队长驽马,退出南海的愚蠢的潮汐,少数的贝壳,几个毒箭,珍珠的桶,和五千磅在殖民基金,现在街上帆砖别墅,“金链花别墅”,在港口的空白窗口挂像雾玻璃,金色和烟雾缭绕的,或用石头打死白色闪光,和船只,悬浮在窗格中,蓝色漏斗,漏斗,Messageries滨海诸省,像被活捉的海兽一样被拖下港口在尖利的沙滩上刮着肚子，多宾船长保存着这些细节一个用墨水粘着的账簿，记录着时间和天气，月亮的状态，货物的性质和船长的名字，为了某种神秘而可怕的目的，从未透露过。因为在夜晚，当星星用灯笼嘲笑自己的时候，那么晚的钟声又响亮又微弱，就像一只手在钟声上合上又合上，多宾船长从床上观察到了科摩罗出海的灯火，就像一条巨大的火蛇，他会记录下这个时间，以便在他的公报上记录下来。海却真的是比这更接近他,比死更接近他,可爱的女人,因为他使的它,像旧信件,盐包绑在一起或压平,你可能称之为海的一缕头发,所以队长多宾小巫见大巫了纪念品,他urn-burial木乃伊波的胸部,大风固定在印刷,和甜蜜的危险国家的鲨鱼和casuarina-tree,被盗,彩色地图,像一瓶海水,或瓶装的船,被玻璃瓶夹住的帆船;但多宾船长把它们藏在书里，涂了漆的皮革上，布满了金边，由博学的水手和流体静力学大师写的，或者是土耳其人或水怪所写的简单英雄的幼稚故事。就这样，他每晚从一个架子游到另一个架子，或者游到象限，挂着生锈的螺丝钉，或者游到悬挂在空中的旧海图花园，它们是如此古老，上面有真正的量角器线，用淡淡的墨水画的，像中国人的头发一样细。他的放大镜会在平坦的彩色地图集叶子上颤抖，在深海底，刺成细小的一排排，海水向海岸倾斜。骨边的镜头静静地飘着，直到透过玻璃，他感到了泡沫的狂奔，看见了白珊瑚，蓝色的海军上将，听到了在海滩上奔跑的种植园主被风吞没的叫声，他们从被太阳晒得麻木的牧场上偷取了山药和龙涎香，鸟巢和檀香，因为他们太温顺了，不能诚实地偷窃;但他，这个不那么精干的强盗，爬上城墙，闯进昏睡的房子，里面堆满了黑瓶子，被盐腐蚀的烂酒，褪色的指纹，涂满闪光的历书和扑克牌，带着法国人留在外面、半埋在沙子里的生锈的大炮，甚至到了波马里王后的城堡，发现她的王宫里堆满了金烛台，发霉的剑，吉他和鸟枪，堆成一堆，还有油腻的蛋糕和扔在地上的葫芦。 Then Captain Dobbin's eye, That eye of wild and wispy scudding blue, Voluptuously prying, would light up Like mica scratched by gully-suns, And he would be fearful to look upon And shattering in his conversation; Nor would he tolerate the harmless chanty, No 'Shenandoah', or the dainty mew That landsmen offer in a silver dish To Neptune, sung to pianos in candlelight. Of these he spoke in scorn, For there was but one way of singing 'Stormalong', He said, and that was not really singing, But howling, rather?shrieked in the wind's jaws By furious men; not tinkled in drawing-rooms By lap-dogs in clean shirts. And, at these words, The galleries of photographs, men with rich beards, Pea-jackets and brass buttons, with folded arms, Would scowl approval, for they were shipmates, too, Companions of no cruise by reading-glass, But fellows of storm and honey from the past? 'The Charlotte, Java, ',' 'Knuckle and Fred at Port au Prince,' 'William in his New Rig,' Even that notorious scoundrel, Captain Baggs, Who, as all knew, owed Dobbin Twenty Pounds Lost at fair cribbage, but he never paid, Or paid 'with the slack of the tops'l sheets' As Captain Dobbin frequently expressed it. There were their faces, grilled a trifle now, Cigar-hued in various spots By the brown breath of sodium-eating years, On quarter-decks long burnt to the water's edge, A resurrection of the dead by chemicals. And the voyages they had made, Their labours in a country of water, Were they not marked by inadequate lines On charts tied up like skins in a rack? Or his own Odys