It seems a futile1 task to say anything about the spring; yet poets and romancers make no apologies for treating of love, which is an old and familiar phenomenon enough. And I declare that the wonder of spring, so far from growing familiar, strikes upon the mind with a bewildering strangeness, a rapturous surprise, which is greater every year. Every spring I say to myself that I never realised before what a miraculous2, what an astounding3 thing is the sudden conspiracy4 of trees and flowers, hatched so insensibly, and carried out so punctually, to leap into life and loveliness together. The velvety5 softness of the grass, the mist of green that hangs about the copse, the swift weaving of the climbing tapestry6 that screens the hedgerow-banks, the jewellery of flowers that sparkle out of all sequestered7 places; they are adorable. But this early day of spring is close and heavy, with a slow rain dropping reluctantly out of the sky, a day[201] when an insidious8 melancholy9 lies in wait for human beings, a sense of inadequacy10, a meek11 rebellion against all activity, bodily or mental. I walk slowly and sedately12 along the sandy roads fast oozing13 into mire14. There is a sense of expectancy15 in the air; tree and flower are dispirited too, oppressed with heaviness, and yet gratefully conscious, as I am not, of the divine storage of that pure and subtle element that is taking place for their benefit. “Praise God,” said Saint Francis, “for our sister the water, for she is very serviceable to us and humble16 and clean.” Yes, we give thanks! but, alas17! to sit still and be pumped into, as Carlyle said of Coleridge’s conversation, can never be an enlivening process.
Yet would that the soul could gratefully recognise her own rainy days; could droop18, like Nature, with patient acquiescence19, with wise passivity, till the wells of strength and freshness are stored!
Subtle Superiorities
The particular form of melancholy which I find besets20 me on these sad reflective mornings, is to compare my vague ambitions with my concrete performances. I will not say that in my dreamful youth I cherished the idea of swaying the world. I never expected to play a[202] brave part on the public stage. Political and military life—the two careers which ripple21 communities to the verge22, never came within the range of my possibilities. But I think that I was conscious—as most intelligent young creatures undoubtedly23 are—of a subtle superiority to other people. An ingenious preacher once said that we cannot easily delude24 ourselves into the belief that we are richer, taller, more handsome, or even wiser, better, abler, and more capable than other people, but we can and do very easily nourish a secret belief that we are more interesting than others. Such an illusion has a marvellous vitality25; it has a delicate power of resisting the rude lessons to the contrary which contact with the world would teach us; and I should hardly like to confess how ill I have learned my lesson. I realise, of course, that I have done little to establish this superiority in the eyes of others; but I find it hard to disabuse26 myself of the vague belief that if only I had the art of more popular and definite expression, if only the world had a little more leisure to look in sequestered nooks for delicate flowers of thought and temperament27, then it might be[203] realized how exquisite28 a nature is here neglected.
The Hard Truth
In saying this I am admitting the reader to the inmost penetralia of thought. I frankly29 confess that in my robust30 and equable moments I do recognise the broken edge of my life, and what a very poor thing I have made of it—but, for all that, it is my honest belief that we most of us have in our hearts that inmost shrine31 of egotism, where the fire burns clear and fragrant32 before an idealised image of self; and I go further, and say that I believe this to be a wholesome33 and valuable thing, because it is of the essence of self-respect, and gives us a feeble impulse in the direction of virtue34 and faith. If a man ever came to realise exactly his place in the world, as others realise it, how feeble, how uninteresting, how ludicrously unnecessary he is, and with what a speedy unconcern others would accommodate themselves to his immediate35 disappearance36, he would sink into an abyss of gloom out of which nothing would lift him. It is one of the divine uses of love, that it glorifies37 life by restoring and raising one’s self-esteem.
In the dejected reveries of such languorous38 spring days as these, no such robust egotism as[204] I have above represented comes to my aid. I see myself stealing along, a shy, tarnished39 thing, a blot40 among the fresh hopes and tender dreams that smile on every bank. The pitiful fabric42 of my life is mercilessly unveiled; here I loiter, a lonely, shabby man, bruised43 by contact with the word, dilatory44, dumb, timid, registering tea-table triumphs, local complacencies, provincial45 superiorities—spending sheltered days in such comfortable dreams as are born of warm fires, ample meals, soft easy-chairs, and congratulating myself on poetical46 potentialities, without any awkward necessities of translating my dreams into corrective action—or else discharging homely47 duties with an almost sacerdotal solemnity, and dignifying48 with the title of religious quietism what is done by hundreds of people instinctively50 and simply and without pretentiousness51. If I raved52 against my limitations, deemed my cage a prison, beat myself sick against the bars, I might then claim to be a fiery53 and ardent54 soul; but I cannot honestly do this; and I must comfort myself with the thought that possibly the ill-health, which necessitates55 my retirement56, compensates57 for the disabilities it inflicts58 on[205] me, by removing the stimulus59 which would make my prison insupportable.
In this agreeable frame of mind I drew near home and stood awhile on the deserted60 bowling-green with its elder-thickets61, its little grassy62 terraces, its air of regretful wildness, so often worn by a place that has been tamed by civilisation63 and has not quite reverted64 to its native savagery65. A thrush sang with incredible clearness, repeating a luscious66 phrase often enough to establish its precision of form, and yet not often enough to satiate—a triumph of instinctive49 art.
These thrushes are great favourites of mine; I often sit, on a dewy morning, to watch them hunting. They hop41 lightly along, till they espy67 a worm lying in blissful luxury out of his hole; two long hops68, and they are upon him; he, using all his retractile might, clings to his home, but the thrush sets his feet firm in the broad stride of the Greek warrior69, gives a mighty70 tug—you can see the viscous71 elastic72 thread strain—and the worm is stretched writhing73 on the grass. What are the dim dreams of the poor reptile74, I wonder; does he regret his cool burrow75, “and youth and strength and this delightful76 world?”—no, I[206] think it is a stoical resignation. For a moment the thrush takes no notice of him, but surveys the horizon with a caution which the excitement of the chase has for an instant imprudently diverted. Then the meal begins, with horrid77 leisureliness78.
But it is strange to note the perpetual instinctive consciousness of danger which besets birds thus in the open; they must live in a tension of nervous watchfulness79 which would depress a human being into melancholia. There is no absorbed gobbling; between every mouthful the little head with its beady eyes swings right and left to see that all is clear; and he is for ever changing his position and seldom fronts the same way for two seconds together.
Do we realise what it must be to live, as even these sheltered birds do in a quiet garden, with the fear of attack and death hanging over them from morning to night?
Another fact that these thrushes have taught me is the extreme narrowness of their self-chosen world. They are born and live within the compass of a few yards. We are apt to envy a bird the power of changing his horizon, of soaring above the world, and choosing for[207] his home the one spot he desires. Think what our life would be if, without luggage, without encumbrances81, we could rise in the air and, winging our way out to the horizon, choose some sequestered valley, and there, without house, without rates and taxes, abide82, with water babbling83 in its channel and food abundant. Yet it is far otherwise. One of my thrushes has a white feather in his wing; he was hatched out in a big syringa which stands above the bowling-green; and though I have observed the birds all about my few acres carefully enough I have never seen this particular thrush anywhere but on the lawn. He never seems even to cross the wall into the garden; he has a favourite bush to roost in, and another where he sometimes sings: at times he beats along the privet hedge, or in the broad border, but he generally hops about the lawn, and I do not think he has ever ventured beyond it. He works hard for his living too; he is up at dawn, and till early afternoon he is generally engaged in foraging84. He will die, I suppose, in the garden, though how his body is disposed of is a mystery to me.
The Soul of a Thrush
He takes the limitations of his life just as he finds them; he never seems to think he[208] would like to be otherwise; but he works diligently85 for his living, he sings a grateful song, he sleeps well, he does not compare himself with other birds or wish his lot was different—he has no regrets, no hopes, and few cares. Still less has he any philanthropic designs of raising the tone of his brother thrushes, or directing a mission among the quarrelsome sparrows. Sometimes he fights a round or two, and when the spring comes, stirred by delicious longings86, he will build a nest, devote the food he would like to devour87 to his beady-eyed, yellow-lipped young, and die as he has lived. There is a good deal to be said for this brave and honest life, and especially for the bright and wholesome music which he makes within the thickets. I do not know that it can be improved upon.
点击收听单词发音
1 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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2 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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3 astounding | |
adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊,使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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4 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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5 velvety | |
adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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6 tapestry | |
n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
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7 sequestered | |
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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8 insidious | |
adj.阴险的,隐匿的,暗中为害的,(疾病)不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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9 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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10 inadequacy | |
n.无法胜任,信心不足 | |
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11 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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12 sedately | |
adv.镇静地,安详地 | |
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13 oozing | |
v.(浓液等)慢慢地冒出,渗出( ooze的现在分词 );使(液体)缓缓流出;(浓液)渗出,慢慢流出 | |
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14 mire | |
n.泥沼,泥泞;v.使...陷于泥泞,使...陷入困境 | |
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15 expectancy | |
n.期望,预期,(根据概率统计求得)预期数额 | |
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16 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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17 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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18 droop | |
v.低垂,下垂;凋萎,萎靡 | |
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19 acquiescence | |
n.默许;顺从 | |
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20 besets | |
v.困扰( beset的第三人称单数 );不断围攻;镶;嵌 | |
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21 ripple | |
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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22 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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23 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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24 delude | |
vt.欺骗;哄骗 | |
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25 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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26 disabuse | |
v.解惑;矫正 | |
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27 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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28 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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29 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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30 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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31 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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32 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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33 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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34 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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35 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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36 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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37 glorifies | |
赞美( glorify的第三人称单数 ); 颂扬; 美化; 使光荣 | |
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38 languorous | |
adj.怠惰的,没精打采的 | |
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39 tarnished | |
(通常指金属)(使)失去光泽,(使)变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 ); 玷污,败坏 | |
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40 blot | |
vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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41 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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42 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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43 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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44 dilatory | |
adj.迟缓的,不慌不忙的 | |
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45 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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46 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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47 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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48 dignifying | |
使显得威严( dignify的现在分词 ); 使高贵; 使显赫; 夸大 | |
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49 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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50 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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51 pretentiousness | |
n.矫饰;炫耀;自负;狂妄 | |
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52 raved | |
v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 );愤怒地说;咆哮;痴心地说 | |
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53 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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54 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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55 necessitates | |
使…成为必要,需要( necessitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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56 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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57 compensates | |
补偿,报酬( compensate的第三人称单数 ); 给(某人)赔偿(或赔款) | |
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58 inflicts | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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60 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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61 thickets | |
n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 );丛状物 | |
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62 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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63 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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64 reverted | |
恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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65 savagery | |
n.野性 | |
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66 luscious | |
adj.美味的;芬芳的;肉感的,引与性欲的 | |
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67 espy | |
v.(从远处等)突然看到 | |
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68 hops | |
跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 ); 单足蹦跳; 齐足(或双足)跳行; 摘葎草花 | |
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69 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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70 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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71 viscous | |
adj.粘滞的,粘性的 | |
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72 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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73 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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74 reptile | |
n.爬行动物;两栖动物 | |
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75 burrow | |
vt.挖掘(洞穴);钻进;vi.挖洞;翻寻;n.地洞 | |
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76 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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77 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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78 leisureliness | |
n.悠然,从容 | |
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79 watchfulness | |
警惕,留心; 警觉(性) | |
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80 bondage | |
n.奴役,束缚 | |
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81 encumbrances | |
n.负担( encumbrance的名词复数 );累赘;妨碍;阻碍 | |
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82 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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83 babbling | |
n.胡说,婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
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84 foraging | |
v.搜寻(食物),尤指动物觅(食)( forage的现在分词 );(尤指用手)搜寻(东西) | |
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85 diligently | |
ad.industriously;carefully | |
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86 longings | |
渴望,盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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87 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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