瓦尔登湖:Baker Farm3

　　"Do you ever fish？" I asked.  "Oh yes， I catch a mess now and then when I am lying by； good perch I catch. ―― "What's your bait？" "I catch shiners with fishworms， and bait the perch with them." "You'd better go now， John，" said his wife， with glistening and hopeful face； but John demurred.

　　The shower was now over， and a rainbow above the eastern woods promised a fair evening； so I took my departure.  When I had got without I asked for a drink， hoping to get a sight of the well bottom， to complete my survey of the premises； but there， alas！ are shallows and quicksands， and rope broken withal， and bucket irrecoverable.  Meanwhile the right culinary vessel was selected，water was seemingly distilled， and after consultation and long delay passed out to the thirsty one ―― not yet suffered to cool， not yet to settle.  Such gruel sustains life here， I thought； so， shutting my eyes， and excluding the motes by a skilfully directed undercurrent， I drank to genuine hospitality the heartiest draught I could.  I am not squeamish in such cases when manners are concerned.

　　As I was leaving the Irishman's roof after the rain， bending my steps again to the pond， my haste to catch pickerel， wading in retired meadows， in sloughs and bog-holes， in forlorn and savage places， appeared for an instant trivial to me who had been sent to school and college； but as I ran down the hill toward the reddening west， with the rainbow over my shoulder， and some faint tinkling sounds borne to my ear through the cleansed air， from I know not what quarter， my Good Genius seemed to say ―― Go fish and hunt far and wide day by day ―― farther and wider ―― and rest thee by many brooks and hearth-sides without misgiving.  Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth.  Rise free from care before the dawn， and seek adventures.  Let the noon find thee by other lakes， and the night overtake thee everywhere at home.  There are no larger fields than these， no worthier games than may here be played.  Grow wild according to thy nature， like these sedges and brakes， which will never become English bay.  Let the thunder rumble； what if it threaten ruin to farmers' crops？  That is not its errand to thee. Take shelter under the cloud， while they flee to carts and sheds. Let not to get a living be thy trade， but thy sport.  Enjoy the land， but own it not.  Through want of enterprise and faith men are where they are， buying and selling， and spending their lives like serfs.

　　O Baker Farm！

　　"Landscape where the richest element Is a little sunshine innocent." ……

　　"No one runs to revel On thy rail-fenced lea." ……

　　"Debate with no man hast thou，With questions art never perplexed，As tame at the first sight as now，In thy plain russet gabardine dressed." ……

　　"Come ye who love，And ye who hate，Children of the Holy Dove，And Guy Faux of the state，And hang conspiracies From the tough rafters of the trees！"

　　Men come tamely home at night only from the next field or street， where their household echoes haunt， and their life pines because it breathes its own breath over again； their shadows，morning and evening， reach farther than their daily steps.  We should come home from far， from adventures， and perils， and discoveries every day， with new experience and character.

　　Before I had reached the pond some fresh impulse had brought out John Field， with altered mind， letting go "bogging" ere this sunset. But he， poor man， disturbed only a couple of fins while I was catching a fair string， and he said it was his luck； but when we changed seats in the boat luck changed seats too.  Poor John Field！

　　―― I trust he does not read this， unless he will improve by it ――thinking to live by some derivative old-country mode in this primitive new country ―― to catch perch with shiners.  It is good bait sometimes， I allow.  With his horizon all his own， yet he a poor man， born to be poor， with his inherited Irish poverty or poor life， his Adam's grandmother and boggy ways， not to rise in this world， he nor his posterity， till their wading webbed bog-trotting feet get talaria to their heels.

　　“你钓过鱼吗？”我问。“啊，钓过，有时我休息的时候，在湖边钓过一点，我钓到过很好的鲈鱼。”“你用什么钓饵！”“我用鱼虫钓银鱼，又用银鱼为饵钓鲈鱼。”

　　“你现在可以去了，约翰，”他的妻子容光焕发、满怀希望他说；可是约翰踌躇着。

　　阵雨已经过去了，东面的林上一道长虹，保证有个美好的黄昏；我就起身告辞。出门以后，我又向他们要一杯水喝，希望看一看他们这口井的底奥，完成我这一番调查；可是，唉！井是浅的，尽是流沙，绳子是断的，桶子破得没法修了。这期间，他们把一只厨房用的杯子找了出来，水似乎蒸馏过，几经磋商，拖延再三，最后杯子递到口渴的人的手上，还没凉下来，而且又混浊不堪。我想，是这样的脏水在支持这几条生命；于是，我就很巧妙地把灰尘摇到一旁，闭上眼睛，为了那真诚的好客而干杯，畅饮一番。

　　在牵涉到礼貌问题的时候，我在这类事情上，并不苛求。

　　雨后，当我离开了爱尔兰人的屋子，又跨步到湖边，涉水经过草原上的积水的泥坑和沼泽区的窟窿，经过荒凉的旷野，忽然有一阵子我觉得我急于去捕捉梭鱼的这种心情，对于我这个上过中学、进过大学的人，未免太猥琐了；可是我下了山，向着满天红霞的西方跑，一条长虹挑在我的肩上，微弱的铃声经过了明澈的空气传入我的耳中，我又似乎不知道从哪儿听到了我的守护神在对我说话了，――要天天都远远地出去渔猎，――越远越好，地域越宽广越好，――你就在许多的溪边，许许多多人家的炉边休息，根本不用担心。记住你年轻时候的创造力。黎明之前你就无忧无虑地起来，出发探险去。让正午看到你在另一个湖边。夜来时，到处为家。没有比这里更广大的土地了，也没有比这样做更有价值的游戏了。按照你的天性而狂放地生活，好比那芦苇和羊齿，它们是永远不会变成英吉利干草的啊。让雷霆咆哮，对稼穑有害，这又有什么关系呢？这并不是给你的信息。他们要躲在车下，木屋下，你可以躲在云下。你不要再以手艺为生，应该以游戏为生。只管欣赏大地，可不要想去占有。由于缺少进取心和信心，人们在买进卖出，奴隶一样过着生活哪。

　　呵，倍克田庄！

　　以小小烂漫的阳光为最富丽的大地风光。……

　　牧场上围起了栏杆，没有人会跑去狂欢。……

　　你不曾跟人辩论，也从未为你的疑问所困，初见时就这样驯良，你穿着普通的褐色斜纹。……

　　爱者来，憎者亦来，圣鸽之子，和州里的戈艾。福克斯，把阴谋吊在牢固的树枝上！

　　人们总是夜来驯服地从隔壁的田地或街上，回到家里，他们的家里响着平凡的回音，他们的生命，消蚀于忧愁，因为他们一再呼吸着自己吐出的呼吸；早晨和傍晚，他们的影子比他们每天的脚步到了更远的地方。我们应该从远方，从奇遇、危险和每天的新发现中，带着新经验，新性格而回家来。

　　我还没有到湖边，约翰。斐尔德已在新的冲动下，跑到了湖边，他的思路变了，今天日落以前不再去沼泽工作了。可是他，可怜的人，只钓到一两条鱼，我却钓了一长串，他说这是他的命运；可是，后来我们换了座位，命运也跟着换了位。可怜的约翰。斐尔德！我想他是不会读这一段话的，除非他读了会有进步，――他想在这原始性的新土地上用传统的老方法来生活，――用银鱼来钓鲈鱼。有时，我承认，这是好钓饵。他的地平线完全属于他所有，他却是一个穷人，生来就穷，继承了他那爱尔兰的贫困或者贫困生活，还继承了亚当的老祖母的泥泞的生活方式，他或是他的后裔在这世界上都不能上升，除非他们的长了蹼的陷在泥沼中的脚，穿上了有翼的靴。

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