按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
'What for suld ye believe that； than； Mr。 Ericson？ I wadna believe
sic an ill thing as that。 I dinna think I cud believe 't； gin ye
war to pruv 't to me。'
'I don't believe it。 Nobody could prove that either； even if it
were so。 I am only miserable that I can't prove the contrary。'
'Suppose there war a God； Mr。 Ericson； do ye think ye bude （behoved）
to be able to pruv that？ Do ye think God cud stan' to be pruved as
gin he war something sma' eneuch to be turned roon' and roon'； and
luikit at upo' ilka side？ Gin there war a God； wadna it jist be
saethat we cudna prove him to be； I mean？'
'Perhaps。 That is something。 I have often thought of that。 But
then you can't prove anything about it。'
'I canna help thinkin' o' what Mr。 Innes said to me ance。 I was but
a laddie； but I never forgot it。 I plaguit him sair wi' wantin' to
unnerstan' ilka thing afore I wad gang on wi' my questons （sums）。
Says he； ae day； 〃Robert； my man； gin ye will aye unnerstan' afore
ye du as ye're tellt； ye'll never unnerstan' onything。 But gin ye
du the thing I tell ye； ye'll be i' the mids o' 't afore ye ken 'at
ye're gaein' intil 't。〃 I jist thocht I wad try him。 It was at
lang division that I boglet maist。 Weel； I gaed on； and I cud du
the thing weel eneuch； ohn made ae mistak。 And aye I thocht the
maister was wrang； for I never kent the rizzon o' a' that beginnin'
at the wrang en'； an' takin' doon an' substrackin'； an' a' that。 Ye
wad hardly believe me； Mr。 Ericson： it was only this verra day； as I
was sittin' i' the kirkit was a lang psalm they war singin'that
ane wi' the foxes i' the tail o' 'tlang division came into my heid
again； and first aye bit glimmerin' o' licht cam in； and syne
anither； an' afore the psalm was dune I saw throu' the haill process
o' 't。 But ye see； gin I hadna dune as I was tauld； and learnt a'
aboot hoo it was dune aforehan'； I wad hae had naething to gang
rizzonin' aboot； an' wad hae fun' oot naething。'
'That's good； Robert。 But when a man is dying for food； he can't
wait。'
'He micht try to get up and luik； though。 He needna bide in 's bed
till somebody comes an' sweirs till him 'at he saw a haddie
（haddock） i' the press。'
'I have been looking； Robertfor years。'
'Maybe； like me； only for the rizzon o' 't； Mr。 Ericsongin ye'll
forgie my impidence。'
'But what's to be done in this case； Robert？ Where's the work that
you can do in order to understand？ Where's your long division；
man？'
'Ye're ayont me noo。 I canna tell that； Mr。 Ericson。 It canna be
gaein' to the kirk； surely。 Maybe it micht be sayin' yer prayers
and readin' yer Bible。'
Ericson did not reply； and the conversation dropped。 Is it strange
that neither of these disciples should have thought of turning to
the story of Jesus； finding some word that he had spoken； and
beginning to do that as a first step towards a knowledge of the
doctrine that Jesus was the incarnate God； come to visit his
peoplea very unlikely thing to man's wisdom； yet an idea that has
notwithstanding ascended above man's horizon； and shown itself the
grandest idea in his firmament？
In the evening Ericson asked again for his papers； from which he
handed Robert the following poem：
WORDS IN THE NIGHT。
I woke at midnight； and my heart；
My beating heart said this to me：
Thou seest the moon how calm and bright
The world is fair by day and night；
But what is that to thee？
One touch to medown dips the light
Over the land and sea。
All is mine； all is my own！
Toss the purple fountain high！
The breast of man is a vat of stone；
I am alive； I； only I！
One little touch and all is dark；
The winter with its sparkling moons
The spring with all her violets；
The crimson dawns and rich sunsets；
The autumn's yellowing noons。
I only toss my purple jets；
And thou art one that swoons
Upon a night of gust and roar；
Shipwrecked among the waves； and seems
Across the purple hills to roam；
Sweet odours touch him from the foam；
And downward sinking still he dreams
He walks the clover field at home；
And hears the rattling teams。
All is mine； all is my own！
Toss the purple fountain high！
The breast of man is a vat of stone；
I am alive； I； only I！
Thou hast beheld a throated fountain spout
Full in the air； and in the downward spray
A hovering Iris span the marble tank；
Which as the wind came； ever rose and sank
Violet and red； so my continual play
Makes beauty for the Gods with many a prank
Of human excellence； while they；
Weary of all the noon； in shadows sweet
Supine and heavy…eyed rest in the boundless heat：
Let the world's fountain play！
Beauty is pleasant in the eyes of Jove；
Betwixt the wavering shadows where he lies
He marks the dancing column with his eyes
Celestial； and amid his inmost grove
Upgathers all his limbs； serenely blest；
Lulled by the mellow noise of the great world's unrest。
One heart beats in all nature； differing
But in the work it works； its doubts and clamours
Are but the waste and brunt of instruments
Wherewith a work is done； or as the hammers
On forge Cyclopean plied beneath the rents
Of lowest Etna； conquering into shape
The hard and scattered ore：
Choose thou narcotics； and the dizzy grape
Outworking passion； lest with horrid crash
Thy life go from thee in a night of pain。
So tutoring thy vision； shall the flash
Of dove white…breasted be to thee no more
Than a white stone heavy upon the plain。
Hark the cock crows loud！
And without； all ghastly and ill；
Like a man uplift in his shroud；
The white white morn is propped on the hill；
And adown from the eaves； pointed and chill；
The icicles 'gin to glitter；
And the birds with a warble short and shrill；
Pass by the chamber…window still
With a quick uneasy twitter。
Let me pump warm blood； for the cold is bitter；
And wearily； wearily； one by one；
Men awake with the weary sun。
Life is a phantom shut in thee；
I am the master and keep the key；
So let me toss thee the days of old；
Crimson and orange and green and gold；
So let me fill thee yet again
With a rush of dreams from my spout amain；
For all is mine； all is my own；
Toss the purple fountain high！
The breast of man is a vat of stone；
And I am alive； I； only I。
Robert having read； sat and wept in silence。 Ericson saw him； and
said tenderly；
'Robert； my boy； I'm not always so bad as that。 Read this
onethough I never feel like it now。 Perhaps it may come again
some day； though。 I may once more deceive myself and be happy。'
'Dinna say that； Mr。 Ericson。 That's waur than despair。 That's
flat unbelief。 Ye no more ken that ye're deceivin' yersel' than ye
ken that ye're no doin' 't。'
Ericson did not reply； and Robert read the following sonnet aloud；
feeling his way delicately through its mazes：
Lie down upon the ground； thou hopeless one！
Press thy face in the