英語聽書《白鯨記》 第2期

00:00

00:00

MP3下載 文本下載

https://online2.tingclass.net/lesson/shi0529/0009/9734/2.mp3

https://image.tingclass.net/statics/js/2012

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind howlong precisely—having little or no money in mypurse,

and nothing particular to interest me on shore,

I thought I would sail about a little and see thewatery part of the world.

It is a way I have of driving off the spleen andregulating the circulation.

Whenever I find myself growing grim about themouth; whenever it is a damp,

drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffinwarehouses,

and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get suchan upper hand of me,

that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into thestreet,

and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soonas I can.

This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himselfupon his sword;

I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this.

If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree,

some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles bycoral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf.

Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery,

where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes,

which a few hours previous were out of sight of land.

Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.

Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon.

Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence,

by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town,

stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries.

Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over thebulwarks of ships from China;

some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are alllandsmen;

of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched todesks.

How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?

But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for adive.

Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under theshady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice.

No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there theystand—miles of them—leagues.

Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues—north, east, south, andwest.

Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses ofall those ships attract them thither?

Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes.

Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale,

and leaves you there by a pool in the stream.

There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs,

set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region.