the grey brethren(阴郁的教友们)-第5章
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I think of the fathomless depths of the peace of God； fair with flowers
of hope； of still places wrought in man； of mirrors that reflect； in light
uncomprehended； the Image of the Holy Face。
I go home across the common； comforted； towards the little town
where the red roofs lie glimmering in the evening shadows； and the old
grey church stands out clear and distinct against the fading sky。
* * * * *
One of the happiest memories of my childhood is the little brook in the
home field。 I know it was not a very clean little brook … it passed through
an industrious manufacturing world … but to me then this mattered not at
all。
Where it had its source I never found out； it came from a little cave in
the side of the hill； and I remember that one of its banks was always higher
than the other。 I once sought to penetrate the cave； but with sad results in
the shape of bed before dinner and no pudding； such small sympathy have
one's elders with the spirit of research。 Just beyond the cave the brook
was quite a respectable width； … even my big boy cousin fell into mud and
disgrace when he tried to jump it … and there was a gravelly beach； at least
several inches square； where we launched our boats of hollowed elder…
wood。 Soon； however； it narrowed； it could even be stepped over； but it
was still exciting and delightful； with two perilous rapids over which the
boats had to be guided； and many boulders … for the brook was a brave
stream； and had fashioned its bed in rocky soil。 Further down was our
bridge； one flat stone dragged thither by really herculean efforts。 It was
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unnecessary； but a triumph。 A little below this outcome of our
engineering skill the brook widened again before disappearing under a
flagged tunnel into the neighbouring field。 Here； in the shallows； we
built an aquarium。 It was not altogether successful； because whenever it
rained at all hard the beasts were washed out； but there was always joy in
restocking it。 Under one of the banks close by lived a fat frog for whom
I felt great respect。 We used to sit and gaze at each other in silent
intercourse； until he became bored … I think I never did … and flopped into
the water with a splash。
But it was the brook itself that was my chief and dearest companion。
It chattered and sang to me； and told me of the goblins who lived under the
hill； of fairies dancing on the grass on moonlight nights； and scolding the
pale lilac milk…maids on the banks； and of a sad little old man dressed in
brown； always sad because his dear water…children ran away from him
when they heard the voice of the great river telling them of the calling of
the sea。
It spoke to me of other more wonderful things； not even now to be put
into words； things of the mysteries of a child's imagination； and these
linger still in my life； and will linger； I think； until they are fulfilled。
* * * * *
I have another friend … a Devonshire stream。 I found it in spring
when the fields along its banks were golden with Lent…lilies。 I do not
even know its name； it has its source up among the old grey tors； and
doubtless in its beginning had a hard fight for existence。 When it reaches
the plain it is a good…sized stream； although nowhere navigable。 I do not
think it even turns a mill； it just flows along and waters the flowers。 I
have seen it with my bodily eyes only once； but it has left in my life a
blessing； a picture of blue sky； yellow bells； and clear rippling water … and
whispered secrets not forgotten。
All the Devonshire streams are full of life and strength。 They chatter
cheerily over stones； they toil bravely to shape out their bed。 Some of
them might tell horrible tales of the far…away past； of the worship of the
false god when blood stained the clear waters； tales； too； of feud and
warfare； of grave council and martial gathering； and happy stories of fairy
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and pixy our eyes are too dull to see； and of queer little hillmen with
foreign ways and terror of all human beings。 Their banks are bright with
tormentil； blue with forget…me…not； rich in treasures of starry moss； the
water is clear； cool in the hottest summer … they rise under the shadow of
the everlasting hills； and their goal is the sea。
* * * * *
There are other times when I must leave the clean waters and the good
brown earth； to live； for a while； in London： and there I go on pilgrimage
that I may listen to the river's voice。
I stand sometimes at a wharf where the ships are being unloaded of the
riches of every country； of fruits of labour by my unknown brothers in
strange lands； and the river speaks of citizenship in the great world of God；
wherein all men have place； each man have his own place； and every one
should be neighbour to him who may have need。
I pass on to London Bridge； our Bridge of Sighs。 How many of these
my brethren have sought refuge in the cold grey arms of the river from
something worse than death？ What drove them to this dreadful resting…
place？ What spectre hurried them to the leap？ These things； too； are
my concern； the river says。
Life is very grim in London： it is not painted in the fair； glowing
colours of grass and sky and trees； and shining streams that bring peace。
It is drawn in hard black and white； but the voice of its dark waters must
be heard all the same。
* * * * *
I would not leave my rivers in the shadow。 After all； this life is only
a prelude； a beginning： we pass on to where 〃the rivers and streams
make glad the city of God。〃 But if we will not listen here how shall we
understand hereafter。
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Spring
HARK how the merry daffodils； Fling golden music to the hills！ And
how the hills send echoing down； Through wind…swept turf and moorland
brown； The murmurs of a thousand rills That mock the song…birds' liquid
trills！ The hedge released from Winter's frown Shews jewelled branch and
willow crown； While all the earth with pleasure trills； And 'dances with the
daffodils。'
Out； out； ye flowers！ Up and shout！ Staid Winter's passed and
Spring's about To lead your ranks in joyous rout； To string the hawthorn's
milky pearls； And gild the grass with celandine； To dress the catkins'
tasselled curls； To twist the tendrils of the vine。 She wakes the wind…
flower from her sleep； And lights the woods with April's moon； The
violets lift their heads to peep； The daisies brave the sun at noon。
The gentle wind from out the west Toys with the lilac pretty maids；
Ruffles the meadow's verdant…vest； And rings the bluebells in the glades；
The ash…buds change their sombre suit； The orchards blossom white and
red … Promise of Autumn's riper fruit； When Spring's voluptuousness has
fled。 Awake！ awake； O throstle sweet！ And haste with all your choir to
greet This Queen who comes with wakening feet。
Persephone with grateful eyes Salutes the Sun … 'tis Paradise： Then
hastens down the dewy meads； Past where the herd contented feeds； Past
where the furrows hide the grain； For harvesting of sun and rain； To where
Demeter patient stands With longing lips and outstretched hands； Until the
dawning of one face Across the void of time and space Shall bring again
her day of grace。 Rejoice； O Earth！ Rejoice and sing！ This is the promise
of the Spring； And this the world's remembering。
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A Lark's Song
SWEET； sweet！ I rise to greet The sapphire sky The air slips by On
either side As up I ride On mounting wing； And sing and sing … Then reach
my bliss； The sun's great kiss； And poise a space To see his face； Sweet；
sweet； In radiant grace； Ah； sweet！ ah； sweet！
Sweet； sweet！ Beneath my feet My nestlings call： And down I fall
Unerring； true； Through heaven's blue； And haste to fill Each noisy bill。
My brooding breast Stills their unrest。 Sweet； sweet； Their quick hearts
beat； Safe in the nest： Ah； sweet； sweet； sweet！ Ah； sweet！
Sweet； sweet The calling sky That bids me fly Up … up … on high。
Sweet； sweet The claiming earth； It holds my nest And draws me down To
where Love's crown Of priceless worth Awaits my breast。 Sweet； sweet！
Ah； this is best And this most meet； Sweet； sweet！ ah； sweet！
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'Luvly Miss'
NOBODY thought of consequences。 There was a lighted paraffin
lamp on the table and nothing else handy。 Mrs Brown's head presented a
tempting mark； and of course Mr Brown's lengthy stay at 'The Three
Fingers' had something to do with it； but nobody thought of Miss Brown；
aged four； who was playing happily on the floor； unruffled by the storm to
which she was so well accustomed。
Mrs Brown ducked； there was a smash； a scream； and poor little Miss
Brown was in a blaze。 The shock sobered the father and silenced the
mother。 Miss Brown was extinguished with the aid of a table… cover；
much water； and many neighbours； but she was horribly burnt al
