pageant of summer- 第4部分

the　loamy　sand；　add　the　thickness　of　its　flattened　stem；　and　the　

width　of　its　branching　fronds；　you　may　say　that　it　comes　near　to　be　

a　little　tree。　　Beneath　where　the　ponds　are　bushy　mare's…tails　

grow；　and　on　the　moist　banks　　jointed　pewterwort；　some　of　the　broad　

bronze　leaves　of　water…weeds　seem　to　try　and　conquer　the　pond　and　

cover　it　so　firmly　that　a　wagtail　may　run　on　them。　　A　white　

butterfly　follows　along　the　waggon…road；　the　pheasants　slip　away　as　

quietly　as　the　butterfly　flies；　but　a　jay　screeches　loudly　and　

flutters　in　high　rage　to　see　us。　　Under　an　ancient　garden　wall　

among　matted　bines　of　trumpet　convolvulus；　there　is　a　hedge…

sparrow's　nest　overhung　with　ivy　on　which　even　now　the　last　black　

berries　cling。



There　are　minute　white　flowers　on　the　top　of　the　wall；　out　of　

reach；　and　lichen　grows　against　it　dried　by　the　sun　till　it　looks　

ready　to　crumble。　　By　the　gateway　grows　a　thick　bunch　of　meadow　

geranium；　soon　to　flower；　over　the　gate　is　the　dusty　highway　road；　

quiet　but　dusty；　dotted　with　the　innumerable　foot…marks　of　a　flock　

of　sheep　that　has　passed。　　The　sound　of　their　bleating　still　comes　

back；　and　the　bees　driven　up　by　their　feet　have　hardly　had　time　to　

settle　again　on　the　white　clover　beginning　to　flower　on　the　short　

roadside　sward。　　All　the　hawthorn　leaves　and　briar　and　bramble；　the　

honeysuckle；　too；　is　gritty　with　the　dust　that　has　been　scattered　

upon　it。　　But　see　…　can　it　be？　　Stretch　a　hand　high；　quick；　and　

reach　it　down；　the　first；　the　sweetest；　the　dearest　rose　of　June。　　

Not　yet　expected；　for　the　time　is　between　the　may　and　the　roses；　

least　of　all　here　in　the　hot　and　dusty　highway；　but　it　is　found　…　

the　first　rose　of　June。



Straight　go　the　white　petals　to　the　heart；　straight　the　mind's　

glance　goes　back　to　how　many　other　pageants　of　summer　in　old　times！　　

When　perchance　the　sunny　days　were　even　more　sunny；　when　the　stilly　

oaks　were　full　of　mystery；　lurking　like　the　Druid's　mistletoe　in　

the　midst　of　their　mighty　branches。　　A　glamour　in　the　heart　came　

back　to　it　again　from　every　flower；　as　the　sunshine　was　reflected　

from　them；　so　the　feeling　in　the　heart　returned　tenfold。　　To　the　

dreamy　summer　haze；　love　gave　a　deep　enchantment；　the　colours　were　

fairer；　the　blue　more　lovely　in　the　lucid　sky。　　Each　leaf　finer；　

and　the　gross　earth　enamelled　beneath　the　feet。　　A　sweet　breath　on　

the　air；　a　soft　warm　hand　in　the　touch　of　the　sunshine；　a　glance　in　

the　gleam　of　the　rippled　waters；　a　whisper　in　the　dance　of　the　

shadows。　　The　ethereal　haze　lifted　the　heavy　oaks　and　they　were　

buoyant　on　the　mead；　the　rugged　bark　was　chastened　and　no　longer　

rough；　each　slender　flower　beneath　them　again　refined。　　There　was　a　

presence　everywhere；　though　unseen；　on　the　open　hills；　and　not　shut　

out　under　the　dark　pines。　　Dear　were　the　June　roses　then　because　

for　another　gathered。　　Yet　even　dearer　now　with　so　many　years　as　it　

were　upon　the　petals；　all　the　days　that　have　been　before；　all　the　

heart…throbs；　all　our　hopes　lie　in　this　opened　bud。　　Let　not　the　

eyes　grow　dim；　look　not　back　but　forward；　the　soul　must　uphold　

itself　like　the　sun。　　Let　us　labour　to　make　the　heart　grow　larger　

as　we　become　older；　as　the　spreading　oak　gives　more　shelter。　　That　

we　could　but　take　to　the　soul　some　of　the　greatness　and　the　beauty　

of　the　summer！



Still　the　pageant　moves。　　The　song…talk　of　the　finches　rises　and　

sinks　like　the　tinkle　of　a　waterfall。　　The　green…finches　have　been　

by　me　all　the　while。　　A　bullfinch　pipes　now　and　then　further　up　the　

hedge　where　the　brambles　and　thorns　are　thickest。　　Boldest　of　birds　

to　look　at；　he　is　always　in　hiding。　　The　shrill　tone　of　a　goldfinch　

came　just　now　from　the　ash　branches；　but　he　has　gone　on。　　Every　

four　or　five　minutes　a　chaffinch　sings　close　by；　and　another　fills　

the　interval　near　the　gateway。　　There　are　linnets　somewhere；　but　I　

cannot　from　the　old　apple　tree　fix　their　exact　place。　　Thrushes　

have　sung　and　ceased；　they　will　begin　again　in　ten　minutes。　　The　

blackbirds　do　not　cease；　the　note　uttered　by　a　blackbird　in　the　oak　

yonder　before　it　can　drop　is　taken　up　by　a　second　near　the　top　of　

the　field；　and　ere　it　falls　is　caught　by　a　third　on　the　left…hand　

side。　　From　one　of　the　topmost　boughs　of　an　elm　there　fell　the　song　

of　a　willow　warbler　for　a　while；　one　of　the　least　of　birds；　he　

often　seeks　the　highest　branches　of　the　highest　tree。



A　yellowhammer　has　just　flown　from　a　bare　branch　in　the　gateway；　

where　he　has　been　perched　and　singing　a　full　hour。　　Presently　he　

will　commence　again；　and　as　the　sun　declines　will　sing　him　to　the　

horizon；　and　then　again　sing　till　nearly　dusk。　　The　yellowhammer　is　

almost　the　longest　of　all　the　singers；　he　sits　and　sits　and　has　no　

inclination　to　move。　　In　the　spring　he　sings；　in　the　summer　he　

sings；　and　he　continues　when　the　last　sheaves　are　being　carried　

from　the　wheat　field。　　The　redstart　yonder　has　given　forth　a　few　

notes；　the　whitethroat　flings　himself　into　the　air　at　short　

intervals　and　chatters；　the　shrike　calls　sharp　and　determined；　

faint　but　shrill　calls　descend　from　the　swifts　in　the　air。　　These　

descend；　but　the　twittering　notes　of　the　swallows　do　not　reach　so　

far　…　they　are　too　high　to…day。　　A　cuckoo　has　called　by　the　brook；　

and　now　fainter　from　a　greater　distance。　　That　the　titlarks　are　

singing　I　know；　but　not　within　hearing　from　here；　a　dove；　though；　

is　audible；　and　a　chiffchaff　has　twice　passed。　　Afar　beyond　the　

oaks　at　the　top　of　the　field　dark　specks　ascend　from　time　to　time；　

and　after　moving　in　wide　circles　for　a　while　descend　again　to　the　

corn。　　These　must　be　larks；　but　their　notes　are　not　powerful　enough　

to　reach　me；　though　they　would　were　it　not　for　the　song　in　the　

hedges；　the　hum　of　innumerable　insects；　and　the　ceaseless　〃crake；　

crake〃　of　landrails。　　There　are　at　least　two　landrails　in　the　

mowing…grass；　one　of　them　just　now　seemed　coming　straight　towards　

the　apple　tree；　and　I　expected　in　a　minute　to　see　the　grass　move；　

when　the　bird　turned　aside　and　entered　the　tufts　and　wild　parsley　

by　the　hedge。　　Thence　the　call　has　come　without　a　moment's　pause；　

〃crake；　crake；〃　till　the　thick　hedge　seems　filled　with　it。　　Tits　

have　visited　the　apple　tree　over　my　head；　a　wren　has　sung　in　the　

willow；　or　rather　on　a　dead　branch　projecting　lower　down　than　the　

leafy　boughs；　and　a　robin　across　under　the　elms　in　the　opposite　

hedge。　　Elms　are　a　favourite　tree　of　robins　…　not　the　upper　

branches；　but　those　that　grow　down　the　trunk；　and　are　the　first　to　

have　leaves　in　spring。



The　yellowhammer　is　the　most　persistent　individually；　but　I　think　

the　blackbirds　when　listened　to　are　the　masters　of　the　fields。　　

Before　one　can　finish；　another　begins；　like　the　summer　ripples　

succeeding　behind　each　other；　so　that　the　melodious　sound　merely　

changes　its　position。　　Now　here；　now　in　the　corner；　then　across　the　

field；　again　in　the　distant　copse；　where　it　seems　about　to　sink；　

when　it　rises　again　almost　at　hand。　　Like　a　great　human　artist；　the　

blackbird　makes　no　effort；　being　fully　conscious　that　his　liquid　

tone　cannot　be　matched。　　He　utters　a　few　delicious　notes；　and　

carelessly　quits　the　green　stage　of　the　oak　till　it　pleases　him　to　

sing　again。　　Without　the　blackbird；　in　whose　throat　the　sweetness　

of　the　green　fields　dwells；　the　days　would　be　only　partly　summer。　　

Without　the　violet；　all　the　bluebells　and　cowslips　could　not　make　a　

spring；　and　without　the　blackbird；　even　the　nightingale　would　be　

but　half　welcome。　　It　is　not　yet　noon；　these　songs　have　been　

ceaseless　since　dawn；　this　evening；　after　the　yellowhammer　has　sung　

the　sun　down；　when　the　moon　rises　and　the　faint　stars　appear；　still　

the　cuckoo　will　call；　and　the　grasshopper　lark；　the　landrail's　

〃crake；　crake〃　will　echo　from　the　mound；　a　warbler　or　a　blackcap　

will　utter　his　notes；　and　even　at　the　darkest　of　the　summer　night　

the　swallows　will　hardly　sleep　in　their　nests。　　As　the　morning　sky　

grows　blue；　an　hour　before　the　sun；　up　will　rise　the　larks；　singing　

and　audible　now；　the　cuckoo　will　recommence；　and　the　swallows　will　

start　again　on　their　tireless　journey。　　So　that　the　songs　of　the　

summer　birds　are　as　ceaseless　as　the　sound　of　the　waterfall　which　

plays　day　and　night。



I　cannot　leave　it；　I　must　stay　under　the　old　tree　in　the　midst　of　

the　long　grass；　the　luxury　of　the　leaves；　and　the　song　in　the　very　

air。　　I　seem　as　if　I　could　feel　all　the　glowing　life　the　sunshine　

gives　and　the　south　wind　calls　to　being。　　The　endless　grass；　the　

endless　leaves；　the　immense　strength　of　the　oak　expanding；　the　

unalloyed　joy　of　finch　and　blackbird；　from　all　of　them　I　receive　a　

little。　　Each　gives　me　something　of　the　pure　joy　they　gather　for　

themselves。　　In　the　blackbird's　melody　one　note　is　mine；　in　the　

dance　of　the　leaf　shadows　the　formed　maze　is　for　me；　though　the　

motion　is　theirs；　the　flowers　with　a　thousand　faces　have　collected　

the　kisses　of　the　morning。　　Feeling　with　them；　I　receive　some；　at　

least；　of　their　fulness　of　life。　　Never　could　I　have　enough；　never　

stay　long　enough　…　whether　here　or　whether　lying　on　the　shorter　

sward　under　the　sweeping　and　graceful　birches；　or　on　the　thyme…

scented　hills。　　Hour　after　hour；　and　still　not　enough。　　Or　walking　

the　footpath　was　never　long　enough；　or　my　strength　sufficient　to　

endure　till　the　mind　was　weary。　　The　exceeding　beauty　of　the　earth；　

in　her　splendour　of　life；　yields　a　new　thought　with　every　petal。　　

The　hours　when　the　mind　is　absorbed　by　beauty　are　the　only　hours　

when　we　really　live；　so　that　the　longer　we　can　stay　among　these　

things　so　much　the　more　is　snatched　from　inevitable　Time。　　Let　the　

shadow　advance　upon　the　dial　…　I　can　watch　it　with　equanimity　while　

it　is　there　to　be　watched。　　It　is　only　when　the　shadow　is　NOT　

there；　when　the　clouds　of　winter　cover　it；　that　the　dial　is　

terrible。　　The　invisible　shadow　goes　on　and　steals　from　us。　　But