Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele—"
When I removed into the country, it was to occupy an old-fashioned farm-house, which had no piazza1—a deficiency the more regretted, because not only did I like piazzas2, as somehow combining the coziness of in-doors with the freedom of out-doors, and it is so pleasant to inspect your thermometer there, but the country round about was such a picture, that in berry time no boy climbs hill or crosses vale without coming upon easels planted in every nook, and sun-burnt painters painting there. A very paradise of painters. The circle of the stars cut by the circle of the mountains. At least, so looks it from the house; though, once upon the mountains, no circle of them can you see. Had the site been [pg 002] chosen five rods off, this charmed ring would not have been.
The house is old. Seventy years since, from the heart of the Hearth3 Stone Hills, they quarried4 the Kaaba, or Holy Stone, to which, each Thanksgiving, the social pilgrims used to come. So long ago, that, in digging for the foundation, the workmen used both spade and axe5, fighting the Troglodytes6 of those subterranean7 parts—sturdy roots of a sturdy wood, encamped upon what is now a long land-slide of sleeping meadow, sloping away off from my poppy-bed. Of that knit wood, but one survivor8 stands—an elm, lonely through steadfastness10.
Whoever built the house, he builded better than he knew; or else Orion in the zenith flashed down his Damocles' sword to him some starry11 night, and said, "Build there." For how, otherwise, could it have entered the builder's mind, that, upon the clearing being made, such a purple prospect12 would be his?—nothing less than Greylock, with all his hills about him, like Charlemagne among his peers.
Now, for a house, so situated13 in such a country, to have no piazza for the convenience of [pg 003] those who might desire to feast upon the view, and take their time and ease about it, seemed as much of an omission14 as if a picture-gallery should have no bench; for what but picture-galleries are the marble halls of these same limestone15 hills?—galleries hung, month after month anew, with pictures ever fading into pictures ever fresh. And beauty is like piety—you cannot run and read it; tranquillity16 and constancy, with, now-a-days, an easy chair, are needed. For though, of old, when reverence17 was in vogue18, and indolence was not, the devotees of Nature, doubtless, used to stand and adore—just as, in the cathedrals of those ages, the worshipers of a higher Power did—yet, in these times of failing faith and feeble knees, we have the piazza and the pew.
During the first year of my residence, the more leisurely20 to witness the coronation of Charlemagne (weather permitting, they crown him every sunrise and sunset), I chose me, on the hill-side bank near by, a royal lounge of turf—a green velvet21 lounge, with long, moss-padded back; while at the head, strangely enough, there grew (but, I suppose, for heraldry) [pg 004] three tufts of blue violets in a field-argent of wild strawberries; and a trellis, with honeysuckle, I set for canopy22. Very majestical lounge, indeed. So much so, that here, as with the reclining majesty23 of Denmark in his orchard24, a sly ear-ache invaded me. But, if damps abound25 at times in Westminster Abbey, because it is so old, why not within this monastery26 of mountains, which is older?
A piazza must be had.
The house was wide—my fortune narrow; so that, to build a panoramic27 piazza, one round and round, it could not be—although, indeed, considering the matter by rule and square, the carpenters, in the kindest way, were anxious to gratify my furthest wishes, at I've forgotten how much a foot.
To the east, that long camp of the Hearth Stone Hills, fading far away towards Quito; and every fall, a small white flake30 of something peering suddenly, of a coolish morning, from the topmost cliff—the season's new-dropped [pg 005] lamb, its earliest fleece; and then the Christmas dawn, draping those dim highlands with red-barred plaids and tartans—goodly sight from your piazza, that. Goodly sight; but, to the north is Charlemagne—can't have the Hearth Stone Hills with Charlemagne.
Well, the south side. Apple-trees are there. Pleasant, of a balmy morning, in the month of May, to sit and see that orchard, white-budded, as for a bridal; and, in October, one green arsenal31 yard; such piles of ruddy shot. Very fine, I grant; but, to the north is Charlemagne.
The west side, look. An upland pasture, alleying away into a maple32 wood at top. Sweet, in opening spring, to trace upon the hill-side, otherwise gray and bare—to trace, I say, the oldest paths by their streaks33 of earliest green. Sweet, indeed, I can't deny; but, to the north is Charlemagne.
So Charlemagne, he carried it. It was not long after 1848; and, somehow, about that time, all round the world, these kings, they had the casting vote, and voted for themselves.
No sooner was ground broken, than all the neighborhood, neighbor Dives, in particular, [pg 006] broke, too—into a laugh. Piazza to the north! Winter piazza! Wants, of winter midnights, to watch the Aurora34 Borealis, I suppose; hope he's laid in good store of Polar muffs and mittens36.
That was in the lion month of March. Not forgotten are the blue noses of the carpenters, and how they scouted37 at the greenness of the cit, who would build his sole piazza to the north. But March don't last forever; patience, and August comes. And then, in the cool elysium of my northern bower38, I, Lazarus in Abraham's bosom39, cast down the hill a pitying glance on poor old Dives, tormented40 in the purgatory41 of his piazza to the south.
But, even in December, this northern piazza does not repel—nipping cold and gusty42 though it be, and the north wind, like any miller43, bolting by the snow, in finest flour—for then, once more, with frosted beard, I pace the sleety44 deck, weathering Cape45 Horn.
In summer, too, Canute-like, sitting here, one is often reminded of the sea. For not only do long ground-swells roll the slanting46 grain, and little wavelets of the grass ripple47 over upon the [pg 007] low piazza, as their beach, and the blown down of dandelions is wafted48 like the spray, and the purple of the mountains is just the purple of the billows, and a still August noon broods upon the deep meadows, as a calm upon the Line; but the vastness and the lonesomeness are so oceanic, and the silence and the sameness, too, that the first peep of a strange house, rising beyond the trees, is for all the world like spying, on the Barbary coast, an unknown sail.
And this recalls my inland voyage to fairy-land. A true voyage; but, take it all in all, interesting as if invented.
From the piazza, some uncertain object I had caught, mysteriously snugged49 away, to all appearance, in a sort of purpled breast-pocket, high up in a hopper-like hollow, or sunken angle, among the northwestern mountains—yet, whether, really, it was on a mountain-side, or a mountain-top, could not be determined50; because, though, viewed from favorable points, a blue summit, peering up away behind the rest, will, as it were, talk to you over their heads, and plainly tell you, that, though he (the blue summit) seems among them, he is not [pg 008] of them (God forbid!), and, indeed, would have you know that he considers himself—as, to say truth, he has good right—by several cubits their superior, nevertheless, certain ranges, here and there double-filed, as in platoons, so shoulder and follow up upon one another, with their irregular shapes and heights, that, from the piazza, a nigher and lower mountain will, in most states of the atmosphere, effacingly shade itself away into a higher and further one; that an object, bleak51 on the former's crest52, will, for all that, appear nested in the latter's flank. These mountains, somehow, they play at hide-and-seek, and all before one's eyes.
But, be that as it may, the spot in question was, at all events, so situated as to be only visible, and then but vaguely53, under certain witching conditions of light and shadow.
Indeed, for a year or more, I knew not there was such a spot, and might, perhaps, have never known, had it not been for a wizard afternoon in autumn—late in autumn—a mad poet's afternoon; when the turned maple woods in the broad basin below me, having lost their first vermilion tint54, dully smoked, like smouldering [pg 009] towns, when flames expire upon their prey56; and rumor57 had it, that this smokiness in the general air was not all Indian summer—which was not used to be so sick a thing, however mild—but, in great part, was blown from far-off forests, for weeks on fire, in Vermont; so that no wonder the sky was ominous58 as Hecate's cauldron—and two sportsmen, crossing a red stubble buck-wheat field, seemed guilty Macbeth and foreboding Banquo; and the hermit-sun, hutted in an Adullum cave, well towards the south, according to his season, did little else but, by indirect reflection of narrow rays shot down a Simplon pass among the clouds, just steadily59 paint one small, round, strawberry mole60 upon the wan29 cheek of northwestern hills. Signal as a candle. One spot of radiance, where all else was shade.
Fairies there, thought I; some haunted ring where fairies dance.
Time passed; and the following May, after a gentle shower upon the mountains—a little shower islanded in misty61 seas of sunshine; such a distant shower—and sometimes two, and three, and four of them, all visible together in [pg 010] different parts—as I love to watch from the piazza, instead of thunder storms, as I used to, which wrap old Greylock, like a Sinai, till one thinks swart Moses must be climbing among scathed62 hemlocks63 there; after, I say, that, gentle shower, I saw a rainbow, resting its further end just where, in autumn, I had marked the mole. Fairies there, thought I; remembering that rainbows bring out the blooms, and that, if one can but get to the rainbow's end, his fortune is made in a bag of gold. Yon rainbow's end, would I were there, thought I. And none the less I wished it, for now first noticing what seemed some sort of glen, or grotto64, in the mountain side; at least, whatever it was, viewed through the rainbow's medium, it glowed like the Potosi mine. But a work-a-day neighbor said, no doubt it was but some old barn—an abandoned one, its broadside beaten in, the acclivity its background. But I, though I had never been there, I knew better.
A few days after, a cheery sunrise kindled65 a golden sparkle in the same spot as before. The sparkle was of that vividness, it seemed as [pg 011] if it could only come from glass. The building, then—if building, after all, it was—could, at least, not be a barn, much less an abandoned one; stale hay ten years musting in it. No; if aught built by mortal, it must be a cottage; perhaps long vacant and dismantled66, but this very spring magically fitted up and glazed67.
Again, one noon, in the same direction, I marked, over dimmed tops of terraced foliage68, a broader gleam, as of a silver buckler, held sunwards over some croucher's head; which gleam, experience in like cases taught, must come from a roof newly shingled69. This, to me, made pretty sure the recent occupancy of that far cot in fairy land.
Day after day, now, full of interest in my discovery, what time I could spare from reading the Midsummer's Night Dream, and all about Titania, wishfully I gazed off towards the hills; but in vain. Either troops of shadows, an imperial guard, with slow pace and solemn, defiled71 along the steeps; or, routed by pursuing light, fled broadcast from east to west—old wars of Lucifer and Michael; or the mountains, though unvexed by these mirrored sham72 fights [pg 012] in the sky, had an atmosphere otherwise unfavorable for fairy views. I was sorry; the more so, because I had to keep my chamber73 for some time after—which chamber did not face those hills.
At length, when pretty well again, and sitting out, in the September morning, upon the piazza, and thinking to myself, when, just after a little flock of sheep, the farmer's banded children passed, a-nutting, and said, "How sweet a day"—it was, after all, but what their fathers call a weather-breeder—and, indeed, was become so sensitive through my illness, as that I could not bear to look upon a Chinese creeper of my adoption74, and which, to my delight, climbing a post of the piazza, had burst out in starry bloom, but now, if you removed the leaves a little, showed millions of strange, cankerous worms, which, feeding upon those blossoms, so shared their blessed hue75, as to make it unblessed evermore—worms, whose germs had doubtless lurked76 in the very bulb which, so hopefully, I had planted: in this ingrate77 peevishness78 of my weary convalescence79, was I sitting there; when, suddenly looking [pg 013] off, I saw the golden mountain-window, dazzling like a deep-sea dolphin. Fairies there, thought I, once more; the queen of fairies at her fairy-window; at any rate, some glad mountain-girl; it will do me good, it will cure this weariness, to look on her. No more; I'll launch my yawl—ho, cheerly, heart! and push away for fairy-land—for rainbow's end, in fairy-land.
How to get to fairy-land, by what road, I did not know; nor could any one inform me; not even one Edmund Spenser, who had been there—so he wrote me—further than that to reach fairy-land, it must be voyaged to, and with faith. I took the fairy-mountain's bearings, and the first fine day, when strength permitted, got into my yawl—high-pommeled, leather one—cast off the fast, and away I sailed, free voyager as an autumn leaf. Early dawn; and, sallying westward80, I sowed the morning before me.
Some miles brought me nigh the hills; but out of present sight of them. I was not lost; for road-side golden-rods, as guide-posts, pointed81, I doubted not, the way to the golden window. [pg 014] Following them, I came to a lone9 and languid region, where the grass-grown ways were traveled but by drowsy82 cattle, that, less waked than stirred by day, seemed to walk in sleep. Browse83, they did not—the enchanted84 never eat. At least, so says Don Quixote, that sagest86 sage85 that ever lived.
On I went, and gained at last the fairy mountain's base, but saw yet no fairy ring. A pasture rose before me. Letting down five mouldering55 bars—so moistly green, they seemed fished up from some sunken wreck—a wigged87 old Aries, long-visaged, and with crumpled88 horn, came snuffing up; and then, retreating, decorously led on along a milky-way of white-weed, past dim-clustering Pleiades and Hyades, of small forget-me-nots; and would have led me further still his astral path, but for golden flights of yellow-birds—pilots, surely, to the golden window, to one side flying before me, from bush to bush, towards deep woods—which woods themselves were luring—and, somehow, lured89, too, by their fence, banning a dark road, which, however dark, led up. I pushed through; when Aries, renouncing90 me [pg 015] now for some lost soul, wheeled, and went his wiser way.. Forbidding and forbidden ground—to him.
A winter wood road, matted all along with winter-green. By the side of pebbly91 waters—waters the cheerier for their solitude92; beneath swaying fir-boughs, petted by no season, but still green in all, on I journeyed—my horse and I; on, by an old saw-mill, bound down and hushed with vines, that his grating voice no more was heard; on, by a deep flume clove93 through snowy marble, vernal-tinted, where freshet eddies94 had, on each side, spun95 out empty chapels96 in the living rock; on, where Jacks-in-the-pulpit, like their Baptist namesake, preached but to the wilderness97; on, where a huge, cross-grain block, fern-bedded, showed where, in forgotten times, man after man had tried to split it, but lost his wedges for his pains—which wedges yet rusted98 in their holes; on, where, ages past, in step-like ledges99 of a cascade100, skull-hollow pots had been churned out by ceaseless whirling of a flintstone—ever wearing, but itself unworn; on, by wild rapids pouring into a secret pool, but [pg 016] soothed101 by circling there awhile, issued forth103 serenely104; on, to less broken ground, and by a little ring, where, truly, fairies must have danced, or else some wheel-tire been heated—for all was bare; still on, and up, and out into a hanging orchard, where maidenly105 looked down upon me a crescent moon, from morning.
My horse hitched106 low his head. Red apples rolled before him; Eve's apples; seek-no-furthers. He tasted one, I another; it tasted of the ground. Fairy land not yet, thought I, flinging my bridle107 to a humped old tree, that crooked108 out an arm to catch it. For the way now lay where path was none, and none might go but by himself, and only go by daring. Through blackberry brakes that tried to pluck me back, though I but strained towards fruitless growths of mountain-laurel; up slippery steeps to barren heights, where stood none to welcome. Fairy land not yet, thought I, though the morning is here before me.
Foot-sore enough and weary, I gained not then my journey's end, but came ere long to a craggy pass, dipping towards growing regions still beyond. A zigzag109 road, half overgrown [pg 017] with blueberry bushes, here turned among the cliffs. A rent was in their ragged110 sides; through it a little track branched off, which, upwards111 threading that short defile70, came breezily out above, to where the mountain-top, part sheltered northward112, by a taller brother, sloped gently off a space, ere darkly plunging113; and here, among fantastic rocks, reposing114 in a herd115, the foot-track wound, half beaten, up to a little, low-storied, grayish cottage, capped, nun-like, with a peaked roof.
On one slope, the roof was deeply weather-stained, and, nigh the turfy eaves-trough, all velvet-napped; no doubt the snail-monks founded mossy priories there. The other slope was newly shingled. On the north side, doorless and windowless, the clap-boards, innocent of paint, were yet green as the north side of lichened116 pines or copperless hulls117 of Japanese junks, becalmed. The whole base, like those of the neighboring rocks, was rimmed119 about with shaded streaks of richest sod; for, with hearth-stones in fairy land, the natural rock, though housed, preserves to the last, just as in open fields, its fertilizing120 charm; only, by necessity, [pg 018] working now at a remove, to the sward without. So, at least, says Oberon, grave authority in fairy lore121. Though setting Oberon aside, certain it is, that, even in the common world, the soil, close up to farm-houses, as close up to pasture rocks, is, even though untended, ever richer than it is a few rods off—such gentle, nurturing122 heat is radiated there.
But with this cottage, the shaded streaks were richest in its front and about its entrance, where the ground-sill, and especially the doorsill had, through long eld, quietly settled down.
No fence was seen, no inclosure. Near by—ferns, ferns, ferns; further—woods, woods, woods; beyond—mountains, mountains, mountains; then—sky, sky, sky. Turned out in aerial commons, pasture for the mountain moon. Nature, and but nature, house and, all; even a low cross-pile of silver birch, piled openly, to season; up among whose silvery sticks, as through the fencing of some sequestered123 grave, sprang vagrant124 raspberry bushes—willful assertors of their right of way.
The foot-track, so dainty narrow, just like a sheep-track, led through long ferns that lodged125. [pg 019] Fairy land at last, thought I; Una and her lamb dwell here. Truly, a small abode126—mere palanquin, set down on the summit, in a pass between two worlds, participant of neither.
A sultry hour, and I wore a light hat, of yellow sinnet, with white duck trowsers—both relics127 of my tropic sea-going. Clogged128 in the muffling129 ferns, I softly stumbled, staining the knees a sea-green.
Pausing at the threshold, or rather where threshold once had been, I saw, through the open door-way, a lonely girl, sewing at a lonely window. A pale-cheeked girl, and fly-specked window, with wasps130 about the mended upper panes118. I spoke131. She shyly started, like some Tahiti girl, secreted132 for a sacrifice, first catching133 sight, through palms, of Captain Cook. Recovering, she bade me enter; with her apron134 brushed off a stool; then silently resumed her own. With thanks I took the stool; but now, for a space, I, too, was mute. This, then, is the fairy-mountain house, and here, the fairy queen sitting at her fairy window.
I went up to it. Downwards135, directed by the tunneled pass, as through a leveled telescope, [pg 020] I caught sight of a far-off, soft, azure136 world. I hardly knew it, though I came from it.
"You must find this view very pleasant," said I, at last.
"Oh, sir," tears starting in her eyes, "the first time I looked out of this window, I said 'never, never shall I weary of this.'"
"And what wearies you of it now?"
"I don't know," while a tear fell; "but it is not the view, it is Marianna."
Some months back, her brother, only seventeen, had come hither, a long way from the other side, to cut wood and burn coal, and she, elder sister, had accompanied, him. Long had they been orphans137, and now, sole inhabitants of the sole house upon the mountain. No guest came, no traveler passed. The zigzag, perilous138 road was only used at seasons by the coal wagons139. The brother was absent the entire day, sometimes the entire night. When at evening, fagged out, he did come home, he soon left his bench, poor fellow, for his bed; just as one, at last, wearily quits that, too, for still deeper rest. The bench, the bed, the grave. [pg 021]
Silent I stood by the fairy window, while these things were being told.
"Do you know," said she at last, as stealing from her story, "do you know who lives yonder?—I have never been down into that country—away off there, I mean; that house, that marble one," pointing far across the lower landscape; "have you not caught it? there, on the long hill-side: the field before, the woods behind; the white shines out against their blue; don't you mark it? the only house in sight."
I looked; and after a time, to my surprise, recognized, more by its position than its aspect, or Marianna's description, my own abode, glimmering140 much like this mountain one from the piazza. The mirage141 haze142 made it appear less a farm-house than King Charming's palace.
"I have often wondered who lives there; but it must be some happy one; again this morning was I thinking so."
"Some happy one," returned I, starting; "and why do you think that? You judge some rich one lives there?"
"Rich or not, I never thought; but it looks so happy, I can't tell how; and it is so far [pg 022] away. Sometimes I think I do but dream it is there. You should see it in a sunset."
"This house? The sun is a good sun, but it never gilds this house. Why should it? This old house is rotting. That makes it so mossy. In the morning, the sun comes in at this old window, to be sure—boarded up, when first we came; a window I can't keep clean, do what I may—and half burns, and nearly blinds me at my sewing, besides setting the flies and wasps astir—such flies and wasps as only lone mountain houses know. See, here is the curtain—this apron—I try to shut it out with then. It fades it, you see. Sun gild143 this house? not that ever Marianna saw."
"The hottest, weariest hour of day, you mean? Sir, the sun gilds not this roof. It leaked so, brother newly shingled all one side. Did you not see it? The north side, where the sun strikes most on what the rain has wetted. [pg 023] The sun is a good sun; but this roof, in first scorches146, and then rots. An old house. They went West, and are long dead, they say, who built it. A mountain house. In winter no fox could den19 in it. That chimney-place has been blocked up with snow, just like a hollow stump147."
"Yours are strange fancies, Marianna."
"They but reflect the things."
"Then I should have said, 'These are strange things,' rather than, 'Yours are strange fancies.'"
"As you will;" and took up her sewing.
Something in those quiet words, or in that quiet act, it made me mute again; while, noting, through the fairy window, a broad shadow stealing on, as cast by some gigantic condor148, floating at brooding poise149 on outstretched wings, I marked how, by its deeper and inclusive dusk, it wiped away into itself all lesser150 shades of rock or fern.
"You watch the cloud," said Marianna.
"No, a shadow; a cloud's, no doubt—though that I cannot see. How did you know it? Your eyes are on your work." [pg 024]
"It dusked my work. There, now the cloud is gone, Tray comes back."
"How?"
"The dog, the shaggy dog. At noon, he steals off, of himself, to change his shape—returns, and lies down awhile, nigh the door. Don't you see him? His head is turned round at you; though, when you came, he looked before him."
"Your eyes rest but on your work; what do you speak of?"
"By the window, crossing."
"You mean this shaggy shadow—the nigh one? And, yes, now that I mark it, it is not unlike a large, black Newfoundland dog. The invading shadow gone, the invaded one returns. But I do not see what casts it."
"For that, you must go without."
"You see his head, his face?"
"The shadow's? You speak as if you saw it, and all the time your eyes are on your work."
"Tray looks at you," still without glancing up; "this is his hour; I see him." [pg 025]
"Have you then, so long sat at this mountain-window, where but clouds and, vapors152 pass, that, to you, shadows are as things, though you speak of them as of phantoms153; that, by familiar knowledge, working like a second sight, you can, without looking for them, tell just where they are, though, as having mice-like feet, they creep about, and come and go; that, to you, these lifeless shadows are as living friends, who, though out of sight, are not out of mind, even in their faces—is it so?"
"That way I never thought of it. But the friendliest one, that used to soothe102 my weariness so much, coolly quivering on the ferns, it was taken from me, never to return, as Tray did just now. The shadow of a birch. The tree was struck by lightning, and brother cut it up. You saw the cross-pile out-doors—the buried root lies under it; but not the shadow. That is flown, and never will come back, nor ever anywhere stir again."
Another cloud here stole along, once more blotting154 out the dog, and blackening all the mountain; while the stillness was so still, [pg 026] deafness might have forgot itself, or else believed that noiseless shadow spoke.
"Birds, Marianna, singing-birds, I hear none; I hear nothing. Boys and bob-o-links, do they never come a-berrying up here?"
"Birds, I seldom hear; boys, never. The berries mostly ripe and fall—few, but me, the wiser."
"But yellow-birds showed me the way—part way, at least."
"And then flew back. I guess they play about the mountain-side, but don't make the top their home. And no doubt you think that, living so lonesome here, knowing nothing, hearing nothing—little, at least, but sound of thunder and the fall of trees—never reading, seldom speaking, yet ever wakeful, this is what gives me my strange thoughts—for so you call them—this weariness and wakefulness together Brother, who stands and works in open air, would I could rest like him; but mine is mostly but dull woman's work—sitting, sitting, restless sitting."
"But, do you not go walk at times? These woods are wide." [pg 027]
"And lonesome; lonesome, because so wide. Sometimes, 'tis true, of afternoons, I go a little way; but soon come back again. Better feel lone by hearth, than rock. The shadows hereabouts I know—those in the woods are strangers."
"But the night?"
"Just like the day. Thinking, thinking—a wheel I cannot stop; pure want of sleep it is that turns it."
"I have heard that, for this wakeful weariness, to say one's prayers, and then lay one's head upon a fresh hop35 pillow—"
"Look!"
Through the fairy window, she pointed down the steep to a small garden patch near by—mere pot of rifled loam155, half rounded in by sheltering rocks—where, side by side, some feet apart, nipped and puny156, two hop-vines climbed two poles, and, gaining their tip-ends, would have then joined over in an upward clasp, but the baffled shoots, groping awhile in empty air, trailed back whence they sprung.
"You have tried the pillow, then?"
"Yes." [pg 028]
"And prayer?"
"Prayer and pillow."
"Is there no other cure, or charm?"
"Oh, if I could but once get to yonder house, and but look upon whoever the happy being is that lives there! A foolish thought: why do I think it? Is it that I live so lonesome, and know nothing?"
"I, too, know nothing; and, therefore, cannot answer; but, for your sake, Marianna, well could wish that I were that happy one of the happy house you dream you see; for then you would behold157 him now, and, as you say, this weariness might leave you."
—Enough. Launching my yawl no more for fairy-land, I stick to the piazza. It is my box-royal; and this amphitheatre, my theatre of San Carlo. Yes, the scenery is magical—the illusion so complete. And Madam Meadow Lark158, my prima donna, plays her grand engagement here; and, drinking in her sunrise note, which, Memnon-like, seems struck from the golden window, how far from me the weary face behind it.
But, every night, when the curtain falls, truth comes in with darkness. No light shows from the mountain. To and fro I walk the piazza deck, haunted by Marianna's face, and many as real a story.
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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piazzas
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| n.广场，市场( piazza的名词复数 ) | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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quarried
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| v.从采石场采得( quarry的过去式和过去分词 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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5
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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6
troglodytes
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| n.类人猿( troglodyte的名词复数 )；隐居者；穴居者；极端保守主义者 | |
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7
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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8
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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9
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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10
steadfastness
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| n.坚定，稳当 | |
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11
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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12
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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13
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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14
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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15
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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16
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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17
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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18
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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19
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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20
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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21
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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22
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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23
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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24
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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25
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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26
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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27
panoramic
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| adj. 全景的 | |
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28
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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29
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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30
flake
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| v.使成薄片；雪片般落下；n.薄片 | |
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31
arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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32
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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33
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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34
aurora
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| n.极光 | |
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35
hop
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| 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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36
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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37
scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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38
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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39
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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40
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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41
purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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42
gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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43
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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44
sleety
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| 雨夹雪的，下雨雪的 | |
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45
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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46
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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47
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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48
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
snugged
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| v.整洁的( snug的过去式和过去分词 )；温暖而舒适的；非常舒适的；紧身的 | |
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50
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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51
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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52
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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53
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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54
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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55
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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56
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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57
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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58
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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59
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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60
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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61
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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62
scathed
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| v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
hemlocks
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| 由毒芹提取的毒药( hemlock的名词复数 ) | |
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64
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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65
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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66
dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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67
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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68
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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69
shingled
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| adj.盖木瓦的；贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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70
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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71
defiled
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| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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72
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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73
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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74
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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75
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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76
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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77
ingrate
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| n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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78
peevishness
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| 脾气不好；爱发牢骚 | |
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79
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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80
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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81
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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82
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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83
browse
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| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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84
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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85
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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86
sagest
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| adj.贤明的，貌似聪明的( sage的最高级 ) | |
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87
wigged
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| adj.戴假发的 | |
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88
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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89
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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90
renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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91
pebbly
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| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
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92
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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93
clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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94
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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95
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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96
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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97
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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98
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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100
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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101
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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102
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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103
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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104
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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105
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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106
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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107
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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108
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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109
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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110
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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111
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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112
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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113
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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114
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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115
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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116
lichened
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| adj.长满地衣的，长青苔的 | |
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117
hulls
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| 船体( hull的名词复数 )； 船身； 外壳； 豆荚 | |
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118
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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119
rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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120
fertilizing
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| v.施肥( fertilize的现在分词 ) | |
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121
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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122
nurturing
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| 养育( nurture的现在分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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123
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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124
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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125
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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126
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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128
clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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129
muffling
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| v.压抑，捂住( muffle的现在分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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130
wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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131
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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132
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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133
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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134
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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135
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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136
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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137
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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138
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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139
wagons
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| 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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140
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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141
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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142
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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143
gild
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| vt.给…镀金，把…漆成金色，使呈金色 | |
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144
gilds
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| 把…镀金( gild的第三人称单数 )； 给…上金色； 作多余的修饰（反而破坏原已完美的东西）； 画蛇添足 | |
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145
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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146
scorches
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的第三人称单数 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶 | |
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147
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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148
condor
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| n.秃鹰；秃鹰金币 | |
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149
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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150
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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151
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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152
vapors
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| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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153
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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154
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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155
loam
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| n.沃土 | |
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156
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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157
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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158
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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