章节正文
He only was offered three-fourths of the sweep.
`We knew Salamander was slow as a gander,
The mare could have beat him the length of the straight,
And old Manumission was out of condition,
And most of the others were running off weight.
`No doubt someone `blew it', for everyone knew it,
The bets were all gone, and I muttered in spite
`If I can't get a copper, by Jingo, I'll stop her,
Let the public fall in, it will serve the brutes right.'
`I said to the jockey, `Now, listen, my cocky,
You watch as you're cantering down by the stand,
I'll wait where that toff is and give you the office,
You're only to win if I lift up my hand.'
`I then tried to back her -- `What price is the Cracker?'
`Our books are all full, sir,' each bookie did swear;
My mind, then, I made up, my fortune I played up
I bet every shilling against my own mare.
`I strolled to the gateway, the mare in the straightway
Was shifting and dancing, and pawing the ground,
The boy saw me enter and wheeled for his canter,
When a darned great mosquito came buzzing around.
`They breed 'em at Hexham, it's risky to vex 'em,
They suck a man dry at a sitting, no doubt,
But just as the mare passed, he fluttered my hair past,
I lifted my hand, and I flattened him out.
`I was stunned when they started, the mare simply darted
Away to the front when the flag was let fall,
For none there could match her, and none tried to catch her --
She finished a furlong in front of them all.
`You bet that I went for the boy, whom I sent for
The moment he weighed and came out of the stand --
`Who paid you to win it? Come, own up this minute.'
`Lord love yer,' said he, `why you lifted your hand.'
`'Twas true, by St. Peter, that cursed `muskeeter'
Had broke me so broke that I hadn't a brown,
And you'll find the best course is when dealing with horses
To win when you're able, and KEEP YOUR HANDS DOWN.
The Great Calamity
MacFierce'un came to Whiskeyhurst
When summer days were hot,
And bided there wi' Jock McThirst,
A brawny brother Scot.
Gude Faith! They made the whisky fly,
Like Highland chieftains true,
And when they'd drunk the beaker dry
They sang `We are nae fou!'
`There is nae folk like oor ain folk,
Sae gallant and sae true.'
They sang the only Scottish joke
Which is, `We are nae fou.'
Said bold McThirst, `Let Saxons jaw
Aboot their great concerns,
But bonny Scotland beats them a',
The land o' cakes and Burns,
The land o' partridge, deer, and grouse,
Fill up your glass, I beg,
There's muckle whusky i' the house,
Forbye what's in the keg.'
And here a hearty laugh he laughed,
`Just come wi' me, I beg.'
MacFierce'un saw with pleasure daft
A fifty-gallon keg.
`Losh, man, that's grand,' MacFierce'un cried,
`Saw ever man the like,
Now, wi' the daylight, I maun ride
To meet a Southron tyke,
But I'll be back ere summer's gone,
So bide for me, I beg,
We'll make a grand assault upon
Yon deevil of a keg.'
. . . . .
MacFierce'un rode to Whiskeyhurst,
When summer days were gone,
And there he met with Jock McThirst
Was greetin' all alone.
`McThirst what gars ye look sae blank?
Have all yer wits gane daft?
Has that accursed Southron bank
Called up your overdraft?
Is all your grass burnt up wi' drouth?
Is wool and hides gone flat?'
McThirst replied, `Gude friend, in truth,
'Tis muckle waur than that.'
`Has sair misfortune cursed your life
That you should weep sae free?
Is harm upon your bonny wife,
The children at your knee?
Is scaith upon your house and hame?'
McThirst upraised his head:
`My bairns hae done the deed of shame --
'Twere better they were dead.
`To think my bonny infant son
Should do the deed o' guilt --
HE LET THE WHUSKEY SPIGOT RUN,
AND A' THE WHUSKEY'S SPILT!'
. . . . .
Upon them both these words did bring
A solemn silence deep,
Gude faith, it is a fearsome thing
To see two strong men weep.
Come-by-Chance
As I pondered very weary o'er a volume long and dreary --
For the plot was void of interest -- 'twas the Postal Guide, in fact,
There I learnt the true location, distance, size, and population
Of each township, town, and village in the radius of the Act.
And I learnt that Puckawidgee stands beside the Murrumbidgee,
And that Booleroi and Bumble get their letters twice a year,
Also that the post inspector, when he visited Collector,
Closed the office up instanter, and re-opened Dungalear.
But my languid mood forsook me, when I found a name that took me,
Quite by chance I came across it -- `Come-by-Chance' was what I read;
No location was assigned it, not a thing to help one find it,
Just an N which stood for northward, and the rest was all unsaid.
I shall leave my home, and forthward wander stoutly to the northward
Till I come by chance across it, and I'll straightway settle down,
For there can't be any hurry, nor the slightest cause for worry
Where the telegraph don't reach you nor the railways run to town.
And one's letters and exchanges come by chance across the ranges,
Where a wiry young Australian leads a pack-horse once a week,
And the good news grows by keeping, and you're spared the pain of weeping
Over bad news when the mailman drops the letters in the creek.
But I fear, and more's the pity, that there's really no such city,
For there's not a man can find it of the shrewdest folk I know,
`Come-by-chance', be sure it never means a land of fierce endeavour,
It is just the careless country where the dreamers only go.
. . . . .
Though we work and toil and hustle in our life of haste and bustle,
All that makes our life worth living comes unstriven for and free;
Man may weary and importune, but the ficklegoddess Fortune
Deals him out his pain or pleasure, careless what his worth may be.
All the happy times entrancing, days of sport and nights of dancing,
Moonlit rides and stolen kisses, pouting lips and loving glance:
When you think of these be certain you have looked behind the curtain,
You have had the luck to linger just a while in `Come-by-chance'.
Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred;
Some of the rafters are standing still;
Now they are scattered and lost and dead,
Every one from the old nest fled,
Out of the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Better it is that they ne'er came back --
Changes and chances are quickly rung;
Now the old homestead is gone to rack,
Green is the grass on the well-worn track
Down by the gate where the roses clung.
Gone is the garden they kept with care;
Left to decay at its own sweet will,
Fruit trees and flower beds eaten bare,
Cattle and sheep where the roses were,
Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Where are the children that throve and grew
In the old homestead in days gone by?
One is away on the far Barcoo
Watching his cattle the long year through,
Watching them starve in the droughts and die.
One in the town where all cares are rife,
Weary with troubles that cramp and kill,
Fain would be done with the restless strife,
Fain would go back to the old bush life,
Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
One is away on the roving quest,
Seeking his share of the golden spoil,
Out in the wastes of the trackless west,
Wandering ever he gives the best
Of his years and strength to the hopeless toil.
What of the parents? That unkept mound
Shows where they slumber united still;
Rough is their grave, but they sleep as sound
Out on the range as on holy ground,
Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Jim Carew
Born of a thoroughbred English race,
Well proportioned and closely knit,
Neat of figure and handsome face,
Always ready and always fit,
Hard and wiry of limb and thew,
That was the ne'er-do-well Jim Carew.
One of the sons of the good old land --
Many a year since his like was known;
Never a game but he took command,
Never a sport but he held his own;
Gained at his college a triple blue --
Good as they make them was Jim Carew.
Came to grief -- was it card or horse?
Nobody asked and nobody cared;
Ship him away to the bush of course,
Ne'er-do-well fellows are easily spared;
Only of women a tolerable few
Sorrowed at parting with Jim Carew.
Gentleman Jim on the cattle camp,
Sitting his horse with an easy grace;
But the reckless living has left its stamp
In the deep drawn lines of that handsome face,
And a harder look in those eyes of blue:
Prompt at a quarrel is Jim Carew.
Billy the Lasher was out for gore --
Twelve-stone navvy with chest of hair,
When he opened out with a hungry roar
On a ten-stone man it was hardly fair;
But his wife was wise if his face she knew
By the time you were done with him, Jim Carew.
`We knew Salamander was slow as a gander,
The mare could have beat him the length of the straight,
And old Manumission was out of condition,
And most of the others were running off weight.
`No doubt someone `blew it', for everyone knew it,
The bets were all gone, and I muttered in spite
`If I can't get a copper, by Jingo, I'll stop her,
Let the public fall in, it will serve the brutes right.'
`I said to the jockey, `Now, listen, my cocky,
You watch as you're cantering down by the stand,
I'll wait where that toff is and give you the office,
You're only to win if I lift up my hand.'
`I then tried to back her -- `What price is the Cracker?'
`Our books are all full, sir,' each bookie did swear;
My mind, then, I made up, my fortune I played up
I bet every shilling against my own mare.
`I strolled to the gateway, the mare in the straightway
Was shifting and dancing, and pawing the ground,
The boy saw me enter and wheeled for his canter,
When a darned great mosquito came buzzing around.
`They breed 'em at Hexham, it's risky to vex 'em,
They suck a man dry at a sitting, no doubt,
But just as the mare passed, he fluttered my hair past,
I lifted my hand, and I flattened him out.
`I was stunned when they started, the mare simply darted
Away to the front when the flag was let fall,
For none there could match her, and none tried to catch her --
She finished a furlong in front of them all.
`You bet that I went for the boy, whom I sent for
The moment he weighed and came out of the stand --
`Who paid you to win it? Come, own up this minute.'
`Lord love yer,' said he, `why you lifted your hand.'
`'Twas true, by St. Peter, that cursed `muskeeter'
Had broke me so broke that I hadn't a brown,
And you'll find the best course is when dealing with horses
To win when you're able, and KEEP YOUR HANDS DOWN.
The Great Calamity
MacFierce'un came to Whiskeyhurst
When summer days were hot,
And bided there wi' Jock McThirst,
A brawny brother Scot.
Gude Faith! They made the whisky fly,
Like Highland chieftains true,
And when they'd drunk the beaker dry
They sang `We are nae fou!'
`There is nae folk like oor ain folk,
Sae gallant and sae true.'
They sang the only Scottish joke
Which is, `We are nae fou.'
Said bold McThirst, `Let Saxons jaw
Aboot their great concerns,
But bonny Scotland beats them a',
The land o' cakes and Burns,
The land o' partridge, deer, and grouse,
Fill up your glass, I beg,
There's muckle whusky i' the house,
Forbye what's in the keg.'
And here a hearty laugh he laughed,
`Just come wi' me, I beg.'
MacFierce'un saw with pleasure daft
A fifty-gallon keg.
`Losh, man, that's grand,' MacFierce'un cried,
`Saw ever man the like,
Now, wi' the daylight, I maun ride
To meet a Southron tyke,
But I'll be back ere summer's gone,
So bide for me, I beg,
We'll make a grand assault upon
Yon deevil of a keg.'
. . . . .
MacFierce'un rode to Whiskeyhurst,
When summer days were gone,
And there he met with Jock McThirst
Was greetin' all alone.
`McThirst what gars ye look sae blank?
Have all yer wits gane daft?
Has that accursed Southron bank
Called up your overdraft?
Is all your grass burnt up wi' drouth?
Is wool and hides gone flat?'
McThirst replied, `Gude friend, in truth,
'Tis muckle waur than that.'
`Has sair misfortune cursed your life
That you should weep sae free?
Is harm upon your bonny wife,
The children at your knee?
Is scaith upon your house and hame?'
McThirst upraised his head:
`My bairns hae done the deed of shame --
'Twere better they were dead.
`To think my bonny infant son
Should do the deed o' guilt --
HE LET THE WHUSKEY SPIGOT RUN,
AND A' THE WHUSKEY'S SPILT!'
. . . . .
Upon them both these words did bring
A solemn silence deep,
Gude faith, it is a fearsome thing
To see two strong men weep.
Come-by-Chance
As I pondered very weary o'er a volume long and dreary --
For the plot was void of interest -- 'twas the Postal Guide, in fact,
There I learnt the true location, distance, size, and population
Of each township, town, and village in the radius of the Act.
And I learnt that Puckawidgee stands beside the Murrumbidgee,
And that Booleroi and Bumble get their letters twice a year,
Also that the post inspector, when he visited Collector,
Closed the office up instanter, and re-opened Dungalear.
But my languid mood forsook me, when I found a name that took me,
Quite by chance I came across it -- `Come-by-Chance' was what I read;
No location was assigned it, not a thing to help one find it,
Just an N which stood for northward, and the rest was all unsaid.
I shall leave my home, and forthward wander stoutly to the northward
Till I come by chance across it, and I'll straightway settle down,
For there can't be any hurry, nor the slightest cause for worry
Where the telegraph don't reach you nor the railways run to town.
And one's letters and exchanges come by chance across the ranges,
Where a wiry young Australian leads a pack-horse once a week,
And the good news grows by keeping, and you're spared the pain of weeping
Over bad news when the mailman drops the letters in the creek.
But I fear, and more's the pity, that there's really no such city,
For there's not a man can find it of the shrewdest folk I know,
`Come-by-chance', be sure it never means a land of fierce endeavour,
It is just the careless country where the dreamers only go.
. . . . .
Though we work and toil and hustle in our life of haste and bustle,
All that makes our life worth living comes unstriven for and free;
Man may weary and importune, but the ficklegoddess Fortune
Deals him out his pain or pleasure, careless what his worth may be.
All the happy times entrancing, days of sport and nights of dancing,
Moonlit rides and stolen kisses, pouting lips and loving glance:
When you think of these be certain you have looked behind the curtain,
You have had the luck to linger just a while in `Come-by-chance'.
Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred;
Some of the rafters are standing still;
Now they are scattered and lost and dead,
Every one from the old nest fled,
Out of the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Better it is that they ne'er came back --
Changes and chances are quickly rung;
Now the old homestead is gone to rack,
Green is the grass on the well-worn track
Down by the gate where the roses clung.
Gone is the garden they kept with care;
Left to decay at its own sweet will,
Fruit trees and flower beds eaten bare,
Cattle and sheep where the roses were,
Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Where are the children that throve and grew
In the old homestead in days gone by?
One is away on the far Barcoo
Watching his cattle the long year through,
Watching them starve in the droughts and die.
One in the town where all cares are rife,
Weary with troubles that cramp and kill,
Fain would be done with the restless strife,
Fain would go back to the old bush life,
Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
One is away on the roving quest,
Seeking his share of the golden spoil,
Out in the wastes of the trackless west,
Wandering ever he gives the best
Of his years and strength to the hopeless toil.
What of the parents? That unkept mound
Shows where they slumber united still;
Rough is their grave, but they sleep as sound
Out on the range as on holy ground,
Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Jim Carew
Born of a thoroughbred English race,
Well proportioned and closely knit,
Neat of figure and handsome face,
Always ready and always fit,
Hard and wiry of limb and thew,
That was the ne'er-do-well Jim Carew.
One of the sons of the good old land --
Many a year since his like was known;
Never a game but he took command,
Never a sport but he held his own;
Gained at his college a triple blue --
Good as they make them was Jim Carew.
Came to grief -- was it card or horse?
Nobody asked and nobody cared;
Ship him away to the bush of course,
Ne'er-do-well fellows are easily spared;
Only of women a tolerable few
Sorrowed at parting with Jim Carew.
Gentleman Jim on the cattle camp,
Sitting his horse with an easy grace;
But the reckless living has left its stamp
In the deep drawn lines of that handsome face,
And a harder look in those eyes of blue:
Prompt at a quarrel is Jim Carew.
Billy the Lasher was out for gore --
Twelve-stone navvy with chest of hair,
When he opened out with a hungry roar
On a ten-stone man it was hardly fair;
But his wife was wise if his face she knew
By the time you were done with him, Jim Carew.
- running [´rʌniŋ]
a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词) - everyone [´evriwʌn] pron.=everybody 每人 (初中英语单词)
- copper [´kɔpə] n.铜 a.铜制的 (初中英语单词)
- mosquito [məs´ki:təu] n.蚊子 (初中英语单词)
- gallant [´gælənt, gə´lænt] a.英勇的；华丽的 (初中英语单词)
- daylight [´deilait] n.日光；黎明 (初中英语单词)
- assault [ə´sɔ:lt] vt.袭击；殴打 n.攻击 (初中英语单词)
- infant [´infənt] n.&a.婴(幼)儿 (初中英语单词)
- solemn [´sɔləm] a.严肃的；隆重的 (初中英语单词)
- volume [´vɔlju:m, ´vɑljəm] n.卷；书籍；体积；容量 (初中英语单词)
- learnt [lə:nt] learn 的过去式(分词) (初中英语单词)
- wander [´wɔndə, ´wɑ:n:dər] v.徘徊；流浪 (初中英语单词)
- telegraph [´teligrɑ:f] n.&v.(打)电报；电告 (初中英语单词)
- fierce [fiəs] a.残忍的；强烈的 (初中英语单词)
- careless [´keəlis] a.粗心的；草率的 (初中英语单词)
- goddess [´gɔdis] n.女神 (初中英语单词)
- stolen [´stəulən] steal 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- linger [´liŋgə] v.逗留；留恋；拖延 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- starve [stɑ:v] v.(使)饥饿 (初中英语单词)
- restless [´restləs] a.没有休息的 (初中英语单词)
- slumber [´slʌmbə] v.&n.睡眠；沉睡状态 (初中英语单词)
- shilling [´ʃiliŋ] n.先令 (高中英语单词)
- gateway [´geit-wei] n.入口；通道；途径 (高中英语单词)
- dealing [´di:liŋ] n.交易；来往 (高中英语单词)
- highland [´hailənd] n.山地，高地 (高中英语单词)
- partridge [´pɑ:tridʒ] n.鹧鸪；石鸡 (高中英语单词)
- hearty [´hɑ:ti] a.热忱的；强健的 (高中英语单词)
- misfortune [mis´fɔ:tʃən] n.不幸；灾祸 (高中英语单词)
- dreary [´driəri] a.阴郁的；枯燥无味的 (高中英语单词)
- postal [´pəustl] a.邮政的 n.明信片 (高中英语单词)
- location [ləu´keiʃən] n.定位；位置；地方 (高中英语单词)
- inspector [in´spektə] n.检查员；监察员 (高中英语单词)
- northward [´nɔ:θwəd] ad.&a.向北(的) n.北 (高中英语单词)
- straightway [´streitwei] ad.立刻 (高中英语单词)
- loving [´lʌviŋ] a.爱的，有爱情的 (高中英语单词)
- hopeless [´həupləs] a.无望的，无可救药的 (高中英语单词)
- reckless [´rekləs] a.不注意的；鲁莽的 (高中英语单词)
- scottish [´skɔtiʃ, ´skɑtiʃ] a.&n.苏格兰人(的) (英语四级单词)
- accursed [ə´kə:sid] a.被诅咒的；可憎的 (英语四级单词)
- township [´taunʃip] n.乡；区 (英语四级单词)
- hustle [´hʌsəl] v.猛挤；催促 n.乱堆 (英语四级单词)
- homestead [´həumsted] n.家宅，宅基 (英语四级单词)
- parting [´pɑ:tiŋ] a.&n.分离(的) (英语四级单词)
- radius [´reidiəs] n.辐射光线；半径范围 (英语六级单词)
- languid [´læŋgwid] a.精神不振的 (英语六级单词)
- forsook [fə´suk] forsake的过去式 (英语六级单词)
- fickle [´fikəl] a.轻浮的；多变的 (英语六级单词)
- triple [´tripəl] a.三倍的v.增加到三倍 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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