2019考研MTI双语：《瓦尔登湖》节选四

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    Old Cato, whose "De Re Rustica" is my "Cultivator," says -- and the only
translation I have seen makes sheer nonsense of the passage -- "When you think
of getting a farm turn it thus in your mind, not to buy greedily; nor spare your
pains to look at it, and do not think it enough to go round it once. The oftener
you go there the more it will please you, if it is good." I think I shall not
buy greedily, but go round and round it as long as I live, and be buried in it
first, that it may please me the more at last.
    The present was my next experiment of this kind, which I purpose to
describe more at length, for convenience putting the experience of two years
into one. As I have said, I do not propose to write an ode to dejection, but to
brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to
wake my neighbors up.
    When first I took up my abode in the woods, that is, began to spend my
nights as well as days there, which, by accident, was on Independence Day, or
the Fourth of July, 1845, my house was not finished for winter, but was merely a
defence against the rain, without plastering or chimney, the walls being of
rough, weather-stained boards, with wide chinks, which made it cool at night.
The upright white hewn studs and freshly planed door and window casings gave it
a clean and airy look, especially in the morning, when its timbers were
saturated with dew, so that I fancied that by noon some sweet gum would exude
from them. To my imagination it retained throughout the day more or less of this
auroral character, reminding me of a certain house on a mountain which I had
visited a year before. This was an airy and unplastered cabin, fit to entertain
a travelling god, and where a goddess might trail her garments. The winds which
passed over my dwelling were such as sweep over the ridges of mountains, bearing
the broken strains, or celestial parts only, of terrestrial music. The morning
wind forever blows, the poem of creation is uninterrupted; but few are the ears
that hear it. Olympus is but the outside of the earth everywhere.
    老卡托——他的《乡村篇》是我的“启蒙者”，曾经说过——可惜我见到的那本唯
一的译本把这一段话译得一塌糊涂，——“当你想要买下一个田园的时候，你宁可在脑中多多地想着它，可决不要贪得无厌地买下它，更不要嫌麻烦而再不去看望它，也别以为绕着它兜了一个圈子就够了。如果这是一个好田园，你去的次数越多你就越喜欢它。”我想我是不会贪得无厌地购买它的，我活多久，就去兜多久的圈子，死了之后，首先要葬在那里。这样才能使我终于更加喜欢它。
    目前要写的，是我的这一类实验中其次的一个，我打算更详细地描写描写;而为了便利起见，且把这两年的经验归并为一年。我已经说过，我不预备写一首沮丧的颂歌，可是我要像黎明时站在栖木上的金鸡一样，放声啼叫，即使我这样做只不过是为了唤醒我的邻人罢了。
    我第一天住在森林里，就是说，自天在那里，而且也在那里过夜的那一天，凑巧得很，是一八四五年七月四日，独立日，我的房子没有盖好，过冬还不行，只能勉强避避风雨，没有灰泥墁，没有烟囱，墙壁用的是饱经风雨的粗木板，缝隙很大，所以到晚上很是凉爽。笔直的、砍伐得来的、白色的间柱，新近才刨得平坦的门户和窗框，使屋子具有清洁和通凤的景象，特别在早晨，木料里饱和着露水的时候，总使我幻想到午间大约会有一些甜蜜的树胶从中渗出。这房间在我的想象中，一整天里还将多少保持这个早晨的情调，这使我想起了上一年我曾游览过的一个山顶上的一所房屋，这是一所空气好的、不涂灰泥的房屋，适宜于旅行的神仙在途中居住，那里还适宜于仙女走动，曳裙而过。吹过我的屋脊的风，正如那扫荡山脊而过的风，唱出断断续续的调子来，也许是天上人间的音乐片段。晨风永远在吹，创世纪的诗篇至今还没有中断;可惜听得到它的耳朵太少了。灵山只在大地的外部，处处都是。