瓦尔登湖:Spring5
The first sparrow of spring！ The year beginning with younger hope than ever！ The faint silvery warblings heard over the partially bare and moist fields from the bluebird， the song sparrow，and the red-wing， as if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell！ What at such a time are histories， chronologies， traditions，and all written revelations？ The brooks sing carols and glees to the spring. The marsh hawk， sailing low over the meadow， is already seeking the first slimy life that awakes. The sinking sound of melting snow is heard in all dells， and the ice dissolves apace in the ponds. The grass flames up on the hillsides like a spring fire―― "et primitus oritur herba imbribus primoribus evocata" ―― as if the earth sent forth an inward heat to greet the returning sun； not yellow but green is the color of its flame； ―― the symbol of perpetual youth， the grass-blade， like a long green ribbon， streams from the sod into the summer， checked indeed by the frost， but anon pushing on again， lifting its spear of last year's hay with the fresh life below. It grows as steadily as the rill oozes out of the ground. It is almost identical with that， for in the growing days of June， when the rills are dry， the grass-blades are their channels， and from year to year the herds drink at this perennial green stream， and the mower draws from it betimes their winter supply. So our human life but dies down to its root， and still puts forth its green blade to eternity.
Walden is melting apace. There is a canal two rods wide along the northerly and westerly sides， and wider still at the east end. A great field of ice has cracked off from the main body. I hear a song sparrow singing from the bushes on the shore ―― olit， olit，olit ―― chip， chip， chip， che char ―― che wiss， wiss， wiss. He too is helping to crack it. How handsome the great sweeping curves in the edge of the ice， answering somewhat to those of the shore， but more regular！ It is unusually hard， owing to the recent severe but transient cold， and all watered or waved like a palace floor. But the wind slides eastward over its opaque surface in vain， till it reaches the living surface beyond. It is glorious to behold this ribbon of water sparkling in the sun， the bare face of the pond full of glee and youth， as if it spoke the joy of the fishes within it，and of the sands on its shore ―― a silvery sheen as from the scales of a leuciscus， as it were all one active fish. Such is the contrast between winter and spring. Walden was dead and is alive again. But this spring it broke up more steadily， as I have said.
The change from storm and winter to serene and mild weather，from dark and sluggish hours to bright and elastic ones， is a memorable crisis which all things proclaim. It is seemingly instantaneous at last. Suddenly an influx of light filled my house，though the evening was at hand， and the clouds of winter still overhung it， and the eaves were dripping with sleety rain. I looked out the window， and lo！ where yesterday was cold gray ice there lay the transparent pond already calm and full of hope as in a summer evening， reflecting a summer evening sky in its bosom， though none was visible overhead， as if it had intelligence with some remote horizon. I heard a robin in the distance， the first I had heard for many a thousand years， methought， whose note I shall not forget for many a thousand more ―― the same sweet and powerful song as of yore. O the evening robin， at the end of a New England summer day！ If I could ever find the twig he sits upon！ I mean he； I mean the twig. This at least is not the Turdus migratorius. The pitch pines and shrub oaks about my house， which had so long drooped， suddenly resumed their several characters， looked brighter， greener， and more erect and alive， as if effectually cleansed and restored by the rain. I knew that it would not rain any more. You may tell by looking at any twig of the forest， ay， at your very wood-pile，whether its winter is past or not. As it grew darker， I was startled by the honking of geese flying low over the woods， like weary travellers getting in late from Southern lakes， and indulging at last in unrestrained complaint and mutual consolation. Standing at my door， I could bear the rush of their wings； when， driving toward my house， they suddenly spied my light， and with hushed clamor wheeled and settled in the pond. So I came in， and shut the door， and passed my first spring night in the woods.
春天的第一只麻雀！这一年又在从来没有这样年轻的希望之中开始了！最初听到很微弱的银色的啁啾之声传过了一部分还光秃秃的，润湿的田野，那是发自青鸟、篱雀和红翼鸫的，仿佛冬天的最后的雪花在叮当地飘落！在这样的一个时候，历史、编年纪、传说，一切启示的文字又算得了什么！小溪向春天唱赞美诗和四部曲。沼泽上的鹰隼低低地飞翔地草地上，已经在寻觅那初醒的脆弱的生物了。在所有的谷中，听得到溶雪的滴答之声，而湖上的冰在迅速地溶化。小草像春火在山腰燃烧起来了，――“et primi tus oritur herba imbribus primoribus evo-cata，”――好像大地送上了一个内在的热力来迎候太阳的归来；而火焰的颜色，不是黄的，是绿的，――永远的青春的象征，那草叶，像一根长长的绿色缎带，从草地上流出来流向夏季。是的，它给霜雪阻拦过，可是它不久又在向前推进，举起了去年的干草的长茎，让新的生命从下面升起来。它像小泉源的水从地下淙淙的冒出来一样。它与小溪几乎是一体的，因为在六月那些长日之中，小溪已经干涸了，这些草叶成了它的小道，多少个年代来，牛羊从这永恒的青色的溪流上饮水，到了时候，刈草的人把它们割去供给冬天的需要。我们人类的生命即使绝灭，只是绝灭不了根，那根上仍能茁生绿色的草叶，至于永恒。
瓦尔登湖迅速地溶冰了。靠北，靠西有一道两杆阔的运河，流到了东西更阔。一大部分的冰从它的主体上裂开了。我听到一只篱雀在岸上灌木林中唱着，――欧利，欧利，欧利，――吉泼，吉泼，吉泼，诧，却尔，――诧，维斯，维斯，维斯。它也在帮忙破裂冰块，冰块边沿的那样巨大的曲线是何等的潇洒，跟湖岸多少有着呼应，可是要规则得多了！这是出奇的坚硬，因为最近曾有一度短短的严寒时期，冰上都有着波纹，真像一个皇宫的地板。可是风徒然向东拂过它不透光的表面，直到吹皱那远处活的水波。看这缎带似的水在阳光底下闪耀，真是太光辉灿烂了，湖的颜容上充满了快活和青春，似乎它也说明了游鱼之乐，以及湖岸上的细沙的欢恰。这是银色的够鱼鱼鳞上的光辉，整个湖仿佛是一条活跃的鱼。冬天和春天的对比就是这样。瓦尔登死而复生了。可是我已经说过，这一个春天湖开冻得更为从容不迫。
从暴风雪和冬天转换到晴朗而柔和的天气，从黑暗而迟缓的时辰转换到光亮和富于弹性的时刻，这种转化是一切事物都在宣告着的很值得纪念的重大转变。最后它似乎是突如其来的。突然，注入的光明充满了我的屋子，虽然那时已将近黄昏了，而且冬天的灰云还布满天空，雨雪之后的水珠还从檐上落下来。我从窗口望出去，瞧！昨天还是灰色的寒冰的地方，横陈着湖的透明的皓体，已经像一个夏日的傍晚似的平静，充满了希望，在它的胸怀上反映了一个夏季的夕阳天，虽然上空还看不到这样的云彩，但是它仿佛已经和一个远远的天空心心相印了。我听到有一只知更鸟在远处叫，我想，我好像有几千年没有听到它了。虽然它的乐音是再过几千年我也决不会忘记的，――它还是那样甜蜜而有力量，像过去的歌声一样。啊，黄昏的知更乌，在新英格兰的夏日的天空下！
但愿我能找到他栖立的树枝！我指的是他；我说的是那树枝。至少这不是Turdus migra to-rius.我的屋子周围的苍松和矮橡树，垂头丧气已久，突然又恢复了它们的好些个性，看上去更光亮，更苍翠，更挺拔，更生气蓬勃了，好像它们给雨水有效地洗过，复苏了一样。我知道再不会下雨。看看森林中任何一个枝桠，是的，看看你那一堆燃料，你可以知道冬天过去没有。天色渐渐黑下来，我给飞鹅的映声惊起，它们低飞过森林，像疲倦的旅行家，从南方的湖上飞来，到得已经迟了，终于大诉其苦，而且互相安慰着。站在门口，我能听到它们拍翅膀的声音；而向我的屋子方向近来时，突然发现了我的灯火，喋喋的声浪忽然静下来，它们盘旋而去，停在湖上。于是我回进屋子里，关上门，在森林中度过我的第一个春宵。
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