这是土地的高度:两边的分水岭向下延伸到哈德逊湾或苏必利尔湖;星星已经升起，远处，风在树林里吹响，比那悠长的奥吉布瓦的韵律还要疲倦，在那悠长的旋律中Potàn智者宣告着生命的苦难，Chees-que-ne-ne发出一种默认的哀伤的声音。火苗烧得低低的，余辉刚好足以照亮那些像飞蛾一样戏耍的灰片，它们在黑暗中飞落，像灰烬一样死去:这里，高远的空气里有安宁，有比安宁更深沉的东西闪过:云杉隐退了一点，留下一片紫色阴影的天空，星星像水草上的金盏花。现在印第安向导都睡着了;人若不能听见水从源头聚集的声音，就没有声音。我们穿过蔓延的湖泊，从一层到另一层，有时在玫瑰的狂欢上搭起帐篷，整夜点头，在梦中做梦，黎明醒来，发现它们被捕获，叶子上没有露珠;有时是一束束的蕨菜和矮山茱萸，有时是在广阔的蓝莓平原上，蓝知更鸟的翅膀闪烁着微光;一棵孤零零的白杨树和一窝白喉麻雀，它们不眠不休，在梦中歌唱，或醒来歌唱，——直到最后的航程和陆地的高度——一边是湖泊和溪流环绕的孤独的北方，还有哈德逊湾的巨大目标，在寒冷的北极光下整夜闪烁;另一方面，拥挤的南方土地上充斥着人类生活的喧嚣。但这里是和平，还有比和平更深刻的东西闪过——一种金色的、无可抗拒的咒语，它给了我们这个奇怪的生命中无法表达的部分片刻的解脱，似乎比时间的触摸更自然，我们必须用钟声回答; Though yet no man may tell The secret of that spell Golden and inappellable. Now are there sounds walking in the wood, And all the spruces shiver and tremble, And the stars move a little in their courses. The ancient disturber of solitude Breathes a pervasive sigh, And the soul seems to hear The gathering of the waters at their sources; Then quiet ensues and pure starlight and dark; The region-spirit murmurs in meditation, The heart replies in exaltation And echoes faintly like an inland shell Ghost tremors of the spell; Thought reawakens and is linked again With all the welter of the lives of men. Here on the uplands where the air is clear We think of life as of a stormy scene, -- Of tempest, of revolt and desperate shock; And here, where we can think, on the brights uplands Where the air is clear, we deeply brood on life Until the tempest parts, and it appears As simple as to the shepherd seems his flock: A Something to be guided by ideals -- That in themselves are simple and serene -- Of noble deed to foster noble thought, And noble thought to image noble deed, Till deed and thought shall interpenetrate, Making life lovelier, till we come to doubt Whether the perfect beauty that escapes Is beauty of deed or thought or some high thing Mingled of both, a greater boon than either: Thus we have seen in the retreating tempest The victor-sunlight merge with the ruined rain, And from the rain and sunlight spring the rainbow. The ancient disturber of solitude Stirs his ancestral potion in the gloom, And the dark wood Is stifled with the pungent fume Of charred earth burnt to the bone That takes the place of air. Then sudden I remember when and where, -- The last weird lakelet foul with weedy growths And slimy viscid things the spirit loathes, Skin of vile water over viler mud Where the paddle stirred unutterable stenches, And the canoes seemed heavy with fear, Not to be urged toward the fatal shore Where a bush fire, smouldering, with sudden roar Leaped on a cedar and smothered it with light And terror. It had left the portage-height A tangle of slanted spruces burned to the roots, Covered still with patches of bright fire Smoking with incense of the fragment resin That even then began to thin and lessen Into the gloom and glimmer of ruin. 'Tis overpast. How strange the stars have grown; The presage of extinction glows on their crests And they are beautied with impermanence; They shall be after the race of men And mourn for them who snared their fiery pinions, Entangled in the meshes of bright words. A lemming stirs the fern and in the mosses Eft-minded things feel the air change, and dawn Tolls out from the dark belfries of the spruces. How often in the autumn of the world Shall the crystal