the poet at the breakfast table-第38部分

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I　felt　them　coming　in　the　laden　air；
And　watched　them　laboring　up　to　vocal　breath；
Even　as　the　first…born　at　his　father's　board
Knows　ere　he　speaks　the　too　familiar　jest
Is　on　its　way；　by　some　mysterious　sign
Forewarned；　the　click　before　the　striking　bell。

He　shrivelled　as　I　spread　my　growing　leaves；
Till　trust　and　reverence　changed　to　pitying　care；
He　lived　for　me　in　what　he　once　had　been；
But　I　for　him；　a　shadow；　a　defence；
The　guardian　of　his　fame；　his　guide；　his　staff；
Leaned　on　so　long　he　fell　if　left　alone。
I　was　his　eye；　his　ear；　his　cunning　hand；
Love　was　my　spur　and　longing　after　fame；
But　his　the　goading　thorn　of　sleepless　age
That　sees　its　shortening　span；　its　lengthening　shades；
That　clutches　what　it　may　with　eager　grasp；
And　drops　at　last　with　empty；　outstretched　hands。

All　this　he　dreamed　not。　　He　would　sit　him　down
Thinking　to　work　his　problems　as　of　old；
And　find　the　star　he　thought　so　plain　a　blur；
The　columned　figures　labyrinthine　wilds
Without　my　comment；　blind　and　senseless　scrawls
That　vexed　him　with　their　riddles；　he　would　strive
And　struggle　for　a　while；　and　then　his　eye
Would　lose　its　light；　and　over　all　his　mind
The　cold　gray　mist　would　settle；　and　erelong
The　darkness　fell；　and　I　was　left　alone。

Alone！　no　climber　of　an　Alpine　cliff；
No　Arctic　venturer　on　the　waveless　sea；
Feels　the　dread　stillness　round　him　as　it　chills
The　heart　of　him　who　leaves　the　slumbering　earth
To　watch　the　silent　worlds　that　crowd　the　sky。

Alone！　　And　as　the　shepherd　leaves　his　flock
To　feed　upon　the　hillside；　he　meanwhile
Finds　converse　in　the　warblings　of　the　pipe
Himself　has　fashioned　for　his　vacant　hour；
So　have　I　grown　companion　to　myself；
And　to　the　wandering　spirits　of　the　air
That　smile　and　whisper　round　us　in　our　dreams。
Thus　have　I　learned　to　search　if　I　may　know
The　whence　and　why　of　all　beneath　the　stars
And　all　beyond　them；　and　to　weigh　my　life
As　in　a　balance；　poising　good　and　ill
Against　each　other；…asking　of　the　Power
That　flung　me　forth　among　the　whirling　worlds；
If　I　am　heir　to　any　inborn　right；
Or　only　as　an　atom　of　the　dust
That　every　wind　may　blow　where'er　it　will。

I　am　not　humble；　I　was　shown　my　place；
Clad　in　such　robes　as　Nature　had　at　hand；
Took　what　she　gave；　not　chose；　I　know　no　shame；
No　fear　for　being　simply　what　I　am。
I　am　not　proud；　I　hold　my　every　breath
At　Nature's　mercy。　　I　am　as　a　babe
Borne　in　a　giant's　arms；　he　knows　not　where；
Each　several　heart…beat；　counted　like　the　coin
A　miser　reckons；　is　a　special　gift
As　from　an　unseen　hand；　if　that　withhold
Its　bounty　for　a　moment；　I　am　left
A　clod　upon　the　earth　to　which　I　fall。

Something　I　find　in　me　that　well　might　claim
The　love　of　beings　in　a　sphere　above
This　doubtful　twilight　world　of　right　and　wrong；
Something　that　shows　me　of　the　self…same　clay
That　creeps　or　swims　or　flies　in　humblest　form。
Had　I　been　asked；　before　I　left　my　bed
Of　shapeless　dust；　what　clothing　I　would　wear；
I　would　have　said；　More　angel　and　less　worm；
But　for　their　sake　who　are　even　such　as　I；
Of　the　same　mingled　blood；　I　would　not　choose
To　hate　that　meaner　portion　of　myself
Which　makes　me　brother　to　the　least　of　men。

I　dare　not　be　a　coward　with　my　lips
Who　dare　to　question　all　things　in　my　soul；
Some　men　may　find　their　wisdom　on　their　knees；
Some　prone　and　grovelling　in　the　dust　like　slaves；
Let　the　meek　glow…worm　glisten　in　the　dew；
I　ask　to　lift　my　taper　to　the　sky
As　they　who　hold　their　lamps　above　their　heads；
Trusting　the　larger　currents　up　aloft；
Rather　than　crossing　eddies　round　their　breast；
Threatening　with　every　puff　the　flickering　blaze。

My　life　shall　be　a　challenge；　not　a　truce！
This　is　my　homage　to　the　mightier　powers；
To　ask　my　boldest　question；　undismayed
By　muttered　threats　that　some　hysteric　sense
Of　wrong　or　insult　will　convulse　the　throne
Where　wisdom　reigns　supreme；　and　if　I　err；
They　all　must　err　who　have　to　feel　their　way
As　bats　that　fly　at　noon；　for　what　are　we
But　creatures　of　the　night；　dragged　forth　by　day；
Who　needs　must　stumble；　and　with　stammering　steps
Spell　out　their　paths　in　syllables　of　pain　？

Thou　wilt　not　hold　in　scorn　the　child　who　dares
Look　up　to　Thee；　the　Father；dares　to　ask
More　than　Thy　wisdom　answers。　　From　Thy　hand
The　worlds　were　cast；　yet　every　leaflet　claims
》From　that　same　hand　its　little　shining　sphere
Of　star…lit　dew；　thine　image；　the　great　sun；
Girt　with　his　mantle　of　tempestuous　flame；

Glares　in　mid…heaven；　but　to　his　noontide　blaze
The　slender　violet　lifts　its　lidless　eye；
And　from　his　splendor　steals　its　fairest　hue；
Its　sweetest　perfume　from　his　scorching　fire。


I　may　just　as　well　stop　here　as　anywhere；　for　there　is　more　of　the
manuscript　to　come；　and　I　can　only　give　it　in　instalments。

The　Young　Astronomer　had　told　me　I　might　read　any　portions　of　his
manuscript　I　saw　fit　to　certain　friends。　　I　tried　this　last　extract
on　the　old　Master。

It's　the　same　story　we　all　have　to　tell；said　he；　when　I　had　done
reading。…We　are　all　asking　questions　nowadays。　　I　should　like　to
hear　him　read　some　of　his　verses　himself；　and　I　think　some　of　the
other　boarders　would　like　to。　　I　wonder　if　he　wouldn't　do　it；　if　we
asked　him！　　Poets　read　their　own　compositions　in　a　singsong　sort　of
way；　but　they　do　seem　to　love　'em　so；　that　I　always　enjoy　it。　　It
makes　me　laugh　a　little　inwardly　to　see　how　they　dandle　their
poetical　babies；　but　I　don't　let　them　know　it。　　We　must　get　up　a
select　party　of　the　boarders　to　hear　him　read。　　We'll　send　him　a
regular　invitation。　　I　will　put　my　name　at　the　head　of　it；　and　you
shall　write　it。

That　was　neatly　done。　　How　I　hate　writing　such　things！　　But　I
suppose　I　must　do　it。




VIII

The　Master　and　I　had　been　thinking　for　some　time　of　trying　to　get　the
Young　Astronomer　round　to　our　side　of　the　table。　　There　are　many
subjects　on　which　both　of　us　like　to　talk　with　him；　and　it　would　be
convenient　to　have　him　nearer　to　us。　　How　to　manage　it　was　not　quite
so　clear　as　it　might　have　been。　　The　Scarabee　wanted　to　sit　with　his
back　to　the　light；　as　it　was　in　his　present　position。　　He　used　his
eyes　so　much　in　studying　minute　objects；　that　he　wished　to　spare　them
all　fatigue；　and　did　not　like　facing　a　window。　　Neither　of　us　cared
to　ask　the　Man　of　Letters；　so　called；　to　change　his　place；　and　of
course　we　could　not　think　of　making　such　a　request　of　the　Young　Girl
or　the　Lady。　　So　we　were　at　a　stand　with　reference　to　this　project　of
ours。

But　while　we　were　proposing；　Fate　or　Providence　disposed　everything
for　us。　　The　Man　of　Letters；　so　called；　was　missing　one　morning；
having　folded　his　tentthat　is；　packed　his　carpet…bagwith　the
silence　of　the　Arabs；　and　encampedthat　is；　taken　lodgingsin　some
locality　which　he　had　forgotten　to　indicate。

The　Landlady　bore　this　sudden　bereavement　remarkably　well。　　Her
remarks　and　reflections；　though　borrowing　the　aid　of　homely　imagery
and　doing　occasional　violence　to　the　nicer　usages　of　speech；　were　not
without　philosophical　discrimination。

I　like　a　gentleman　that　is　a　gentleman。　　But　there's　a　difference
in　what　folks　call　gentlemen　as　there　is　in　what　you　put　on　table。
There　is　cabbages　and　there　is　cauliflowers。　　There　is　clams　and
there　is　oysters。　　There　is　mackerel　and　there　is　salmon。　　And　there
is　some　that　knows　the　difference　and　some　that　doos　n't。　　I　had　a
little　account　with　that　boarder　that　he　forgot　to　settle　before　he
went　off；　so　all　of　a　suddin。　　I　sha'n't　say　anything　about　it。　　I've
seen　the　time　when　I　should　have　felt　bad　about　losing　what　he　owed
me；　but　it　was　no　great　matter；　and　if　he　'll　only　stay　away　now　he
's　gone；　I　can　stand　losing　it；　and　not　cry　my　eyes　out　nor　lay　awake
all　night　neither。　　I　never　had　ought　to　have　took　him。　　Where　he
come　from　and　where　he's　gone　to　is　unbeknown　to　me。　　If　he'd　only
smoked　good　tobacco；　I　wouldn't　have　said　a　word；　but　it　was　such
dreadful　stuff；　it　'll　take　a　week　to　get　his　chamber　sweet　enough　to
show　them　that　asks　for　rooms。　　It　doos　smell　like　all　possest。

Left　any　goods？　asked　the　Salesman。

Or　dockermunts？added　the　Member　of　the　Haouse。

The　Landlady　answered　with　a　faded　smile；　which　implied　that　there
was　no　hope　in　that　direction。　　Dr。　Benjamin；　with　a　sudden
recurrence　of　youthful　feeling；　made　a　fan　with　the　fingers　of　his
right　hand；　the　second　phalanx　of　the　thumb　resting　on　the　tip　of　the
nose；　and　the　remaining　digits　diverging　from　each　other；　in　the
plane　of　the　median　line　of　the　face；I　suppose　this　is　the　way　he
would　have　described　the　gesture；　which　is　almost　a　specialty　of　the
Parisian　gamin。　　That　Boy　immediately　copied　it；　and　added　greatly　to
its　effect　by　extending　the　fingers　of　the　other　hand　in　a　line　with
those　of　the　first；　and　vigorously　agitating　those　of　the　two　hands；
a　gesture　which　acts　like　a　puncture　on　the　distended　self…esteem
of　one　to　whom　it　is　addressed；　and　cheapens　the　memory　of　the　absent
to　a　very　low　figure。

I　wish　the　reader　to　observe　that　I　treasure　up　with　interest　all　the
words　uttered　by　the　Salesman。　　It　must　have　been　noticed　that　he
very　rarely　speaks。　　Perhaps　he　has　an　inner　life；　with　its　own　deep
emotional；　and　lofty　contemplative　elements；　but　as　we　s