But to me the actual world as it stands is beautiful. I love to descry3 the very contour of the hills; I love to watch from afar the saucer-shaped combes on the flanks of the South Downs, when the afternoon light floods and bathes them in its glory. Illusion to my mind is less lovely than reality. Nothing on earth seems more beautiful than Truth. I love to catch her face behind the clouds that conceal4 her.
And now it is the plain unvarnished Truth I am going to give you in this Moorland Idyll. I am going to tell you just what we saw to-day, without one episode or incident save what really occurred to us. I could not make that stroll more exquisite6 than I found it, if I tried till Doomsday. It was an idyll of real life. May many more so come to me!
We strayed together—the Poet, Elsie, Lucy, and myself—across the moor5 to Highfield, in search of strawberries. Highfield lies some two miles off, at the beginning of the valley; a lost old-world farm, in a dell of the moors7, with a market-garden. You poor Londoners, when you go to buy strawberries, go to buy them prosaically8 at a commercial fruiterer’s in a noisy street; but we moorlanders go with our basket in our hands to some lonely grange across the heather-clad upland. The first part of our walk lay high over the ridge9, where the heath was burnt in the Jubilee10 year by the great fire; you can still plainly mark the point up to which the flames made a clear sweep of the heather, and the point where they left off, held in check by the beaters. For heather is really a forest-tree of some fifty years’ growth; and the waste where the fire raged is still covered to this day with a shorter crop of young seedling11 gorse and ling and whortleberry, while the older vegetation unburnt beyond rises tall and bush-like. The blasted part, too, shows by far the finest and deepest purple of any; not because the flowers are really bigger or thicker, but because where the plants are still short the Tyrian purple of the Scotch12 heather is seen to greatest advantage; whereas, when they rise higher, the Scotch heather is overtopped by the bushier and coarser and taller-growing ling, with its somewhat insipid13 pale pink blossoms. The Poet thinks the fire makes the heath burn brighter. I think myself it keeps the ling lower.
Anyhow, that spur is one blaze of glory. Not a spot on the moor flares14 so splendid a purple. We passed through it, single file, by the narrow footpath15, where the ling rises knee-high on either side, and the little brown lizards16 dart17 wildly to their holes at first sound of a footfall. Along the ridge, past the broom-bushes, now hanging with silvery pods, we continued on the path till we reached the white beam-tree. There the trail diverges18 a little suddenly to the left; a cock-pheasant broke with a shrill19 cry on the wing; his whirr as he rose startled the shallow valley. A wood-pigeon, alarmed at his alarm, flapped afield from the pinewood; the low cooing of his fellows from the larches20 beyond died away at the sound of his warning signal. Then we turned into the middle trail, where it dips towards the lowland.
All at once Elsie started, and gave a little cry—“A fox! a fox!” And, sure enough, there was one. He ran on before us, with his red brush depressed21, fifty yards or more along the path on the open. Seldom have I caught a longer or clearer view of him unhunted in England. We were but ten yards behind, and had fairly surprised him. However, he took his discovery like a gentleman, and instead of skulking22 away to right or left, where the heath rose high, he ran on along the open, so as to give us a fine stare at him. Lucy, who is a visitor, unused to country ways, save as townsfolk know them, had never seen a live fox in the wild state before, and the incident charmed her. He was so lithe23 and red, and he ran so well, with his sharp head held low, and with the wild air of his species.
By the chestnut24 plantation25, where a grassy26 little lane dips close between the trees, cropped and cut for hop-poles, we began to descend27 in real earnest to the valley. A rabbit just dashed across the sward on the slope of path; his twinkling white tail scarce betrayed him for a moment. Two hawks28 hovered29 above, but held off for fear of us. Rustlings in the fallen foliage30 beneath the sapling chestnuts31 to right and left gave sign of other rabbits, unseen, but scurrying32 burrow-ward. As we reached the open we disturbed a young covey of nursling partridges. Most of them disappeared after their prudent33 mother before we could catch a glimpse of them; but one poor little chick, belated and terrified, darted34 with its tiny half-naked wings erect35 in an agony of alarm in the opposite direction. It found covert36 in the chestnuts, its tiny heart throbbing37. Alas38, that it should have conceived at so early an age so justly unfavourable an idea of humanity!
Beyond the plantation we turned aside into a field, and oh! such a field! Have I words to picture it? It had been sown for grass; but no grass was there. “Bad season,” says the farmer. “Thank Heaven for these slovenly39 farms,” says the botanist40. Blue cornflowers grew in it, thick as stars in heaven; and huge spikes41 of viper’s bugloss as tall as a man’s waist and more lovely than a turquoise42. Who shall describe their hue43, their form, their fashion? A great spotted44 stem, like a lizard’s skin, green flecked with russet brown, and uncanny to look upon; on either side, long twisted spirals of red-and-blue blossoms, each curled like a scorpion’s tail, very strange and lurid45. The individual blossom is bright blue, when fully46 opened, with crimson47 stamens; the buds are deep red; the dead flowers dry violet. Altogether, a most weird48 and witch-like plant. I think one might use it with great advantage for incantations and sorcery. The Poet decided49 to try its effect next time he would rid himself of a discarded lady-love. We plucked great armfuls, and carried them along with us as far as Highfield. Other flowers were there, too, of less poetic50 interest—bright yellow corn-marigolds, and scented51 white campion; scarlet52 poppies by the score, with waving panicles of not a few tall grasses. We gathered of them all, and they stand before me now, gladdening my eyes as I write, in the coarse red pots of plain Hampshire earthenware53.
They had no strawberries left, after all, at Highfield. We had our walk for nothing—if that be nothing! So we used the empty basket to carry back our trophies54. But, returning by the lane, we filled our vacant arms once more with foxgloves; and the fox himself crossed our path for a second again at the self-same turning, without seeking to reclaim55 them. Even the Poet admitted we had saved one day from Time’s devouring56 maw. And that’s how we live, up here in the moorland.
点击收听单词发音
1 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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2 staples | |
n.(某国的)主要产品( staple的名词复数 );钉书钉;U 形钉;主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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3 descry | |
v.远远看到;发现;责备 | |
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4 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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5 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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6 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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7 moors | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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8 prosaically | |
adv.无聊地;乏味地;散文式地;平凡地 | |
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9 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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10 jubilee | |
n.周年纪念;欢乐 | |
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11 seedling | |
n.秧苗,树苗 | |
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12 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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13 insipid | |
adj.无味的,枯燥乏味的,单调的 | |
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14 flares | |
n.喇叭裤v.(使)闪耀( flare的第三人称单数 );(使)(船舷)外倾;(使)鼻孔张大;(使)(衣裙、酒杯等)呈喇叭形展开 | |
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15 footpath | |
n.小路,人行道 | |
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16 lizards | |
n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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17 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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18 diverges | |
分开( diverge的第三人称单数 ); 偏离; 分歧; 分道扬镳 | |
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19 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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20 larches | |
n.落叶松(木材)( larch的名词复数 ) | |
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21 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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22 skulking | |
v.潜伏,偷偷摸摸地走动,鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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23 lithe | |
adj.(指人、身体)柔软的,易弯的 | |
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24 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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25 plantation | |
n.种植园,大农场 | |
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26 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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27 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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28 hawks | |
鹰( hawk的名词复数 ); 鹰派人物,主战派人物 | |
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29 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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30 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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31 chestnuts | |
n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 );栗色;栗树;栗色马 | |
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32 scurrying | |
v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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33 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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34 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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35 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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36 covert | |
adj.隐藏的;暗地里的 | |
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37 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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38 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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39 slovenly | |
adj.懒散的,不整齐的,邋遢的 | |
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40 botanist | |
n.植物学家 | |
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41 spikes | |
n.穗( spike的名词复数 );跑鞋;(防滑)鞋钉;尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 );偷偷地给某人的饮料加入(更多)酒精( 或药物);把尖状物钉入;打乱某人的计划 | |
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42 turquoise | |
n.绿宝石;adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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43 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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44 spotted | |
adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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45 lurid | |
adj.可怕的;血红的;苍白的 | |
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46 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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47 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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48 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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49 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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50 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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51 scented | |
adj.有香味的;洒香水的;有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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52 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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53 earthenware | |
n.土器,陶器 | |
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54 trophies | |
n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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55 reclaim | |
v.要求归还,收回;开垦 | |
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56 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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