约翰·格林里夫·惠蒂尔

在这里你会发现长诗码头之旅诗人约翰·格林里夫·惠蒂尔

码头之旅

一条浅浅的小溪,从桑威奇山的喷泉深处,奔湖向熊营河;在它被洪水蹂躏的海岸之间,靠帆或桨疾驰,从来没有龙骨使它烦恼。只有枯树屈服于时间挥着的钝斧,害羞的水貂和水獭,无数个秋天落下的金色和红色的叶子,顺着河水漂下。从安角的灰色岩石中,一个熟练的航海者驾着他的小舢板来到了正确的地方;他带着她越过高山和平原,在那里,无船的波涛从白面河蜿蜒而下。船长说:“在它向前漂去之前;我吗?我确定我漂亮的船?it’至少,一个同样漂亮的名字是值得的。他在她彩绘的那一面写道:那面旗呢?她的名字是“杰蒂”。 On a radiant morn of summer, Elder guest and latest comer Saw her wed the Bearcamp water; Heard the name the skipper gave her, And the answer to the favor From the Bay State?s graceful daughter. Then, a singer, richly gifted, Her charmed voice uplifted; And the wood-thrush and song-sparrow Listened, dumb with envious pain, To the clear and sweet refrain Whose notes they could not borrow. Then the skipper plied his oar, And from off the shelving shore, Glided out the strange explorer; Floating on, she knew not whither,? The tawny sands beneath her, The great hills watching o?er her. On, where the stream flows quiet As the meadows? margins by it, Or widens out to borrow a New life from that wild water, The mountain giant?s daughter, The pine-besung Chocorua. Or, mid the tangling cumber And pack of mountain lumber That spring floods downward force, Over sunken snag, and bar Where the grating shallows are, The good boat held her course. Under the pine-dark highlands, Around the vine-hung islands, She ploughed her crooked furrow And her rippling and her lurches Scared the river eels and perches, And the musk-rat in his burrow. Every sober clam below her, Every sage and grave pearl-grower, Shut his rusty valves the tighter; Crow called to crow complaining, And old tortoises sat craning Their leathern necks to sight her. So, to where the still lake glasses The misty mountain masses Rising dim and distant northward, And, with faint-drawn shadow pictures, Low shores, and dead pine spectres, Blends the skyward and the earthward, On she glided, overladen, With merry man and maiden Sending back their song and laughter,? While, perchance, a phantom crew, In a ghostly birch canoe, Paddled dumb and swiftly after! And the bear on Ossipee Climbed the topmost crag to see The strange thing drifting under; And, through the haze of August, Passaconaway and Paugus Looked down in sleepy wonder. All the pines that o?er her hung In mimic sea-tones sung The song familiar to her; And the maples leaned to screen her, And the meadow-grass seemed greener, And the breeze more soft to woo her. The lone stream mystery-haunted, To her the freedom granted To scan its every feature, Till new and old were blended, And round them both extended The loving arms of Nature. Of these hills the little vessel Henceforth is part and parcel; And on Bearcamp shall her log Be kept, as if by George?s Or Grand Menan, the surges Tossed her skipper through the fog. And I, who, half in sadness, Recall the morning gladness Of life, at evening time, By chance, onlooking idly, Apart from all so widely, Have set her voyage to rhyme. Dies now the gay persistence Of song and laugh, in distance; Alone with me remaining The stream, the quiet meadow, The hills in shine and shadow, The sombre pines complaining. And, musing here, I dream Of voyagers on a stream From whence is no returning, Under sealed orders going, Looking forward little knowing, Looking back with idle yearning. And I pray that every venture The port of peace may enter, That, safe from snag and fall And siren-haunted islet, And rock, the Unseen Pilot May guide us one and all.