It was a bright, beautiful morning after nightrain. Every dewdrop and raindrop had a whole heaven within it; and so had the heart of Paul Flemming, as, with Mrs. Ashburton and her dark-eyed daughter, he drove up the Valley of Lauter-brunnen,--the Valley of Fountains-Only.
"How beautiful the Jungfrau looks this morning!" exclaimed he, looking at Mary Ashburton.
"And the mountains, beyond," he continued; "the Monk7 and the Silver-horn, the Wetter-horn the Schreck-horn, and the Schwarz-horn, all those sublime8 apostles of Nature, whose sermons are avalanches9! Did you ever behold11 anything more grand!"
"O yes. Mont Blanc is more grand, when you behold it from the hills opposite. It was there that I was most moved by the magnificence of Swiss scenery. It was a morning like this; and the clouds, that were hovering12 about on their huge, shadowy wings, made the scene only the more magnificent. Before me lay the whole panorama13 of the Alps; pine forests standing14 dark and solemn at the base of the mountains; and half-way up a veil of mist; above which rose the snowy summits, and sharp needles of rock, which seemed to float in the air, like a fairy world. Then the glaciersstood on either side, winding15 down through the mountain ravines; and, high above all, rose the white, dome-like summit of Mont Blanc. And ever and anon from the shroud16 of mist came the awful sound of an avalanche10, and a continual roar, as of the wind through a forest of pines, filled the air. It was the roar of the Arve and Aveiron, breaking from their icy fountains. Then the mists began to pass away; and it seemed as if the whole firmament17 were rolling together. It recalled to my mind that sublime passage in the Apocalypse; 'I saw a great white throne; and him that sat thereon; before whose face the heavens and the earth fled away, and found no place!' O, I cannot believe that upon this earth there is a more magnificent scene."
"It must be grand, indeed," replied Flemming. "And those mighty18 glaciers,--huge monsters with bristling19 crests20, creeping down into the valley! for it is said they really move."
"Yes; it filled me with a strange sensation of awe21 to think of this. They seemed to me like the dragons of Northern Romance, which come down from the mountains and devour22 whole villages. A little hamlet in Chamouni was once abandoned by its inhabitants, terrified at the approach of the icy dragon. But is it possible you have never been at Chamouni?
"Then how can you linger here so long? Were I in your place I would not lose an hour."
These words passed over the opening blossoms of hope in the soul of Flemming, like a cold wind over the flowers in spring-time. He bore it as best he could, and changed the subject.
I do not mean to describe the Valley of Lauterbrunnen, nor the bright day passed there. I know that my gentle reader is blessed with the divine gift of a poetic25 fancy; and can see already how the mountains rise, and the torrents26 fall, and the sweet valley lies between; and how, along the dusty road, the herdsman blows his horn, and travellers come and go in charabans, like Punch and Judy in a show-box. He knows already how romantic ladies sketch27 romantic scenes; while sweet gentlemen gather sweet flowers; and how cold meat tastes under the shadow of trees, and how time flies when we are in love, and the beloved one near. One little incident I must, however, mention, lest his fancy should not suggest it.
Flemming was still sitting with the ladies, on the green slope near the Staubbach, or Brook of Dust, when a young man clad in green, came down the valley. It was a German student, with flaxen ringlets hanging over his shoulders, and a guitar in his hand. His step was free and elastic28, and his countenance29 wore the joyous30 expression of youth and health. He approached the company with a courteous31 salutation; and, after the manner of travelling students, asked charity with the confident air of one unaccustomed to refusal. Nor was he refused in this instance. The presence of those we love makes us compassionate32 and generous. Flemming gave him a piece of gold; and after a short conversation he seated himself, at alittle distance on the grass, and began to play and sing. Wonderful and many were the sweet accords and plaintive34 sounds that came from that little instrument, touched by the student's hand. Every feeling of the human heart seemed to find an expression there, and awaken35 a kindred feeling in the hearts of those who heard him. He sang sweet German songs, so full of longing36, and of pleasing sadness, and hope and fear, and passionate33 desire, and soul-subduing sorrow, that the tears came into Mary Ashburton's eyes, though she understood not the words he sang. Then his countenance glowed with triumph, and he beat the strings37 like a drum, and sang;
"O, how the drum beats so loud!
Close beside me in the fight,
My dying brother says, Good Night!
And the cannon's awful breath
Screams the loud halloo of Death!
And the drum,
And the drum,
Beats so loud!"
Many were the words of praise, when the young musician ended; and, as he rose to depart, they still entreated38 for one song more. Whereupon he played a lively prelude39; and, looking full into Flemming's face, sang with a pleasant smile, and still in German, this little song.
Take care!
She can both false and friendly be,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
"She has two eyes, so soft and brown,
Take care!
She gives a side-glance and looks down,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
Take care!
And what she says, it is not true,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
Take care!
She knows how much it is best to show,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
"She gives thee a garland woven fair,
Take care!
It is a fool's cap for thee to wear,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!"
The last stanza43 he sung in a laughing, triumphant44 tone, which resounded45 above the loud clang of his guitar, like the jeering46 laugh of Till Eulenspiegel. Then slinging47 his guitar over his shoulder, he took off his green cap, and made a leg to the ladies, in the style of Gil Blas; waved his hand in the air, and walked quickly down the valley, singing "Adé! Adé! Adé!"
点击收听单词发音
1 enchanted | |
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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2 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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3 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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4 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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5 shimmers | |
n.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的名词复数 )v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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6 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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8 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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9 avalanches | |
n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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10 avalanche | |
n.雪崩,大量涌来 | |
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11 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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12 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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13 panorama | |
n.全景,全景画,全景摄影,全景照片[装置] | |
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14 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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15 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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16 shroud | |
n.裹尸布,寿衣;罩,幕;vt.覆盖,隐藏 | |
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17 firmament | |
n.苍穹;最高层 | |
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18 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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19 bristling | |
a.竖立的 | |
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20 crests | |
v.到达山顶(或浪峰)( crest的第三人称单数 );到达洪峰,达到顶点 | |
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21 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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22 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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23 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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24 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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25 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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26 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
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27 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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28 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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29 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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30 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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31 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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32 compassionate | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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33 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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34 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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35 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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36 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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37 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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38 entreated | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 prelude | |
n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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40 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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41 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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42 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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43 stanza | |
n.(诗)节,段 | |
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44 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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45 resounded | |
v.(指声音等)回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 );产生回响;(指某处)回荡着声音 | |
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46 jeering | |
adj.嘲弄的,揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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47 slinging | |
抛( sling的现在分词 ); 吊挂; 遣送; 押往 | |
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