高中英语选修课：英语文学欣赏 Langston Hughes作品分析(教师讲稿)

第一篇：高中英语选修课：英语文学欣赏 Langston Hughes作品分析(教师讲稿)

The Negro Speaks of Rivers was written when Langston Hughes was still a student.Hughes graduated from middle school at the age of 17.His mother hoped that he could work to help support the family, yet the divorced father expected him to attend university.Langston had wished to get rid of the family, so the best way is to go to university.When the train was passing through a bridge over the Mississippi River, looking at the river, Langston just wondered what the Mississippi River meant to the black people.In the past years, the black slaves were sold to different places, and he still remembered Abraham Lincoln once went down the River to New Orleans [ɔ:ˈliənz], and on the way Lincoln just witnessed the miserable life of the black slaves and thus wanted to get rid of slavery.From the Mississippi River Hughes thought of some other rivers which nourished human civilization and black culture such as the Congo, the Nile and so on.Thus came the famous poem The Negro Speaks of Rivers, only in 10 minutes, but obviously will be remembered from generation to generation.We always mention the word “dream”, which represents happiness and our best wishes, and we always emphasize if there is no dream, our life will lose its direction and our life will not be as colorful as ever.Hughes’ poem Dreams just describes such a topic.Yet here the dreams contain more, it contains black people’s dreams about freedom, equality and human rights.Because of such dreams, the black people just hold on and continue to fight for what they want, and at last succeed!Dreams

梦想

紧紧抓住梦想（把握梦想），如果梦想消失，生命将是折翼之鸟，无法飞翔。紧紧抓住梦想（把握梦想），如果梦想逝去，生命将是一片荒原，大雪冰封。

“Me and the Mule” 我和骡子As the leader of the Harlem Renaissance, all he described in his poems have something to do with the black people, the River, field, tower, or mule.The mule he describes is obedient, kind, just like the old slave Uncle Tom.He has always got a grin on his face, and always obeying his owner’s orders, almost forgetting the intuition of his own race.Hughes has great feeling for this mule, because it is just the same as him.Both have the black skin.Hughes has never been shameful about being a black, on the contrary, he has stated many times he is proud to be a black.Don’t give a damn: 根本不在乎

“Early Autumn“, Langston Hughes's novel: many years later, broken lovers coincidently met each other---full of memories, passing time, happiness, sorrow and regret, all down to their courtesy-like smile.Their distance became closer and then further and further.Early autumn comes every year.”Early Autumn“ includes many features of short stories.First you get some general information, for example ”[...] they had been in love.“(l.1), which are important for the following situation.This short exposition is really typical for short stories.Afterwards, the reader gets directly thrown into the situation, without any previous knowledge about where the characters came from.This fact lets the atmosphere seem to be as spontaneous as the meeting.Another argument to prove that this story is a short story is that there are just a few minutes between the beginning and the climax.Moreover there are only two characters and one setting.The dialogue between Mary and Bill covers most of the story.That is another criterion and gives the reader the impression being a part of the situation.”Early Autumn" is a very good example of a short story because it includes all the criteria.Explain how Hughes uses setting to reveal the characters’ psychological states and to convey their sense of loss.The short story is a good example of a story that describes everyday life.Hughes uses this story to show how people can make one irrational decision that can result in a time of sadness.The author uses the end of fall, beginning of winter to help the reader be able to visualize the stillness, the coldness and the emptiness between the two characters.In the story, the author tells us about two young people who were in love, but for no good reason fell out of love and moved on with their lives.This can be symbolized with “the leaves that fell slowly from the trees in the square.With no wind”.The author also, describes to us the cold feeling outside, this can describe the feeling that are between the two young people after they grew apart from one another.Another point that Hughes brings to our attention is that for a short time they were surrounded by people they did not know, and space between them.This can lead the reader to have an open imagination to believe that for a moment Mary and Bill are the only people there at that moment.This also can be perceived that the people they do not know could be the same as their relationship that once kindled in slowly walking away, and the space between them is the farther apart they move away from each other without moving.In the end, this story shows that time and space slowly changes people.Bill and Mary were once in love but like the leaves of the autumn evening they have fell away from their root that brought them together in the beginning to show two different people.What do you think of their love? Do you think Bill has forgotten their love? Maybe not.1.When Bill was deserted, he was still young.He left, bitter about women.From this we can infer that maybe Mary is his first love, and maybe Mary is older than him, do we can say he was attracted by the charming Mary.2.When meeting Mary, Bill didn’t recognize her at first for she looked so old.Mary wanted a kiss, but Bill held out his hand.Maybe this is just to protect himself, for it was Mary who left him first, he was the one who was deserted.3.Bill is a lawyer.From their conversation, we can see that while talking, Bill was just a little nervous.He talked about his family, his work and his status.We say, as a lawyer, Bill ought to be very calm while talking and there is no need for him to show off what he has now.There is no need to say goodbye so soon.We don’t know whether he still loves Mary or just hates her.Love is one thing so hard to explain.4.The writer tells the story from the perspective of Bill, yet as the story goes further, the writer tells a lot about Mary, no matter the scenery, the mental activity.He just devotes the words to Mary, while Bill is just under the shade of these words.Eventually when saying good bye, he was among the people they didn’t know.Space and people.The bus is gone.This time it’s Bill who first says Good bye, but maybe there is still a lot of bitterness.

第二篇：高中英语选修课：英语文学欣赏 夜莺与玫瑰 教学课件

The Nightingale And The Rose

Oscar Wilde

“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” cried the young Student, “but in all my garden there is no red rose.”

From her nest in the oak tree（栎树）the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered.“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears.“Ah, on what little things does happiness depend!I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.”（不幸的、悲惨的）

“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale.“Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him.His hair is dark as the hyacinth(风信子)--blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire;but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.”

“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young student, “and my love will be of the company.If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn.If I bring her a red rose, I should hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine.But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by.She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.”

“Here, indeed, is the true lover,” said the Nightingale.“What I sing of, he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain.Surely love is a wonderful thing.It is more precious than emeralds（绿宝石）, and dearer than fine opals（猫眼石）.Pearls and pomegranates（石榴石）cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place.It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.”

“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student, “and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin.She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her.But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her:” and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.“For a red rose?” they cried: “how very ridiculous!” and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic , laughed outright.But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.In the center of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.“My roses are white,” it answered;“as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain.But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial（日规）, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.“My roses are yellow,” it answered;“as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden（美人鱼）who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow（割草机）before the mower comes with his scythe.But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window.“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.“My roses are red,” it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern.But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.”

“One red rose is all I want,” cried the Nightingale, “only one red rose!Is there no way by which I can get it?”

“There is a way,” answered the Tree;“but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.”

“Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale, “I am not afraid.”

“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain（染色）it with your own heart’s blood.You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn.All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce（刺穿）your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins（静脉）, and become mine.”

“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the Nightingale, “and Life is very dear to all.It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl.Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill.Yet love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?”

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy;you shall have your red rose.I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart’s blood.All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy , though he is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty.Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body.His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.”

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches.“Sing me one last song,” he whispered;“I shall feel lonely when you are gone.”

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.“She has form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove—“that cannot be denied to her;but has she got feeling? I am afraid not.In fact, she is like most artists;she is all style without any sincerity.She would not sacrifice herself for others.She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish.Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice.What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good!” And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love;and, after a time, he fell asleep.And when the moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn.All night long she sang, with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened.All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away（逐渐消失）from her.She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl.And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river—pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn.As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.“Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride.But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart’s blood can crimson the heart of a rose.And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.“Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her.Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.And the marvelous rose became crimson , like the rose of the eastern sky.Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.But the Nightingale’ voice grew fainter（虚弱的）, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes.Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.Then she gave one last burst of music.The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on（停留在…）in the sky.The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy（狂喜）, and opened its petals to the cold morning air.Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams.It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.“Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now;” but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!” He cried;“here is a red rose!I have never seen any rose like it in all my life.It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;” and he leaned down and plucked it.Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose in his hand.The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.“You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,” cried the Student.“Here is the reddest rose in all the world.You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.”

But he girl frowned（皱眉）.“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” she answered;“and, besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew had sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.”

“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,” said the Student angrily;and he threw the rose onto he street, where it fell into the gutter（排水沟）, and a cartwheel went over it.“Ungrateful!” said the girl.“I tell you what, you are very rude;and, after all, who are you? Only a Student.Why, I dont believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has;” and she got up from her chair and went into the house.“What a silly thing Love is!” said the Student as he walked away.“It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true.In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.The Selfish Giant

by Oscar Wilde

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the giant's garden.It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass.Here and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit.The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them.“How happy we are!” they cried to each other.One day the giant came back.He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years.After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle.When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden.“What are you doing here?” he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.“My own garden is my own garden,” said the giant;“any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.” So he built a high wall around it, and put up a notice-board “Trespassers will be prosecuted.”

He was a very selfish giant.The poor children had now nowhere to play.They tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it.They used to wander round the high walls when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside.“How happy we were there!” they said to each other.Then the spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds.Only in the garden of the selfish giant it was still winter.The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom.Once a beautiful little flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw that notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep.The only people who were pleased were the snow and the frost.“Spring has forgotten this garden,” they cried, “so we will live here all the year round.” The snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the frost painted all the trees silver.Then they invited the north wind to stay with them, and he came.He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down.“This is a delightful spot,” he said, “we must ask the hail to visit.” So the hail came.Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go.He was dressed in gray, and his breath was like ice.“I cannot understand why the spring is so late in coming,” said the selfish giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold, white garden;“I hope there will be a change in the weather.”

But spring never came, nor the summer.The autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the giant's garden she gave none.“He is too selfish,” she said.So it was always winter there, and the north wind and the hail and the frost and the snow danced about through the trees.One morning the giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music.It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the king's musicians passing by.It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world.Then the hail stopped dancing over his head, and the north wind ceased roaring and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement.“I believe spring has come at last,” said the giant;and he jumped out of bed and looked out.What did he see?

He saw a most wonderful sight.Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees.In every tree that he could see there was a little child.And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children's heads.The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing.It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter.It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy.He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly.The poor tree was still covered with frost and snow, and the north wind was blowing and roaring above it.“Climb up!little boy,” said the tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could;but the boy was too tiny.And the giant's heart melted as he looked out.“How selfish I have been!” he said;“now I know why spring would not come here.I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children's playground for ever and ever.” He was really very sorry for what he had done.So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden.But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.Only the little boy did not run for his eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the giant coming.And the giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree.And the tree broke out at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them around the giant's neck, and kissed him.And the other children, when they saw that the giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the spring.“It is your garden now, little children,” said the giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall.And when the people were going to the market at twelve o'clock they found the giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the giant to say good-bye.“But where is your little companion?” he said: “the boy I put into the tree.” The giant loved him the best because he had kissed him, and had not been afraid.“We don't know,” answered the children;“he has gone away.”

“You must tell him to be sure to come tomorrow,” said the giant.But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before;and the giant felt very sad.Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the giant.But the little boy whom the giant loved was never seen again.The giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend.“How I would like to see him!” he used to say.Years went by, and the giant grew very old and feeble.He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge arm chair and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden.“I have many beautiful flowers,” he said, “but the children are the most beautiful of all.”One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing.He did not hate the winter now, for he knew that it was merely the spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting.Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder and looked and looked.In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms.Its branches were golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.Downstairs ran the giant in great joy, and out into the garden.He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child.And said, “Who has dared to wound you?” For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.“Who has dared to wound you?” cried the giant;tell me, that I may take my big sword and kill him.“No,” answered the child;“for these are the wounds of love.”

“Who are you?” said the giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.And the child smiled on the giant, and said to him, “You let me play once in your garden, today you shall come with me to my garden, which is paradise.”

And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossems.

第三篇：高中英语选修课：英语文学欣赏 Sister Carrie 学生版讲义资料

Chapter III WEE QUESTION OF FORTUNE--FOUR-FIFTY A WEEK

Once across the river and into the wholesale district, she glanced about her for some likely door at which to apply.As she contemplated the wide windows and imposing signs, she became conscious of being gazed upon and understood for what she was--a wage-seeker.She had never done this thing before, and lacked courage.To avoid a certain indefinable shame she felt at being caught spying about for a position, she quickened her steps and assumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one upon an errand.In this way she passed many manufacturing and wholesale houses without once glancing in.At last, after several blocks of walking, she felt that this would not do, and began to look about again, though without relaxing her pace.A little way on she saw a great door which, for some reason, attracted her attention.It was ornamented by a small brass sign, and seemed to be the entrance to a vast hive of six or seven floors.“Perhaps,” she thought, “They may want some one,” and crossed over to enter.When she came within a score of feet of the desired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a grey checked suit.That he had anything to do with the concern, she could not tell, but because he happened to be looking in her direction her weakening heart misgave her and she hurried by, too overcome with shame to enter.Over the way stood a great six-story structure, labelled Storm and King, which she viewed with rising hope.It was a wholesale dry goods concern and employed women.She could see them moving about now and then upon the upper floors.This place she decided to enter, no matter what.She crossed over and walked directly toward the entrance.As she did so, two men came out and paused in the door.A telegraph messenger in blue dashed past her and up the few steps that led to the entrance and disappeared.Several pedestrians out of the hurrying throng which filled the sidewalks passed about her as she paused, hesitating.She looked helplessly around, and then, seeing herself observed, retreated.It was too difficult a task.She could not go past them.So severe a defeat told sadly upon her nerves.Her feet carried her mechanically forward, every foot of her progress being a satisfactory portion of a flight which she gladly made.Block after block passed by.Upon streetlamps at the various corners she read names such as Madison, Monroe, La Salle, Clark, Dearborn, State, and still she went, her feet beginning to tire upon the broad stone flagging.She was pleased in part that the streets were bright and clean.The morning sun, shining down with steadily increasing warmth, made the shady side of the streets pleasantly cool.She looked at the blue sky overhead with more realisation of its charm than had ever come to her before.Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way.She turned back, resolving to hunt up Storm and King and enter.On the way, she encountered a great wholesale shoe company, through the broad plate windows of which she saw an enclosed executive

department, hidden by frosted glass.Without this enclosure, but just within the street entrance, sat a grey-haired gentleman at a small table, with a large open ledger before him.She walked by this institution several times hesitating, but, finding herself unobserved, faltered past the screen door and stood humble waiting.“Well, young lady,” observed the old gentleman, looking at her somewhat kindly, “what is it you wish?” “I am, that is, do you--I mean, do you need any help?” she stammered.“Not just at present,” he answered smiling.“Not just at present.Come in some time next week.Occasionally we need some one.” She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out.The pleasant nature of her reception rather astonished her.She had expected that it would be more difficult, that something cold and harsh would be said--she knew not what.That she had not been put to shame and made to feel her unfortunate position, seemed remarkable.Somewhat encouraged, she ventured into another large structure.It was a clothing company, and more people were in evidence--well-dressed men of forty and more, surrounded by brass railings.An office boy approached her.“Who is it you wish to see?” he asked.“I want to see the manager,” she said.He ran away and spoke to one of a group of three men who were conferring together.One of these came towards her.“Well?” he said coldly.The greeting drove all courage from her at once.“Do you need any help?” she stammered.“No,” he replied abruptly, and turned upon his heel.She went foolishly out, the office boy deferentially swinging the door for her, and gladly sank into the obscuring crowd.It was a severe setback to her recently pleased mental state.Now she walked quite aimlessly for a time, turning here and there, seeing one great company after another, but finding no courage to prosecute her single inquiry.High noon came, and with it hunger.She hunted out an unassuming restaurant and entered, but was disturbed to find that the prices were exorbitant for the size of her purse.A bowl of soup was all that she could afford, and, with this quickly eaten, she went out again.It restored her strength somewhat and made her moderately bold to pursue the search.In walking a few blocks to fix upon some probable place, she again encountered the firm of Storm and King, and this time managed to get in.Some gentlemen were conferring close at hand, but took no notice of her.She was left standing, gazing nervously upon the floor.When the limit of her distress had been nearly reached, she was beckoned to by a man at one of the many desks within the near-by railing.“Who is it you wish to see?” he required.“Why, any one, if you please,” she answered.“I am looking for something to do.”

“Oh, you want to see Mr.McManus,” he returned.“Sit down,” and he pointed to a chair against the neighbouring wall.He went on leisurely writing, until after a time a short, stout gentleman came in from the street.“Mr.McManus,” called the man at the desk, “this young woman wants to see you.” The short gentleman turned about towards Carrie, and she arose and came forward.“What can I do for you, miss?” he inquired, surveying her curiously.“I want to know if I can get a position,” she inquired.“As what?” he asked.“Not as anything in particular,” she faltered.“Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goods business?” he questioned.“No, sir,” she replied.“Are you a stenographer or typewriter?” “No, sir.” “Well, we haven't anything here,” he said.“We employ only experienced help.” She began to step backward toward the door, when something about her plaintive face attracted him.“Have you ever worked at anything before?” he inquired.“No, sir,” she said.“Well, now, it's hardly possible that you would get anything to do in a wholesale house of this kind.Have you tried the department stores?” She acknowledged that she had not.“Well, if I were you,” he said, looking at her rather genially, “I would try the department stores.They often need young women as clerks.” “Thank you,” she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark of friendly interest.“Yes,” he said, as she moved toward the door, “you try the department stores,” and off he went.……

……Sick at heart and in body, she turned to the west, the direction of Minnie's flat, which she had now fixed in mind, and began that wearisome, baffled retreat which the seeker for employment at nightfall too often makes.In passing through Fifth Avenue, south towards Van Buren Street, where she intended to take a car, she passed the door of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plate-glass windows of which she could see a middle-aged gentleman sitting at a small desk.One of those forlorn impulses which often grow out of a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of a baffled and uprooted growth of ideas, seized upon her.She walked deliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who looked at her weary face with partially awakened interest.“What is it?” he said.“Can you give me something to do?” said Carrie.“Now, I really don't know,” he said kindly.“What kind of work is it you want--you're not a typewriter, are you?” “Oh, no,” answered Carrie.“Well, we only employ book-keepers and typewriters here.You might go around to the side and inquire upstairs.They did want some help upstairs a few days ago.Ask for Mr.Brown.” She hastened around to the side entrance and was taken up by the elevator to the fourth floor.“Call Mr.Brown, Willie,” said the elevator man to a boy near by.Willie went off and presently returned with the information that Mr.Brown said she should sit down and that he would be around in a little while.It was a portion of the stock room which gave no idea of the general character of the place, and Carrie could form no opinion of the nature of the work.“So you want something to do,” said Mr.Brown, after he inquired concerning the nature of her errand.“Have you ever been employed in a shoe factory before?” “No, sir,” said Carrie.“What is your name?” he inquired, and being informed, “Well, I don't know as I have anything for you.Would you work for four and a half a week?” Carrie was too worn by defeat not to feel that it was considerable.She had not expected that he would offer her less than six.She acquiesced, however, and he took her name and address.“Well,” he said, finally, “you report here at eight o'clock Monday morning.I think I can find something for you to do.” He left her revived by the possibilities, sure that she had found something at last.Instantly the blood crept warmly over her body.Her nervous tension relaxed.She walked out into the busy street and discovered a new atmosphere.Behold, the throng was moving with a lightsome step.She noticed that men and women were smiling.Scraps of conversation and notes of laughter floated to her.The air was light.People were already pouring out of the buildings, their labour ended for the day.She noticed that they were pleased, and thoughts of her sister's home and the meal that would be awaiting her quickened her steps.She hurried on, tired perhaps, but no longer weary of foot.What would not Minnie say!Ah, the long winter in Chicago--the lights, the crowd, the amusement!This was a great, pleasing metropolis after all.Her new firm was a goodly institution.Its windows were of huge plate glass.She could probably do well there.Thoughts of Drouet returned--of the things he had told her.She now felt that life was better, that it was livelier, sprightlier.She boarded a car in the best of spirits, feeling her blood still flowing pleasantly.She would live in Chicago, her mind kept saying to itself.She would have a better time than she had ever had before--she would be happy.

第四篇：高中英语选修课：英语文学欣赏 Langston Hughes《黑人谈河流》 学生版讲义

The Negro Speaks of Rivers I've known rivers: I've known rivers, ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.My soul has grown deep like the rivers.I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans，and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.I've known rivers：

Ancient, dusky rivers.My soul has grown deep like the rivers.Dreams Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly.Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren Field Frozen with snow.Me and the Mule

My old mule，He's got a grin on his face.He's been a mule so long He's forgotten about his race.I'm like that old mule---Black---and don't give a damn!You got to take me Like I am.EARLY AUTUMN

by Langston Hughes(1902-1967)When Bill was very young, they had been in love.Many nights they had spent walking, talking together.Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t speak.Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved.Bill went away, bitter about women.Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.“Bill Walker,” she said.He stopped.At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.“Mary!Where did you come from?”

Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand.She took it.“I live in New York now,” she said.“Oh,—Smiling politely, then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.” “I’m a lawyer.Nice firm, way downtown.” “Married yet?” “Sure.Two kids.” “Oh,” she said.A great many people went past them through the park.People they didn’t know.It was late afternoon.Nearly sunset.Cold.“And your husband?” he asked her.“We have three children.I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia.” “You are looking very…”(He wanted to say old)“…well,” he said.She understood.Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past.She had been older than he then in Ohio.Now she was not young at all.Bill was still young.“We live on Central Park West,” she said.“Come and see us sometime.”

“Sure,” he replied.“You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night.Any night.Lucille and I’d love to have you.”

The leaves fell slowly from the tree in the Square.Fell without wind.Autumn dusk.She felt a little sick.“We’d love it,” she answered.“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.“There’s my bus,” she said.He held out his hand.“Goodbye.”

“When…”, she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off.The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred.And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus.Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.Suddenly she shrieked very loudly, “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.The bus started.People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know.Space and people.She lost sight of Bill.Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address—or to ask him for his—or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill, too.