Baker Farm
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中
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oCellinitellsusinhismemoirs,that,afteracertainterribledreamorvisionwhichhehadduringhisconfinementinthecastleofSt.Angelo,aresplendentlightappearedovertheshadowofhisheadatmorningandevening,whetherhewasinItalyorFrance,anditwasparticularlyconspicuouswhenthegrasswasmoistwithdew.ThiswasprobablythesamephenomenontowhichIhavereferred,whichisespeciallyobservedinthemorning,butalsoatothertimes,andevenbymoonlight.Thoughaconstantone,itisnotcommonlynoticed,and,inthecaseofanexcitableimaginationlikeCellini’s,itwouldbebasisenoughforsuperstition.Beside,hetellsusthatheshowedittoveryfew.Butaretheynotindeeddistinguishedwhoareconsciousthattheyareregardedatall?
Isetoutoneafternoontogoa-fishingtoFair-Haven,throughthewoods,toekeoutmyscantyfareofvegetables.MywayledthroughPleasantMeadow,anadjunctoftheBakerFarm,thatretreatofwhichapoethassincesung,beginning,—
“Thyentryisapleasantfield,
Whichsomemossyfruittreesyield
Partlytoaruddybrook,
Byglidingmusquashundertook,
Andmercurialtrout,
Dartingabout.”
IthoughtoflivingtherebeforeIwenttoWalden.I“hooked”theapples,leapedthebrook,andscaredthemusquashandthetrout.Itwasoneofthoseafternoonswhichseemindefinitelylongbeforeone,inwhichmanyeventsmayhappen,alargeportionofournaturallife,thoughitwasalreadyhalfspentwhenIstarted.Bythewaytherecameupashower,whichcompelledmetostandhalfanhourunderapine,pilingboughsovermyhead,andwearingmyhandkerchiefforashedandwhenatlengthIhadmadeonecastoverthepickerel-weed,standinguptomymiddleinwater,Ifoundmyselfsuddenlyintheshadowofacloud,andthethunderbegantorumblewithsuchemphasisthatIcoulddonomorethanlistentoit.Thegodsmustbeproud,thoughtI,withsuchforkedflashestoroutapoorunarmedfisherman.SoImadehasteforsheltertothenearesthut,whichstoodhalfamilefromanyroad,butsomuchthenearertothepond,andhadlongbeenuninhabited:—
“Andhereapoetbuilded,
Inthecompletedyears,
Forbeholdatrivialcabin
Thattodestructionsteers.”
SotheMusefables.Buttherein,asIfound,dweltnowJohnField,anIrishman,andhiswife,andseveralchildren,fromthebroad-facedboywhoassistedhisfatherathiswork,andnowcamerunningbyhissidefromthebogtoescapetherain,tothewrinkled,sibyl-like,cone-headedinfantthatsatuponitsfather’skneeasinthepalacesofnobles,andlookedoutfromitshomeinthemidstofwetandhungerinquisitivelyuponthestranger,withtheprivilegeofinfancy,notkno