the great stone face- 第4部分

massive　depth　and　loftiness；　and　all　the　other　features；　indeed；

were　boldly　and　strongly　hewn；　as　if　in　emulation　of　a　more　than

heroic；　of　a　Titanic　model。　But　the　sublimity　and　stateliness；

the　grand　expression　of　a　divine　sympathy；　that　illuminated　the

mountain　visage　and　etherealized　its　ponderous　granite　substance

into　spirit；　might　here　be　sought　in　vain。　Something　had　been

originally　left　out；　or　had　departed。　And　therefore　the

marvellously　gifted　statesman　had　always　a　weary　gloom　in　the

deep　caverns　of　his　eyes；　as　of　a　child　that　has　outgrown　its

playthings　or　a　man　of　mighty　faculties　and　little　aims；　whose

life；　with　all　its　high　performances；　was　vague　and　empty；

because　no　high　purpose　had　endowed　it　with　reality。



Still；　Ernest's　neighbor　was　thrusting　his　elbow　into　his　side；

and　pressing　him　for　an　answer。



〃Confess！　confess！　Is　not　he　the　very　picture　of　your　Old　Man　of

the　Mountain？〃



〃No！〃　said　Ernest　bluntly；　〃I　see　little　or　no　likeness。〃



〃Then　so　much　the　worse　for　the　Great　Stone　Face！〃　answered　his

neighbor；　and　again　he　set　up　a　shout　for　Old　Stony　Phiz。



But　Ernest　turned　away；　melancholy；　and　almost　despondent：　for

this　was　the　saddest　of　his　disappointments；　to　behold　a　man　who

might　have　fulfilled　the　prophecy；　and　had　not　willed　to　do　so。

Meantime；　the　cavalcade；　the　banners；　the　music；　and　the

barouches　swept　past　him；　with　the　vociferous　crowd　in　the　rear；

leaving　the　dust　to　settle　down；　and　the　Great　Stone　Face　to　be

revealed　again；　with　the　grandeur　that　it　had　worn　for　untold

centuries。



〃Lo；　here　I　am；　Ernest！〃　the　benign　lips　seemed　to　say。　〃I　have

waited　longer　than　thou；　and　am　not　yet　weary。　Fear　not；　the　man

will　come。〃



The　years　hurried　onward；　treading　in　their　haste　on　one

another's　heels。　And　now　they　began　to　bring　white　hairs；　and

scatter　them　over　the　head　of　Ernest；　they　made　reverend　wrinkles

across　his　forehead；　and　furrows　in　his　cheeks。　He　was　an　aged

man。　But　not　in　vain　had　he　grown　old：　more　than　the　white　hairs

on　his　head　were　the　sage　thoughts　in　his　mind；　his　wrinkles　and

furrows　were　inscriptions　that　Time　had　graved；　and　in　which　he

had　written　legends　of　wisdom　that　had　been　tested　by　the　tenor

of　a　life。　And　Ernest　had　ceased　to　be　obscure。　Unsought　for；

undesired；　had　come　the　fame　which　so　many　seek；　and　made　him

known　in　the　great　world；　beyond　the　limits　of　the　valley　in

which　he　had　dwelt　so　quietly。　College　professors；　and　even　the

active　men　of　cities；　came　from　far　to　see　and　converse　with

Ernest；　for　the　report　had　gone　abroad　that　this　simple

husbandman　had　ideas　unlike　those　of　other　men；　not　gained　from

books；　but　of　a　higher　tone；a　tranquil　and　familiar　majesty；　as

if　he　had　been　talking　with　the　angels　as　his　daily　friends。

Whether　it　were　sage；　statesman；　or　philanthropist；　Ernest

received　these　visitors　with　the　gentle　sincerity　that　had

characterized　him　from　boyhood；　and　spoke　freely　with　them　of

whatever　came　uppermost；　or　lay　deepest　in　his　heart　or　their

own。　While　they　talked　together；　his　face　would　kindle；　unawares；

and　shine　upon　them；　as　with　a　mild　evening　light。　Pensive　with

the　fulness　of　such　discourse；　his　guests　took　leave　and　went

their　way；　and　passing　up　the　valley；　paused　to　look　at　the　Great

Stone　Face；　imagining　that　they　had　seen　its　likeness　in　a　human

countenance；　but　could　not　remember　where。



While　Ernest　had　been　growing　up　and　growing　old；　a　bountiful

Providence　had　granted　a　new　poet　to　this　earth。　He　likewise；　was

a　native　of　the　valley；　but　had　spent　the　greater　part　of　his

life　at　a　distance　from　that　romantic　region；　pouring　out　his

sweet　music　amid　the　bustle　and　din　of　cities。　Often；　however；

did　the　mountains　which　had　been　familiar　to　him　in　his　childhood

lift　their　snowy　peaks　into　the　clear　atmosphere　of　his　poetry。

Neither　was　the　Great　Stone　Face　forgotten；　for　the　poet　had

celebrated　it　in　an　ode；　which　was　grand　enough　to　have　been

uttered　by　its　own　majestic　lips。　This　man　of　genius；　we　may　say；

had　come　down　from　heaven　with　wonderful　endowments。　If　he　sang

of　a　mountain；　the　eyes　of　all　mankind　beheld　a　mightier　grandeur

reposing　on　its　breast；　or　soaring　to　its　summit；　than　had　before

been　seen　there。　If　his　theme　were　a　lovely　lake；　a　celestial

smile　had　now　been　thrown　over　it；　to　gleam　forever　on　its

surface。　If　it　were　the　vast　old　sea；　even　the　deep　immensity　of

its　dread　bosom　seemed　to　swell　the　higher；　as　if　moved　by　the

emotions　of　the　song。　Thus　the　world　assumed　another　and　a　better

aspect　from　the　hour　that　the　poet　blessed　it　with　his　happy

eyes。　The　Creator　had　bestowed　him；　as　the　last　best　touch　to　his

own　handiwork。　Creation　was　not　finished　till　the　poet　came　to

interpret；　and　so　complete　it。



The　effect　was　no　less　high　and　beautiful；　when　his　human

brethren　were　the　subject　of　his　verse。　The　man　or　woman；　sordid

with　the　common　dust　of　life；　who　crossed　his　daily　path；　and　the

little　child　who　played　in　it；　were　glorified　if　he　beheld　them

in　his　mood　of　poetic　faith。　He　showed　the　golden　links　of　the

great　chain　that　intertwined　them　with　an　angelic　kindred；　he

brought　out　the　hidden　traits　of　a　celestial　birth　that　made　them

worthy　of　such　kin。　Some；　indeed；　there　were；　who　thought　to　show

the　soundness　of　their　judgment　by　affirming　that　all　the　beauty

and　dignity　of　the　natural　world　existed　only　in　the　poet's

fancy。　Let　such　men　speak　for　themselves；　who　undoubtedly　appear

to　have　been　spawned　forth　by　Nature　with　a　contemptuous

bitterness；　she　having　plastered　them　up　out　of　her　refuse　stuff；

after　all　the　swine　were　made。　As　respects　all　things　else；　the

poet's　ideal　was　the　truest　truth。



The　songs　of　this　poet　found　their　way　to　Ernest。　He　read　them

after　his　customary　toil；　seated　on　the　bench　before　his

cottage…door；　where　for　such　a　length　of　time　he　had　filled　his

repose　with　thought；　by　gazing　at　the　Great　Stone　Face。　And　now

as　he　read　stanzas　that　caused　the　soul　to　thrill　within　him；　he

lifted　his　eyes　to　the　vast　countenance　beaming　on　him　so

benignantly。



〃O　majestic　friend；〃　he　murmured；　addressing　the　Great　Stone

Face；　〃is　not　this　man　worthy　to　resemble　thee？〃



The　Face　seemed　to　smile；　but　answered　not　a　word。



Now　it　happened　that　the　poet；　though　he　dwelt　so　far　away；　had

not　only　heard　of　Ernest；　but　had　meditated　much　upon　his

character；　until　he　deemed　nothing　so　desirable　as　to　meet　this

man；　whose　untaught　wisdom　walked　hand　in　hand　with　the　noble

simplicity　of　his　life。　One　summer　morning；　therefore；　he　took

passage　by　the　railroad；　and；　in　the　decline　of　the　afternoon；

alighted　from　the　cars　at　no　great　distance　from　Ernest's

cottage。　The　great　hotel；　which　had　formerly　been　the　palace　of

Mr。　Gathergold；　was　close　at　hand；　but　the　poet；　with　his

carpet…bag　on　his　arm；　inquired　at　once　where　Ernest　dwelt；　and

was　resolved　to　be　accepted　as　his　guest。



Approaching　the　door；　he　there　found　the　good　old　man；　holding　a

volume　in　his　hand；　which　alternately　he　read；　and　then；　with　a

finger　between　the　leaves；　looked　lovingly　at　the　Great　Stone

Face。



〃Good　evening；〃　said　the　poet。　〃Can　you　give　a　traveller　a

night's　lodging？〃



〃Willingly；〃　answered　Ernest；　and　then　he　added；　smiling；

〃Methinks　I　never　saw　the　Great　Stone　Face　look　so　hospitably　at

a　stranger。〃



The　poet　sat　down　on　the　bench　beside　him；　and　he　and　Ernest

talked　together。　Often　had　the　poet　held　intercourse　with　the

wittiest　and　the　wisest；　but　never　before　with　a　man　like　Ernest；

whose　thoughts　and　feelings　gushed　up　with　such　a　natural

freedom；　and　who　made　great　truths　so　familiar　by　his　simple

utterance　of　them。　Angels；　as　had　been　so　often　said；　seemed　to

have　wrought　with　him　at　his　labor　in　the　fields；　angels　seemed

to　have　sat　with　him　by　the　fireside；　and；　dwelling　with　angels

as　friend　with　friends；　he　had　imbibed　the　sublimity　of　their

ideas；　and　imbued　it　with　the　sweet　and　lowly　charm　of　household

words。　So　thought　the　poet。　And　Ernest；　on　the　other　hand；　was

moved　and　agitated　by　the　living　images　which　the　poet　flung　out

of　his　mind；　and　which　peopled　all　the　air　about　the　cottage…door

with　shapes　of　beauty；　both　gay　and　pensive。　The　sympathies　of

these　two　men　instructed　them　with　a　profounder　sense　than　either

could　have　attained　alone。　Their　minds　accorded　into　one　strain；

and　made　delightful　music　which　neither　of　them　could　have

claimed　as　all　his　own；　nor　distinguished　his　own　share　from　the

other's。　They　led　one　another；　as　it　were；　into　a　high　pavilion

of　their　thoughts；　so　remote；　and　hitherto　so　dim；　that　they　had

never　entered　it　before；　and　so　beautiful　that　they　desired　to　be

there　always。



As　Ernest　listened　to　the　poet；　he　imagined　that　the　Great　Stone

Face　was　bending　forward　to　listen　too。　He　gazed　earnestly　into

the　poet's　glowing　eyes。



〃Who　are　you；　my　strangely　gifted　guest？〃　he　said。



The　poet　laid　his　finger　on　the　volume　that　Ernest　had　been

reading。



〃You　have　read　these　poems；〃　said　he。　〃You　know　me；　then；for　I

wrote　them。〃



Again；　and　still　more　earnestly　than　before；　Ernest　examined　the

poet's　features；　then　turned　towards　the　Great　Stone　Face；　then

back；　with　an　uncertain　aspect；　to　his　guest。　But　his　countenance

fell；　he　shook　his　head；　and　sighed。



〃Wherefore　are　you　sad？〃　inquired　the　poet。



〃Because；〃　replied　Ernest；　〃all　through　life　I　have　awaited　the

fulfilment　of　a　prophecy；　and；　when　I　read　these　poems；　I　hoped

that　it　might　be　fulfilled　in　you。〃



〃You　hoped；〃　answered　the　poet；　faintly　smiling；　〃to　find　in　me

the　likeness　of　the　Great　Stone　Face。　And　you　are　disappointed；

as　formerly　with　Mr。　Gathergold；　and　Old　Blood…and…Thunder；　and

Old　Stony　Phiz。　Yes；　Ernest；　it　is　my　doom。　You　must　add　my　name

to　the　illustrious　three；　and　record　another　failure　of　your

hopes。　Forin　shame　and