortened and the fan on top of the tall windmill faintly creaked? The hired man had decorated his buggy-whip with a tiny ribbon of red, white and blue. Buggy-whip—sound queer now? Well, there were only three automobiles5 in the county then and they were the feature of the morning parade. Remember how the two blocks of Main Street were draped with bunting and flags, and the courthouse lawn was dotted with white dresses? Well, anyhow you remember the girls with parasols who represented the states, and the float bearing the Goddess of Liberty. And then the storm came in the middle of the afternoon. The lightning and the thunder, and the bunting with the red, white and blue somewhat streaked7 together but still fluttering. And just before sunset, you remember, it brightened up again, and out past the low-roofed depot8 and the tall grain elevator you could see the streak6 of blue and the play of the departing sun against the spent clouds. Nowhere else, above no other town, could clouds pile just like that.
You remember that morning, once a year, when the lilacs had just turned purple out by the front gate, and the dew was still wet on the green grass, the faint strains of band-music drifting out above the maples9 of the town, and flags hanging out on the porches—Decoration Day! How we used to hunt through the freshly awakened10 woods north of town for the rarest wildflowers! Tender petaled bloodroots there were in plenty, and cowslips down by the spring, and honeysuckles on the creek11 bank those late May days, but the lady's slippers12 and the jack13 in the pulpits—one had to know the hidden recesses14 where they grew. Withered15 they became before the hot sun sank, sending rays from the west that made the tombstones gleam like gold. Somehow, on those days, the sky seemed a bluer blue when the words of the speaker at the "Monument of the Unknown Dead" were carried off by the faint breeze that muffled16, too, the song of the quartet and the music of the band. But close in your ears were the chirps17 of the insects in the bluegrass and the robins18 that hopped19 about in the branches of the evergreens21.
We had our quota22 of civil war veterans in that Iowa town. We had our company that went down to Chickamauga in '98. And now—well, you know what to expect from the youth of that sort of a community. Prosperity can't rob a place like that of its pioneer virtues23. That Iowa town is an American town and it simply wouldn't fit into the German system at all. There's nothing old world about it. The present generation may have it easier than their fathers did; they may ride in automobiles instead of lumber24 wagons25; they may wear pinch back coats and long beak26 caps instead of overalls27 and straw hats, but they've inherited something beside material wealth. We who owned none of its surrounding acres when they were cheap and find them now so out of reach, are yet rich, fabulously28 rich in inheritance. The last I heard from that Iowa town its youth was donning khaki for the purpose of helping29 to keep the Kaiser on the other side of the sea.
But it was of the town we used to know that I was speaking. Changed? We must realize that. It was the sort that improves rather than grows. But we remember the place as it was before the blacksmith shop was turned into a garage and before the harness shop was given an electric lighted front and transformed into a movie. I guess the new generation has long since passed up the old opera house above the drug store for the rejuvenated30 harness shop and the actors that come by express in canned celluloid. But at county fair time, you remember, the Cora Warner Comedy Company used to come for a week's engagement, Cora Warner, noticeably wrinkled as she walked through the park from the hotel, donning a blonde wig31 that enabled her to play soubrette parts of the old school. And then there were the Beach and Bowers32 minstrels with their band that swung breezily up Main Street to form a circle on the bank corner and lift the whole center of the town out of the commonplace by the blare of trombones and the tenderness of clarinets. You remember how we Boy Scouts33, who didn't know we were Boy Scouts, used to clamor for the front row of kitchen chairs after peddling34 bills for "The Octoroon" or "Nevada, and the Lost Mine"?
Oh, well, we're uninteresting old-timers now. And it used to be that I knew everyone in town—even the transient baker35 whose family had no garden and chickens but lived up over the furniture store, and the temporary telephone man who sat out in front of the hotel evenings with the pale-faced traveling man. That hotel—haunted with an atmosphere that was brought in from the outside world! Remember how you used to walk past it with awe36, the hot sun on the plank37 sidewalk burning your bare feet, and your eyes wistful as you heard the bus man on the steps call a train? And the time came when we took the train ourselves. And when we came back—
When we came back, the town was still there, but the wondrous38 age when all life is roseate belonged to us no longer.
And yet that town, to me, will always be as it was in those days when the world was giving me its first pink-tinted impressions. And when my tussle39 with the world as it really is comes to a close, I want to go back there and take my last long sleep beneath one of those evergreens on the hillside where I know the robins hop20 along the branches. I know how each season's change comes there—the white drifts, the dew on the bluegrass, the rustling40 of crimsoned41 leaves. I'll know that off on the prairies beyond, the cornfields will still wave green in summer, and that from back across the creek, over in the school yard, there will float the old hushed echo of youth at play.
点击收听单词发音
1 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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2 sloughs | |
n.沼泽( slough的名词复数 );苦难的深渊;难以改变的不良心情;斯劳(Slough)v.使蜕下或脱落( slough的第三人称单数 );舍弃;除掉;摒弃 | |
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3 shimmer | |
v./n.发微光,发闪光;微光 | |
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4 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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5 automobiles | |
n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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6 streak | |
n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
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7 streaked | |
adj.有条斑纹的,不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 );使布满条纹 | |
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8 depot | |
n.仓库,储藏处;公共汽车站;火车站 | |
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9 maples | |
槭树,枫树( maple的名词复数 ); 槭木 | |
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10 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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11 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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12 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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13 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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14 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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15 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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16 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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17 chirps | |
鸟叫,虫鸣( chirp的第三人称单数 ); 啾; 啾啾 | |
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18 robins | |
n.知更鸟,鸫( robin的名词复数 );(签名者不分先后,以避免受责的)圆形签名抗议书(或请愿书) | |
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19 hopped | |
跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 ); 单足蹦跳; 齐足(或双足)跳行; 摘葎草花 | |
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20 hop | |
n.单脚跳,跳跃;vi.单脚跳,跳跃;着手做某事;vt.跳跃,跃过 | |
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21 evergreens | |
n.常青树,常绿植物,万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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22 quota | |
n.(生产、进出口等的)配额,(移民的)限额 | |
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23 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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24 lumber | |
n.木材,木料;v.以破旧东西堆满;伐木;笨重移动 | |
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25 wagons | |
n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 );铁路货车;小手推车 | |
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26 beak | |
n.鸟嘴,茶壶嘴,钩形鼻 | |
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27 overalls | |
n.(复)工装裤;长罩衣 | |
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28 fabulously | |
难以置信地,惊人地 | |
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29 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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30 rejuvenated | |
更生的 | |
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31 wig | |
n.假发 | |
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32 bowers | |
n.(女子的)卧室( bower的名词复数 );船首锚;阴凉处;鞠躬的人 | |
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33 scouts | |
侦察员[机,舰]( scout的名词复数 ); 童子军; 搜索; 童子军成员 | |
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34 peddling | |
忙于琐事的,无关紧要的 | |
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35 baker | |
n.面包师 | |
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36 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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37 plank | |
n.板条,木板,政策要点,政纲条目 | |
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38 wondrous | |
adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
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39 tussle | |
n.&v.扭打,搏斗,争辩 | |
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40 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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41 crimsoned | |
变为深红色(crimson的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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