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my brood of tough boys accompanying me,
My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love to be with no
one else so well as they love to be with me,
By day to work with me, and by night to sleep with me.
Another time in warm weather out in a boat, to lift the lobster-pots
where they are sunk with heavy stones, (I know the buoys,)
O the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon the water as I
row just before sunrise toward the buoys,
I pull the wicker pots up slantingly, the dark green lobsters are
desperate with their claws as I take them out, I insert wooden
pegs in the joints of their pincers,
I go to all the places one after another, and then row back
to the shore,
There in a huge kettle of boiling water the lobsters shall be
boil’d till their color becomes scarlet.
Another time mackerel-taking,
Voracious, mad for the hook, near the surface, they seem to fill
the water for miles; copyright mmkey.com
Another time fishing for rock-fish in Chesapeake Bay, I one of
the brown-faced crew;
Another time trailing for blue-fish off Paumanok, I stand with
braced body,
My left foot is on the gunwale, my right arm throws far out the
coils of slender rope,
In sight around me the quick veering and darting of fifty skiffs,
my companions.
O boating on the rivers,
The voyage down the St. Lawrence, the superb scenery, the steamers,
The ships sailing, the Thousand Islands, the occasional timber-raft
and the raftsmen with long-reaching sweepoars,
The little huts on the rafts, and the stream of smoke when they
cook supper at evening.
(O something pernicious and dread!
Something far away from a puny and pious life!
Something unproved! something in a trance!
Something escaped from the anchorage and driving free.)
O to work in mines, or forging iron,
Foundry casting, the foundry itself, the rude high roof, the
ample and shadow’d space,
The furnace, the hot liquid pour’d out and running. mmkey.com
O to resume the joys of the soldier!
To feel the presence of a brave commanding officer&emdash;to feel
his sympathy!
To behold his calmness&emdash;to be warm’d in the rays of his smile!
To go to battle&emdash;to hear the bugles play and the drums beat!
To hear the crash of artillery&emdash;to see the glittering of the
bayonets and musket-barrels in the sun!
To see men fall and die and not complain!
To taste the savage taste of blood&emdash;to be so devilish!
To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy.
O the whaleman’s joys! O I cruise my old cruise again!
I feel the ship’s motion under me, I feel the Atlantic breezes
fanning me,
I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head, There
&emdash;she blows!
Again I spring up the rigging to look with the rest&emdash;we
descend, wild with excitement,
I leap in the lower’d boat, we row toward our prey where he lies,
We approach stealthy and silent, I see the mountainous mass, mmkey.com
lethargic, basking,
I see the harpooner standing up, I see the weapon dart from
his vigorous arm;
O swift again far out in the ocean the wounded whale, settling,
running to windward, tows me,
Again I see him rise to breathe, we row close again,
I see a lance driven through his side, press’d deep, turn’d
in the wound,
Again we back off, I see him settle again, the life is leaving
him fast,
As he rises he spouts blood, I see him swim in circles narrower and
narrower, swiftly cutting the water&emdash;I see him die,
He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then
falls flat and still in the bloody foam.
O the old manhood of me, my noblest joy of all!
My children and grand-children, my white hair and beard,
My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch of my life.
O ripen’d joy of womanhood! O happiness at last!
I am more than eighty years of age, I am the most venerable mother,
How clear is my mind&emdash;how all people draw night to me! 文摘园地
What attractions are these beyond any before? what bloom more
than the bloom of youth?
What beauty is this that descends upon me and rises out of me?
O the orator’s joys!
To inflate the chest, to roll the thunder of the voice out from
the ribs and throat,
To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself,
To lead America&emdash;to quell America with a great tongue.
O the joy of my soul leaning pois’d on itself, receiving
identity through materials and loving them, observing
characters and absorbing them,
My soul vibrated back to me from them, from sight, hearing,
touch, reason, articulation, comparison, memory, and the like,
The real life of my senses and flesh transcending my senses and flesh,
My body done with materials, my sight done with my material eyes,
Proved to me this day beyond cavil that it is not my material eyes
which finally see,
Nor my material body which finally loves, walks, laughs, shouts,
embraces, procreates. 文摘园地
O the farmer’s joys!
Ohioan’s, Illinoisian’s, Wisconsinese’, Kanadian’s, Iowan’s,
Kansian’s, Missourian’s, Oregonese’ joys!
To rise at peep of day and pass forth nimbly to work,
To plough land in the fall for winter-sown crops,
To plough land in the spring for maize,
To train orchards, to graft the trees, to gather apples in
the fall.
O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good place along
shore,
To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep, or race naked along
the shore.
O to realize space!
The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds,
To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying
clouds, as one with them.
O the joy of a manly self-hood!
To be servile to none, to defer to none, not to any tyrant
known or unknown,
To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic,
To look with calm gaze or with a flashing eye,
To speak with a full and sonorous voice out of a broad chest,
To confront with your personality all the other personalities of 本文来自文摘园地网
the earth.
Know’st thou the excellent joys of youth?
Joys of the dear companions and of the merry word and laughing
face?
Joy of the glad light-beaming day, joy of the wide-breath’d games?
Joy of sweet music, joy of the lighted ball-room and the dancers?
Joy of the plenteous dinner, strong carouse and drinking?
Yet O my soul supreme!
Know’st thou the joys of pensive thought?
Joys of the free and lonesome heart, the tender, gloomy heart?
Joys of the solitary walk, the spirit bow’d yet proud, the
suffering and the struggle?
The agonistic throes, the ecstasies, joys of the solemn musings
day or night?
Joys of the thought of Death, the great spheres Time and Space?
Prophetic joys of better, loftier love’s ideals, the divine wife,
the sweet, eternal, perfect comrade?
Joys all thine own undying one, joys worthy thee O soul.
O while I live to be the ruler of life, not a slave,
To meet life as a powerful conqueror,
No fumes, no ennui, no more complaints or scornful criticisms, copyright mmkey.com
To these proud laws of the air, the water and the ground,
proving my interior soul impregnable,
And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me.
For not life’s joys alone I sing, repeating&emdash;the joy of death!
The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing a few
moments, for reasons,
Myself discharging my excrementitious body to be burn’d, or
render’d to powder, or buried,
My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres,
My voided body nothing more to me, returning to the purifications,
further offices, eternal uses of the earth.
O to attract by more than attraction!
How it is I know not&emdash;yet behold! the something which
obeys none of the rest,
It is offensive, never defensive&emdash;yet how magnetic it draws.
O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted!
To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face!
To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns 本文来自文摘园地网
with perfect nonchalance!
To be indeed a God!
O to sail to sea in a ship!
To leave this steady unendurable land,
To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and
the houses,
To leave you O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship,
To sail and sail and sail!
O to have life henceforth a poem of new joys!
To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on!
To be a sailor of the world bound for all ports,
A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,)
A swift and swelling ship full of rich words, full of joys.
To the top(回页首)
The Flight of Youth
by Richard Henry Stoddard
There are gains for all our losses.
There are balms for all our pain:
But when youth, the dream, departs
It takes something from our hearts,
And it never comes again.
We are stronger, and are better,
Under manhood’s sterner reign:
Still we feel that something sweet MMKEY_COM
Followed youth, with flying feet,
And will never come again.
Something beautiful is vanished,
And we sigh for it in vain;
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth, and in the air,
But it never comes again!
青春的飞逝
理查德 亨利 斯托达德
我们失去的一切都能得到补偿，
我们所有的痛苦都能得到安慰；
可是梦境似的青春一旦消逝，
它带走了我们心中某种美好的事物，
从此一去不复返回。
严峻的成年生活将我们驱使，
我们变得日益刚强、更臻完美；
可是依然感到某种甜美的东西，
已随着青春飞逝，
永不再返回。
美好的东西已经消失，
我们枉自为此叹息；
虽然在天地之间，
我们到处能看见青春的魅力，
可是它永不再返回！