A Long-distance Eclogue
1902
Morrison. Hello! Hello! Is that you, Wetherbee?
Wetherbee. Yes. Who are you? What do you want with me?
Morrison. Oh, nothing much. It's Morrison, you know;
Morrison—down at Clamhurst Shortsands.
Wetherbee. Oh!
Why, Morrison, of course! Of course, I know!
How are you, Morrison? And, by the way,
Where are you? What! You never mean to say
What are you doing there, you ancient joker?
Morrison. Sticking it out over Thanksgiving Day.
I said I would. I tell you, it is gay
[Pg 244]Down here. You ought to see the Hunter's Moon,
You ought to see our sunsets, glassy red,
Shading to pink and violet overhead.
You ought to see our mornings, still and clear,
White silence, far as you can look and hear.
You ought to see the leaves—our oaks and ashes
Purple and orange, against the bluish green
Of blackberry-vines, along the dusty ways
And on the old stone walls; the air just balm,
And the crows cawing through the perfect calm
You ought to have been with wife and me to-day,
A drive we took—it would have made you sick:
The pigeons and the partridges so thick;
And on the hill just beyond Barkin's lane,
Before you reach the barn of Widow Payne,
Showing right up against the sky, as clear
And motionless as sculpture, stood a deer!
Say, does that jar you just a little? Say,
How have you found things up there, anyway,
Since you got back? Air like a cotton string
To breathe? The same old dust on everything,
And in your teeth, and in your eyes? The smoke
From the soft coal, got long beyond a joke?
Don't you wish you had stayed here, too?
Wetherbee. Well, yes,
I do at certain times, I must confess.
I swear it is enough at times to make you swear
You would almost rather be anywhere
Than here. The building up and pulling down,
The getting to and fro about the town,
Certainly make you wish that you were dead,
At first; and all the mean vulgarity
You see around you, make you want to put
Back to the country anywhere, hot-foot.
Yet—there are compensations.
Morrison. Such as?
Wetherbee. Why,
There is the club.
Morrison. The club I can't deny.
Many o' the fellows back there?
Wetherbee. Nearly all.
Stories and talk. But you would hardly care;
You have the natives to talk with down there,
And always find them meaty.
Morrison. Well, so-so.
[Pg 246]And they have staying powers. The theaters
All open now?
Wetherbee. Yes, all. And it occurs
To me: there's one among the things that you
Would have enjoyed; an opera with the new—
Or at least the last—music by Sullivan,
And words, though not Gilbertian, that ran
Trippingly with it. Oh, I tell you what,
I'd rather that you had been there than not.
Morrison. Thanks ever so!
Wetherbee. Oh, there is nothing mean
About your early friend. That deer and autumn scene
Were kind of you! And, say, I think you like
Afternoon teas when good. I have chanced to strike
Some of the best of late, where people said
They had sent you cards, but thought you must be dead.
I told them I left you down there by the sea,
And then they sort of looked askance at me,
As if it were a joke, and bade me get
Myself some bouillon or some chocolate,
And turned the subject—did not even give
Me time to prove it is not life to live
In town as long as you can keep from freezing
Beside the autumn sea. A little sneezing,
At Clamhurst Shortsands, since the frosts set in?
[Pg 247]
Morrison. Well, not enough to make a true friend grin.
We've all the warmth and cheer that heart desires.
Next year we'll have a furnace in, and stay
Not till Thanksgiving, but till Christmas Day.
It's glorious in these roomy autumn nights
To sit between the firelight and the lights
Of our big lamps, and read aloud by turns
We hate to go to bed.
Wetherbee. Of course you do!
And hate to get up in the morning, too—
To pull the coverlet from your frost-bit nose,
And touch the glary matting with your toes!
Are you beginning yet to break the ice
In your wash-pitchers? No? Well, that is nice.
I always hate to do it—seems as if
Summer was going; but when your hand is stiff
With cold, it can be done. Still, I prefer
To wash and dress beside my register,
When summer gets a little on, like this.
But some folks find the other thing pure bliss—
Lusty young chaps, like you.
Morrison. And some folks find
What else have you, there, you could recommend
To the attention of a country friend?
[Pg 248]
Wetherbee. Well, you know how it is in Madison Square,
Late afternoons, now, if the day's been fair—
With pretty women in their pretty clo'es:
I've never seen them prettier than this year.
Of course, I know a dear is not a deer,
But still, I think that if I had to meet
One or the other in the road, or street,
All by myself, I am not sure but that
I'd choose the dear that wears the fetching hat.
Morrison. Get out! What else?
Wetherbee. Well, it is not so bad,
If you are feeling a little down, or sad,
To walk along Fifth Avenue to the Park,
When the day thinks perhaps of getting dark,
Homing to dinner, in their carriages—
Victorias, landaus, chariots, coupés—
There's nothing like it to lift up the heart
And make you realize yourself a part,
Sure, of the greatest show on earth.
Morrison. Oh, yes,
But I would rather put it off as long
As possible. I suppose you like the song
[Pg 249]Of the sweet car-gongs better than the cry
Of jays and yellowhammers when the sky
Begins to redden these October mornings,
And the loons sound their melancholy24 warnings;
Along the horizon in the evening's gray.
Or when the squirrels look down on you and bark
From the nut trees—
Wetherbee. We have them in the Park
Have you been out much recently at dinner?
Morrison. What do you mean? You know there's no one here
That dines except ourselves now.
Wetherbee. Well, that's queer!
It was not reasonable to expect—
Morrison. What are you driving at?
Wetherbee. Oh, nothing much.
But I was thinking how you come in touch
With life at the first dinner in the fall,
When you get back, first, as you can't at all
Later along. But you, of course, won't care
Morrison. Who was there?
Wetherbee. Oh—ha, ha! What d'you mean by there?
Morrison. Come off!
[Pg 250]
Morrison. You know what I am after.
Wetherbee. Yes, that dinner.
Just a round dozen: Ferguson and Binner
For the fine arts; Bowyer the novelist;
Dr. Le Martin; the psychologist
Fletcher; the English actor Philipson;
The two newspaper Witkins, Bob and John;
A nice Bostonian, Bane the archæologer,
And a queer Russian amateur astrologer;
And Father Gray, the jolly ritualist priest,
Was not so poison. We made out to dine
From eight till one A.M. One could endure
The dinner. But, oh say! The talk was poor!
Your natives down at Clamhurst—
Morrison. Look ye here!
What date does Thanksgiving come on this year?
Wetherbee. Why, I suppose—although I don't remember
Certainly—the usual 28th November.
Morrison. Novem—You should have waited to get sober!
It comes on the 11th of October!
And that's to-morrow; and if you happen down
Later, you'd better look for us in town.
点击收听单词发音
1 poker | |
n.扑克;vt.烙制 | |
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2 lagoon | |
n.泻湖,咸水湖 | |
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3 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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4 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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5 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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6 maples | |
槭树,枫树( maple的名词复数 ); 槭木 | |
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7 turquoise | |
n.绿宝石;adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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8 trolleys | |
n.(两轮或四轮的)手推车( trolley的名词复数 );装有脚轮的小台车;电车 | |
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9 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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10 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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11 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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12 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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13 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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14 cocktails | |
n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 );餐前开胃菜;混合物 | |
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15 outlast | |
v.较…耐久 | |
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16 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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17 kerosene | |
n.(kerosine)煤油,火油 | |
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18 radiator | |
n.暖气片,散热器 | |
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19 ebbs | |
退潮( ebb的名词复数 ); 落潮; 衰退 | |
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20 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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21 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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22 swells | |
增强( swell的第三人称单数 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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23 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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24 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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25 honk | |
n.雁叫声,汽车喇叭声 | |
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26 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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27 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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28 idyllic | |
adj.质朴宜人的,田园风光的 | |
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29 scoff | |
n.嘲笑,笑柄,愚弄;v.嘲笑,嘲弄,愚弄,狼吞虎咽 | |
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30 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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31 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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