第二十三周英文朗读打卡 Night 夜-Nathaniel Hawthorne

Night

Nighthas fallen over the country. Through the trees rises the red moon, and thestars are scarcely seen. In the vast shadow of night the coolnessand the dews descend. I sit at the open window to enjoy them；andhear only the voice of the summer wind. Like black hulks, the shadows of thegreat trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass. Icannot see the red and blue flowers, but I know that they are there.

Faraway in the meadow gleams the silver Charles. The tramp of horses’hoofs soundsfrom the wooden bridge. Then all is still save the continuous wind of thesummer night. Sometimes I know not if it be the wind or the sound of theneighboring sea. The village clock strikes；andI feel that I am not alone.

Howdifferent it is in the city! It is late, and the crowd is gone. You step outupon the balcony, and lie in the very bosom of the cool, dewy night as if youfolded her garments about you. Beneath lies the public walk with trees, like afathomless, black gulf, into whose silent darkness the spirit plunges, andfloats away with some beloved spirit clasped in its embrace. The lamps arestill burning up and down the long street.

Peoplego by with grotesque shadows, now foreshortened, and now lengthening away intothe darkness and vanishing, while a new one springs up behind the walker, andseems to pass him revolving like the sailof a windmill. The iron gates of the park shut with a jangling clang.

Thereare footsteps and loud voices；— a tumult；— a drunken brawl；— an alarm of fire； — then silence a- gain. And now at length the cityis asleep, and we can see the night. The belated moon looks over therooftops and finds no one to welcome her. The moonlight is broken. Itlies here and there in the squares, and the opening of the streets  — angular like blocks of white marble.