In the falling of a summer night, I walk by Ullswater. The sky is still warm with the afterglow of sunset, a dusky crimson smouldering above the dark mountain line. Below me spreads a long reach of the lake, steel-grey between its dim colourless shores. In the profound stillness, the trotting of a horse beyond the water sounds strangely near; it serves only to make more sensible the repose of nature in this her sanctuary. I feel a solitude unutterable, yet nothing akin to desolation; the heart of the land I love seems to beat in the silent night gathering around me; amid things eternal, I touch the familiar and the kindly earth. Moving, I step softly, as though my footfall were an irreverence. A turn in the road, and there is wafted to me a faint perfume, that of meadow-sweet. Then I see a light glimmering in the farmhouse window -- a little ray against the blackness of the great hillside, below which the water.
A pathway leads me by the winding of the river Ouse. Far on every side stretches a homely landscape, tilth and pasture, hedgerow and clustered trees, to where the sky rests upon the gentle hills. Slow, silent, the river lapses between its daisied banks, its grey-green osier beds. Yonder is the little town of St. Neots. In all England no simpler bit of rural scenery; in all the world nothing of its kind more beautiful. Cattle are lowing amid the rich meadows. Here one may loiter and dream in utter restfulness, whilst the great white clouds mirror themselves in the water as they pass above.
夏日里,夜幕降临之时,我在厄尔斯沃特湖边悠然而行。在落日的余晖中,天空依然温暖,远处的山脊形成了一条阴暗的细线,暗红色的晚霞就在那里徐徐燃烧。在色彩单一而暗淡的湖岸之间,湖水在我的下方铺成一片青灰色,远远延伸。在一片静谧中,湖对岸传来的马蹄声听起来近在咫尺,这使我更深刻地感觉到大自然正在她的圣殿中憩息。一种难以言喻的孤独却并不凄凉的感觉将我包围。我热爱这片土地,它的心脏似乎就在我周围静谧的夜色中有力地跃动着;在一种永恒的情感之中,我触摸者熟悉而慈爱的大地。我感到我的脚步声似乎是极为无礼的,于是轻轻地缓步而行。路转了个弯,随即飘来绣线菊淡雅的芳香。然后,我看到了一户农舍的窗中忽明忽暗的灯光——它划破山腰处的那片黑暗,倒映在山下的湖水中。
我跟随一条小路沿着蜿蜒曲折的欧塞河前行。令人倍感亲切的景色——耕地、牧场、树篱、树丛一一沿着河两岸延展开去,直抵天空映衬下的一片小山丘。在柳枝垂落的河床上,河水从开满雏菊的河岸间沉默而和缓地流过。远处是圣尼奥茨小镇。寻遍整个英国,也再找不出如此质朴的乡村景色;即使在全世界,也没有比这里更秀美的村落风光了。牛群在丰饶的草地上低沉地哞叫着。在这样的地方,人们可以在绝对的闲适中畅游和梦想;大片的白云从河流上空飘过时,在水面上投下倩影。
I am walking upon the South Downs. In the valleys the sun lies hot, but here sings a breeze which freshens the forehead and fills the heart with gladness. My foot upon the short, soft turf has an unwearied lightness; I feel capable of walking on and on, even to that farthest horizon where the white cloud casts its floating shadow. Below me, but far off, is the summer sea, still, silent, its ever-changing blue and green dimmed at the long limit with luminous noontide mist. Inland spreads the undulant vastness of the sheep-spotted downs, beyond them the tillage and the woods of Sussex weald, coloured like to the pure sky above them, but in deeper tint. Near by, all but hidden among trees in yon lovely hollow, lies an old,old hamlet, its brown roofs decked with golden lichen; I see the low church-tower and the little graveyard about it. Meanwhile, high in the heaven, a lark is singing. It descends; it drops to its nest; and I could dream that half the happiness of its exultant song was love of England.
It is all but dark. For a quarter of an hour I must have been writing by a glow of firelight reflected on to my desk; it seemed to me the sun of summer. Snow is still falling. I see its ghostly glimmer against the vanishing sky. Tomorrow it will be thick upon my garden, and perchance for several days. But when it melts, when it melts, it will leave the snowdrop. The crocus, too, is waiting, down there under the white mantle which warms the earth.
我在南丘上散步。山谷中赤日炎炎,但这里却微风习习,令人心旷神怡。我踏在随风起伏的柔软草地上,心神放松,仿佛所有疲倦都不知去向;我觉得自己能够不停地前行,一直走到白云投下浮影处的最远的地平线。夏日里平静而沉默的大海就在远方的低处,它那不停变幻的蓝色与绿色,在正午时分明亮的薄雾中变得朦胧。伸向内陆的开阔高地起伏不定,羊群星星点点地分布其上。再往远去,是苏塞克斯原野的耕地和森林,它们的颜色有如上方的天空一般纯净,只是色调更深一些。在附近秀丽的山谷中,茂密的树林掩映着一个古老的小村庄;片片金色的苔藓覆盖在褐色的屋顶上面;我看到了低矮的教堂钟塔和它周围小小的墓地。一只云雀一直在高空中鸣叫,最后飞落在自己的巢中——我猜想,它那欢乐的歌声中一半的幸福都出自对英国的热爱。
天几乎全黑了。我一定借着映照在书桌上的火光奋笔疾书有一刻钟了吧;对我而言,这火光就像是夏日的阳光。雪还在下着。我看到,在逐渐隐去的天空的映衬下,它微光隐现,仿如幽灵一般。明天我的花园中将会覆盖一层厚厚的积雪,而且恐怕还会持续好几天。然而,当它融化时,便会留下雪花莲。在温暖大地的白色外衣下,番红花也正在等待绽放。
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