瓦爾登湖:The Ponds9

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　　Nevertheless， of all the characters I have known， perhaps Walden wears best， and best preserves its purity. Many men have been likened to it， but few deserve that honor. Though the woodchoppers have laid bare first this shore and then that， and the Irish have built their sties by it， and the railroad has infringed on its border， and the ice-men have skimmed it once， it is itself unchanged， the same water which my youthful eyes fell on； all the change is in me. It has not acquired one permanent wrinkle after all its ripples. It is perennially young， and I may stand and see a swallow dip apparently to pick an insect from its surface as of yore. It struck me again tonight， as if I had not seen it almost daily for more than twenty years ―― Why， here is Walden， the same woodland lake that I discovered so many years ago； where a forest was cut down last winter another is springing up by its shore as lustily as ever； the same thought is welling up to its surface that was then； it is the same liquid joy and happiness to itself and its Maker， ay， and it may be to me. It is the work of a brave man surely， in whom there was no guile！ He rounded this water with his hand， deepened and clarified it in his thought， and in his will bequeathed it to Concord. I see by its face that it is visited by the same reflection； and I can almost say， Walden， is it you？

　　It is no dream of mine，

　　To ornament a line；

　　I cannot come nearer to God and Heaven

　　Than I live to Walden even.

　　I am its stony shore，

　　And the breeze that passes o'er；

　　In the hollow of my hand

　　Are its water and its sand，

　　And its deepest resort

　　Lies high in my thought.

　　The cars never pause to look at it； yet I fancy that the engineers and firemen and brakemen， and those passengers who have a season ticket and see it often， are better men for the sight. The engineer does not forget at night， or his nature does not， that he has beheld this vision of serenity and purity once at least during the day. Though seen but once， it helps to wash out State Street and the engine's soot. One proposes that it be called "God's Drop."

　　I have said that Walden has no visible inlet nor outlet， but it is on the one hand distantly and indirectly related to Flint's Pond，which is more elevated， by a chain of small ponds coming from that quarter， and on the other directly and manifestly to Concord River，which is lower， by a similar chain of ponds through which in some other geological period it may have flowed， and by a little digging，which God forbid， it can be made to flow thither again. If by living thus reserved and austere， like a hermit in the woods， so long， it has acquired such wonderful purity， who would not regret that the comparatively impure waters of Flint's Pond should be mingled with it， or itself should ever go to waste its sweetness in the ocean wave？

　　Flint's， or Sandy Pond， in Lincoln， our greatest lake and inland sea， lies about a mile east of Walden. It is much larger， being said to contain one hundred and ninety-seven acres， and is more fertile in fish； but it is comparatively shallow， and not remarkably pure. A walk through the woods thither was often my recreation. It was worth the while， if only to feel the wind blow on your cheek freely， and see the waves run， and remember the life of mariners. I went a-chestnutting there in the fall， on windy days， when the nuts were dropping into the water and were washed to my feet； and one day， as I crept along its sedgy shore， the fresh spray blowing in my face， I came upon the mouldering wreck of a boat， the sides gone，and hardly more than the impression of its flat bottom left amid the rushes； yet its model was sharply defined， as if it were a large decayed pad， with its veins. It was as impressive a wreck as one could imagine on the seashore， and had as good a moral. It is by this time mere vegetable mould and undistinguishable pond shore，through which rushes and flags have pushed up. I used to admire the ripple marks on the sandy bottom， at the north end of this pond，made firm and hard to the feet of the wader by the pressure of the water， and the rushes which grew in Indian file， in waving lines，corresponding to these marks， rank behind rank， as if the waves had planted them. There also I have found， in considerable quantities，curious balls， composed apparently of fine grass or roots， of pipewort perhaps， from half an inch to four inches in diameter， and perfectly spherical. These wash back and forth in shallow water on a sandy bottom， and are sometimes cast on the shore. They are either solid grass， or have a little sand in the middle. At first you would say that they were formed by the action of the waves， like a pebble； yet the smallest are made of equally coarse materials，half an inch long， and they are produced only at one season of the year. Moreover， the waves， I suspect， do not so much construct as wear down a material which has already acquired consistency. They preserve their form when dry for an indefinite period.

　　然而，據我們知道的一些角色中，也許只有瓦爾登堅持得最久，最久地保持了它的純潔。許多人都曾經被譬喻為瓦爾登湖，但只有少數幾個人能受之無愧。雖然伐木的人已經把湖岸這一段和那一段的樹木先后砍光了，愛爾蘭人也已經在那兒建造了他們的陋室，鐵路線已經侵入了它的邊境，冰藏商人已經取過它一次冰，它本身卻沒有變化，還是我在青春時代所見的湖水；我反倒變了。它雖然有那么多的漣漪，卻并沒有一條永久性的皺紋。它永遠年輕，我還可以站在那兒，看到一只飛燕但然撲下，從水面銜走一條小蟲，正和從前一樣。今兒晚上，這感情又來襲擊我了，仿佛二十多年來我并沒有幾乎每天都和它在一起廝混過一樣，――啊，這是瓦爾登，還是我許多年之前發現的那個林中湖泊；這兒，去年冬天被砍伐了一個森林，另一座林子已經跳躍了起來，在湖邊依舊奢麗地生長；同樣的思潮，跟那時候一樣，又涌上來了；還是同樣水露露的歡樂，內在的喜悅，創造者的喜悅，是的，這可能是我的喜悅。這湖當然是一個大勇者的作品，其中毫無一絲一毫的虛偽！他用他的手圍起了這一泓湖水，在他的思想中，予以深化，予以澄清，并在他的遺囑中，把它傳給了康科德。我從它的水面上又看到了同樣的倒影，我幾乎要說了，瓦爾登，是你嗎？

　　這不是我的夢，用于裝飾一行詩；我不能更接近上帝和天堂甚于我之生活在瓦爾登。

　　我是它的圓石岸，瓢拂而過的風；在我掌中的一握，是它的水，它的沙，而它的最深邃僻隱處高高躺在我的思想中。

　　火車從來不停下來欣賞湖光山色；然而我想那些司機，火夫，制動手和那些買了月票的旅客，常看到它，多少是會欣賞這些景色的。司機并沒有在夜里忘掉它，或者說他的天性并沒有忘掉它，白天他至少有一次瞥見這莊嚴、純潔的景色。就算他看到的只有一瞥，這卻已經可以洗凈國務街和那引擎上的油膩了。有人建議過，這湖可以稱為“神的一滴”。

　　我說過，瓦爾登湖是看不見它的來龍去脈的，但一面它與莽靈特湖遠遠地、間接地相連，

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瓦爾登湖:The Ponds9