书城英文图书英国语文(英文原版)(第5册)
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第36章 THE DESERTED VILLAGE

SWEET Auburn!

loveliest village of the plain,

Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain; Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid,And parting Summer" lingering blooms delayed; Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,Seats of my youth, when every sport could please; How often have I loitered o"er thy green,Where humble happiness endeared each scene! How often have I paused on every charm; - The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,The never-failing brook, the busy mill,The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill;The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made!

How often have I blessed the coming day, When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play; And all the village train, from labour free,Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending, as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o"er the ground,And sleights of art and feats of strength went round,And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired: - The dancing pair, that simply sought renownBy holding out to tire each other down;The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter tittered round the place;The bashful virgin"s sidelong looks of love;The matron"s glance that would those looks reprove; - These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these With sweet succession, taught e"en toil to please.

Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening"s close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;There as I passed, with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below: - The swain, responsive as the milk-maid sung;The sober herd, that lowed to meet their young;The noisy geese, that gabbled o"er the pool; The playful children, just let loose from school;The watch-dog"s voice, that bayedthe whispering wind;

And the loud laugh, that spoke the vacant mind; -These all, in sweet confusion, sought the shade,And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

- OLIVER GOLDSMITH