Forgather’d ance upon a time.”— BURNS.
One morn — it was the very morn
September’s sportive month was born —
The hour, about the sunrise, early;
The sky gray, sober, still, and pearly,
With sundry1 orange streaks2 and tinges3
Through daylight’s door, at cracks and hinges:
The air, calm, bracing4, freshly cool,
As if just skimm’d from off a pool;
The scene, red, russet, yellow, laden5,
From stubble, fern, and leaves that deaden,
Save here and there a turnip6 patch,
Too verdant7 with the rest to match;
And far a-field a hazy8 figure,
Some roaming lover of the trigger.
Meanwhile the level light perchance
Pick’d out his barrel with a glance;
For all around a distant popping
Told birds were flying off or dropping.
Such was the morn — a morn right fair
To seek for covey or for hare —
When, lo! too far from human feet
For even Ranger’s boldest beat,
A Dog, as in some doggish trouble,
Came cant’ring through the crispy stubble,
With dappled head in lowly droop9,
But not the scientific stoop;
And flagging, dull, desponding ears,
As if they had been soak’d in tears,
And not the beaded dew that hung
The filmy stalks and weeds among.
His pace, indeed, seem’d not to know
An errand, why, or where to go,
To trot10, to walk, or scamper11 swift —
In short, he seem’d a dog adrift;
His very tail, a listless thing,
With just an accidental swing,
Like rudder to the ripple12 veering13,
When nobody on board is steering14.
So, dull and moody15, canter’d on
Our vagrant16 pointer, christen’d Don;
When, rising o’er a gentle slope,
That gave his view a better scope,
He spied, some dozen furrows18 distant,
But in a spot as inconsistent,
A second dog across his track,
Without a master to his back;
As if for wages, workman-like,
The sporting breed had made a strike,
Resolv’d nor birds nor puss to seek,
Without another paunch a week!
This other was a truant19 curly,
But, for a spaniel, wondrous20 surely;
Instead of curvets gay and brisk,
He slouch’d along without a frisk,
With dogged air, as if he had
A good half mind to running mad;
Mayhap the shaking at his ear
Had been a quaver too severe;
Mayhap the whip’s “exclusive dealing”
Had too much hurt e’en spaniel feeling,
Nor if he had been cut, ’twas plain
He did not mean to come again.
Of course the pair soon spied each other;
But neither seem’d to own a brother;
The course on both sides took a curve,
As dogs when shy are apt to swerve22;
But each o’er back and shoulder throwing
A look to watch the other’s going,
Till, having clear’d sufficient ground,
With one accord they turn’d them round,
And squatting23 down, for forms not caring,
At one another fell to staring;
As if not proof against a touch
Of what plagues humankind so much,
A prying24 itch25 to get at notions
Of all their neighbor’s looks and motions.
Sir Don at length was first to rise —
The better dog in point of size,
And, snuffing all the ground between,
Set off, with easy jaunty26 mien27;
While Dash, the stranger, rose to greet him,
And made a dozen steps to meet him —
Their noses touch’d, and rubb’d awhile
(Some savage28 nations use the style),
And then their tails a wag began,
Though on a very cautious plan,
But in their signals quantum suff.
To say, “A civil dog enough.”
Thus having held out olive branches,
They sank again, though not on haunches,
But couchant, with their under jaws29
Resting between the two forepaws,
The prelude31, on a luckier day,
Or sequel, to a game of play:
But now they were in dumps, and thus
Began their worries to discuss,
The Pointer, coming to the point
The first, on times so out of joint32.
“Well, Friend — so here’s a new September,
As fine a first as I remember;
And, thanks to such an early Spring,
Plenty of birds, and strong on wing.”
“Birds!” cried the little crusty chap,
As sharp and sudden as a snap,
“A weasel suck them in the shell!
What matter birds, or flying well,
Or fly at all, or sporting weather,
If fools with guns can’t hit a feather!”
“Ay, there’s the rub, indeed,’” said Don,
Putting his gravest visage on;
“In vain we beat our beaten way,
And bring our organs into play,
Unless the proper killing33 kind
Of barrel tunes34 are play’d behind:
But when we shoot — that’s me and Squire35 —
We hit as often as we fire.”
“More luck for you!” cried little Woolly,
Who felt the cruel contrast fully36;
“More luck for you, and Squire to boot!
We miss as often as we shoot!”
“Indeed! — No wonder you’re unhappy!
I thought you looking rather snappy;
But fancied, when I saw you jogging,
You’d had an overdose of flogging;
Or p’rhaps the gun its range had tried
While you were ranging rather wide.”
“Me! running — running wide — and hit!
Me shot! what, pepper’d? — Deuce a bit!
I almost wish I had! That Dunce,
My master, then would hit for once!
Hit me! Lord, how you talk! why, zounds!
He couldn’t hit a pack of hounds!”
“Well, that must be a case provoking.
What, never— but, you dog, you’re joking!
I see a sort of wicked grin
About your jaw30 you’re keeping in.”
“A joke! an old tin kettle’s clatter37
Would be as much a joking matter.
To tell the truth, that dog-disaster
Is just the type of me and master,
When fagging over hill and dale,
With his vain rattle38 at my tail,
Bang, bang, and bang, the whole day’s run,
But leading nothing but his gun —
The very shot I fancy hisses39,
It’s sent upon such awful misses!”
“Of course it does! But p’rhaps the fact is
Your master’s hand is out of practice!”
“Practice? — No doctor, where you will,
Has finer — but he cannot kill!
These three years past, thro’ furze and furrow17,
All covers I have hunted thorough;
Flush’d cocks and snipes about the moors41;
And put up hares by scores and scores;
Coveys of birds, and lots of pheasants; —
Yes, game enough to send in presents
To ev’ry friend he has in town,
Provided he had knock’d it down:
But no — the whole three years together,
He has not giv’n me flick42 or feather —
For all that I have had to do
I wish I had been missing too!”
“Well — such a hand would drive me mad;
But is he truly quite so bad?”
“Bad! — worse! — you cannot underssore him;
If I could put up, just before him,
The great Balloon that paid the visit
Across the water, he would miss it!
Bite him! I do believe, indeed,
It’s in his very blood and breed!
It marks his life, and, run all through it;
What can be miss’d, he’s sure to do it.
Last Monday he came home to Tooting,
Dog-tir’d, as if he’d been a-shooting,
And kicks at me to vent43 his rage —
‘Get out!’ says he —‘I’ve miss’d the stage!’
Of course, thought I— what chance of hitting?
You’d miss the Norwich wagon44, sitting!”
“Why, he must be the country’s scoff45!
He ought to leave, and not let, off!
As fate denies his shooting wishes,
Why don’t he take to catching46 fishes?
Or any other sporting game,
That don’t require a bit of aim?”
“Not he! — Some dogs of human kind
Will hunt by sight, because they’re blind.
My master angle! — no such luck!
There he might strike, who never struck!
My master shoots because he can’t,
And has an eye that aims aslant47;
Nay48, just by way of making trouble,
He’s changed his single gun for double;
And now, as girls a-walking do,
His misses go by two and two!
I wish he had the mange, or reason
As good, to miss the shooting season!”
“Why yes, it must be main upleasant
To point to covey, or to pheasant,
For snobs49, who, when the point is mooting50,
Think letting fly as good as shooting!”
“Snobs! — if he’d wear his ruffled51 shirts,
Or coats with water-wagtail skirts,
Or trowsers in the place of smalls,
Or those tight fits he wears at balls,
Or pumps, and boots with tops, mayhap,
Why we might pass for Snip40 and Snap,
And shoot like blazes! fly or sit,
And none would stare, unless we hit.
But no — to make the more combustion52,
He goes in gaiters and in fustian53,
Like Captain Ross, or Topping Sparks,
And deuce a miss but some one marks!
For Keepers, shy of such encroachers,
Dog us about like common poachers!
Many’s the covey I’ve gone by,
When underneath54 a sporting eye;
Many a puss I’ve twigg’d, and pass’d her —
I miss ’em to prevent my master!”
“And so should I, in such a case!
There’s nothing feels so like disgrace,
Or gives you such a scurvy55 look —
A kick and pail of slush from Cook,
Clefsticks, or Kettle, all in one,
As standing56 to a missing gun!
It’s whirr! and bang! and off you bound,
To catch your bird before the ground:
But no — a pump and ginger57 pop
As soon would get a bird to drop!
So there you stand, quite struck a-heap,
Till all your tail is gone to sleep;
A sort of stiffness in your nape,
Holding your head well up to gape58;
While off go birds across the ridges59,
First small as flies, and then as midges,
Cocksure, as they are living chicks,
Death’s Door is not at Number Six!”
“Yes! yes! and then you look at master,
The cause of all the late disaster,
Who gives a stamp, and raps on oath
At gun, or birds, or maybe both;
P’rhaps curses you, and all your kin21,
To raise the hair upon your skin!
Then loads, rams60 down, and fits new caps,
To go and hunt for more miss-haps!”
“Yes! yes! but, sick and sad, you feel
But one long wish to go to heel;
You cannot scent61 for cutting mugs —
Your nose is turning up, like Pug’s;
You can’t hold up, but plod62 and mope;
Your tail like sodden63 end of rope,
That o’er a wind-bound vessel’s side
Has soak’d in harbor, tide and tide.
On thorns and scratches, till that moment
Unnoticed, you begin to comment;
You never felt such bitter brambles,
Such heavy soil, in all your rambles64!
You never felt your fleas65 so vicious!
Till, sick of life so unpropitious,
You wish at last, to end the passage,
That you were dead, and in your sassage!”
“Yes! that’s a miss from end to end!
But, zounds! you draw so well, my friend,
You’ve made me shiver, skin and gristle,
As if I heard my master’s whistle!
Though how you came to learn the knack66 —
I thought your Squire was quite a crack!”
“And so he is! — He always hits —
And sometimes hard, and all to bits.
But ere with him our tongues we task,
I’ve still one little thing to ask;
Namely, with such a random67 master,
Of course you sometimes want a plaster?
Such missing hands make game of more
Than ever pass’d for game before —
A pounded pig — a widow’s cat —
A patent ventilating hat —
For shot, like mud, when thrown so thick,
Will find a coat whereon to stick!”
“What! accidentals, as they’re term’d?
No never — none — since I was worm’d —
Not e’en the Keeper’s fatted calves68 —
My master does not miss by halves!
His shot are like poor orphans69, hurl’d
Abroad upon the whole wide world —
But whether they be blown to dust,
As often-times I think they must,
Or melted down too near the sun,
What comes of them is known to none —
I never found, since I could bark,
A Barn that bore my master’s mark!”
“Is that the case? — Why then, my brother,
Would we could swap70 with one another!
Or take the Squire, with all my heart,
Nay, all my liver, so we part!
He’ll hit you hares —(he uses cartridge)
He’ll hit you cocks — he’ll hit a partridge;
He’ll hit a snipe; he’ll hit a pheasant;
He’ll hit — he’ll hit whatever’s present;
He’ll always hit — as that’s your wish —
His pepper never lacks a dish!”
“Come, come, you banter71 — let’s be serious;
I’m sure that I am half delirious72,
Your picture set me so a-sighing —
But does he shot so well — shoot flying?”
“Shoot flying? Yes — and running, walking —
I’ve seen him shoot two farmers talking —
He’ll hit the game, whene’er he can,
But failing that he’ll hit a man —
A boy — a horse’s tail or head —
Or make a pig a pig of lead —
Oh, friend! they say no dog as yet,
However hot, was known to sweat,
But sure I am that I perspire73
Sometimes before my master’s fire!
Misses! no, no, he always hits,
But so as puts me into fits!
He shot my fellow dog this morning,
Which seemed to me sufficient warning!”
“Quite, quite, enough! — So that’s a hitter!
Why, my own fate I thought was bitter,
And full excuse for cut and run;
But give me still the missing gun!
Or rather, Sirius! send me this,
No gun at all, to hit or miss,
Since sporting seems to shoot thus double,
That right or left it brings us trouble!”
So ended Dash; — and Pointer Don
Prepared to urge the moral on;
But here a whistle long and shrill74
Came sounding o’er the council hill,
And starting up, as if their tails
Had felt the touch of shoes and nails,
Away they scamper’d down the slope,
As fast as other pairs elope —
Resolv’d, instead of sporting rackets,
To beg, or dance in fancy jackets;
At butchers’ shops to try their luck;
To help to draw a cart or truck;
Or lead Stone Blind poor men, at most
Who would but hit or miss a post.
点击
收听单词发音
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1
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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2
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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3
tinges
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| n.细微的色彩，一丝痕迹( tinge的名词复数 ) | |
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4
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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5
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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6
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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7
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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8
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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9
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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10
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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11
scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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12
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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13
veering
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| n.改变的；犹豫的；顺时针方向转向；特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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14
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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15
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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16
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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17
furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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18
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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19
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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20
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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21
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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22
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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23
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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24
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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25
itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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26
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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27
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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28
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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29
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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30
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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31
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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32
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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33
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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34
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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35
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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36
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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37
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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38
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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39
hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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40
snip
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| n.便宜货，廉价货，剪，剪断 | |
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41
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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42
flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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43
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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44
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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45
scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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46
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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47
aslant
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| adv.倾斜地；adj.斜的 | |
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48
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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49
snobs
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| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
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50
mooting
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| v.提出…供讨论( moot的现在分词 ) | |
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51
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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52
combustion
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| n.燃烧；氧化；骚动 | |
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53
fustian
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| n.浮夸的；厚粗棉布 | |
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54
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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55
scurvy
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| adj.下流的，卑鄙的，无礼的；n.坏血病 | |
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56
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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57
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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58
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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59
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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60
rams
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| n.公羊( ram的名词复数 )；(R-)白羊（星）座；夯；攻城槌v.夯实（土等）( ram的第三人称单数 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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61
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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62
plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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63
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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64
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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65
fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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66
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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67
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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68
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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69
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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70
swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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71
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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72
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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73
perspire
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| vi.出汗，流汗 | |
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74
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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