[场景，塔平顿的“依偎”。——爷爷坐在胡桃木雕成的高背藤底肘椅上打瞌睡;他的鼻子呈45度角，大拇指慢慢地旋转着，词典编纂者称之为“捻手”。这个“家族的希望”，拄着一根手杖，留着焦黄的小胡子，帽子上别着一只野鸡的尾巴，用军乐来安慰自己。——被一种极度不和谐的声音唤醒，雄辩爷爷。过来，过来，我的小男孩奈德!到我膝上来吧——我无法摆脱那可怕的喧闹声，那六便士的鼓，那锡制的小号。哦，与其听这些可怕的吟游诗人，不如在善良的圣巴特利米集市上自由自在地漫步。现在，小尼德，把这些讨厌的东西放下吧，我要给你唱一首歌。爷爷站起来，打了个呵欠，像一个死火山的火山口，慢慢地走到窗前，对着远处的修道院大喊大叫。我爱你的高塔，灰色的废墟，我看见你的模样很高兴，虽然地牢、回廊和大厅都已荡然无存，只剩下一堵摇摇欲坠的墙，那雄伟得可怕，阴暗得阴沉，仿佛要倒下来打碎我的脑袋，就像许多世纪以前，我穿着天蓝色的上衣和裤子，系着带子，漫不经心地漫步在你的草地上，那条裤子短得出奇。 Thou art dearer to me, thou Ruin grey, Than the Squire's verandah over the way; And fairer, I ween, The ivy sheen That thy mouldering turret binds, Than the Alderman's house about half a mile off, With the green Venetian blinds. Full many a tale would my Grandam tell, In many a bygone day, Of darksome deeds, which of old befell In thee, thou Ruin grey! And I the readiest ear would lend, And stare like frighten'd pig; While my Grandfather's hair would have stood up an end, Had he not worn a wig. One tale I remember of mickle dread-- Now lithe and listen, my little boy Ned! Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned, Though thy mother thine idlesse blames, In Doctor Goldsmith's history book, Of a gentleman called King James, In quilted doublet, and great trunk breeches, Who held in abhorrence tobacco and witches. Well,-- in King James's golden days,-- For the days were golden then,-- They could not be less, for good Queen Bess Had died aged threescore and ten, And her days, we know, Were all of them so; While the Court poets sung, and the Court gallants swore That the days were as golden still as before. Some people, 'tis true, a troublesome few, Who historical points would unsettle, Have lately thrown out a sort of a doubt Of the genuine ring of the metal; But who can believe to a monarch so wise People would dare tell a parcel of lies? -- Well, then, in good King James's days,-- Golden or not does not matter a jot,-- Yon ruin a sort of a roof had got; For though, repairs lacking, its walls had been cracking Since Harry the Eighth sent its friars a-packing, Though joists, and floors, And windows, and doors Had all disappear'd, yet pillars by scores Remain'd, and still propp'd up a ceiling or two, While the belfry was almost as good as new; You are not to suppose matters look'd just so In the Ruin some two hundred years ago. Just in that farthermost angle, where You see the remains of a winding-stair, One turret especially high in air Uprear'd its tall gaunt form; As if defying the power of Fate, or The hand of 'Time the Innovator;' And though to the pitiless storm Its weaker brethren all around Bowing, in ruin had strew'd the ground, Alone it stood, while its fellows lay strew'd, Like a four-bottle man in a company 'screw'd,' Not firm on his legs, but by no means subdued. One night --'twas in Sixteen hundred and six -- I like when I can, Ned, the date to fix,-- The month was May, Though I can't well say At this distance of time the particular day -- But oh! that night, that horrible night! Folks ever afterwards said with affright That they never had seen such a terrible sight. The Sun had gone down fiery red; And if that evening he laid his head In Thetis's lap beneath the seas, He must have scalded the goddess's knees. He left behind him a lurid track Of blood-red light upon clouds so black, That Warren and Hunt, with the whole of their crew, Could scarcely have given them a darker hue. There came a shrill and a whistling sound, Above, beneath, beside, and around, Yet leaf ne'er moved on tree! So that some people thought old Beelzebub must Have been lock'd out of doors, and was blowing the dust From the pipe of his street-door key. And then a hollow moaning blast Came, sounding more dismally still than the last, And th