第50章

“Couldstthouhavethoughtthereweresuchmerrytimesina

mad-house？”inquiredthelatter。

“True，true。”saidtheladytoherself；“thereismirthwithin

itswalls，butmisery，miserywithout。”

“Wouldstthouhearmore？”demandedtheoldwoman。

“ThereisoneothervoiceIwouldfainlistentoagain。”replied

theladyfaintly。

“Then，laydownthyheadspeedilyuponmyknees，thatthoumayst

gettheehencebeforethehourbepast。”

Thegoldenskirtsofdaywereyetlingeringuponthehills，but

deepshadesobscuredthehollowandthepool，asifsombrenight

wererisingthencetooverspreadtheworld。Againthatevilwoman

begantoweaveherspell。Longdiditproceedunanswered，tillthe

knollingofabellstoleinamongtheintervalsofherwords，likea

clangthathadtravelledfarovervalleyandrisingground，andwas

justreadytodieintheair。Theladyshookuponhercompanion’s

kneesassheheardthatbodingsound。Strongeritgrewandsadder，and

deepenedintothetoneofadeathbell，knollingdolefullyfromsome

ivy-mantledtower，andbearingtidingsofmortalityandwotothe

cottage，tothehall，andtothesolitarywayfarer，thatallmight

weepforthedoomappointedinturntothem。Thencameameasured

tread，passingslowly，slowlyon，asofmournerswithacoffin，

theirgarmentstrailingontheground，sothattheearcouldmeasure

thelengthoftheirmelancholyarray。Beforethemwentthepriest，

readingtheburialservice，whiletheleavesofhisbookwererustling

inthebreeze。Andthoughnovoicebuthiswasheardtospeakaloud，

stilltherewererevilingsandanathemas，whisperedbutdistinct，from

womenandfrommen，breathedagainstthedaughterwhohadwrungthe

agedheartsofherparents-thewifewhohadbetrayedthetrusting

fondnessofherhusband-themotherwhohadsinnedagainstnatural

affection，andleftherchildtodie。Thesweepingsoundofthe

funeraltrainfadedawaylikeathinvapor，andthewind，thatjust

beforehadseemedtoshakethecoffinpall，moanedsadlyroundthe

vergeoftheHollowbetweenthreeHills。Butwhentheoldwoman

stirredthekneelinglady，sheliftednotherhead。

“Herehasbeenasweethour’ssport！”saidthewitheredcrone，

chucklingtoherself。

byNathanielHawthorne

BRIGHTWERETHEDAYSatMerryMount，whentheMaypolewasthe

bannerstaffofthatgaycolony！Theywhorearedit，shouldtheir

bannerbetriumphant，weretopoursunshineoverNewEngland’s

ruggedhills，andscatterflowerseedsthroughoutthesoil。Jollity

andgloomwerecontendingforanempire。Midsummerevehadcome，

bringingdeepverduretotheforest，androsesinherlap，ofamore

vividhuethanthetenderbudsofSpring。ButMay，orhermirthful

spirit，dweltalltheyearroundatMerryMount，sportingwiththe

Summermonths，andrevellingwithAutumn，andbaskingintheglowof

Winter’sfireside。Throughaworldoftoilandcaresheflittedwitha

dreamlikesmile，andcamehithertofindahomeamongthelightsome

heartsofMerryMount。

NeverhadtheMaypolebeensogaylydeckedasatsunseton

midsummereve。Thisveneratedemblemwasapine-tree，whichhad

preservedtheslendergraceofyouth，whileitequalledtheloftiest

heightoftheoldwoodmonarchs。Fromitstopstreamedasilken

banner，coloredliketherainbow。Downnearlytothegroundthepole

wasdressedwithbirchenboughs，andothersoftheliveliestgreen，

andsomewithsilveryleaves，fastenedbyribbonsthatflutteredin

fantasticknotsoftwentydifferentcolors，butnosadones。Garden

flowers，andblossomsofthewilderness，laughedgladlyforthamidthe

verdure，sofreshanddewythattheymusthavegrownbymagicon

thathappypine-tree。Wherethisgreenandflowerysplendor

terminated，theshaftoftheMaypolewasstainedwiththeseven

brillian