walking-第8节

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But　I　find　it　difficult　to　remember　them。　They　fade　irrevocably

out　of　my　mind　even　now　while　I　speak；　and　endeavor　to　recall

them　and　recollect　myself。　It　is　only　after　a　long　and　serious

effort　to　recollect　my　best　thoughts　that　I　become　again　aware　of

their　cohabitancy。　If　it　were　not　for　such　families　as　this；　I

think　I　should　move　out　of　Concord。







We　are　accustomed　to　say　in　New　England　that　few　and　fewer

pigeons　visit　us　every　year。　Our　forests　furnish　no　mast　for

them。　So；　it　would　seem；　few　and　fewer　thoughts　visit　each

growing　man　from　year　to　year；　for　the　grove　in　our　minds　is　laid

wastesold　to　feed　unnecessary　fires　of　ambition；　or　sent　to

milland　there　is　scarcely　a　twig　left　for　them　to　perch　on。

They　no　longer　build　nor　breed　with　us。　In　some　more　genial

season；　perchance；　a　faint　shadow　flits　across　the　landscape　of

the　mind；　cast　by　the　WINGS　of　some　thought　in　its　vernal　or

autumnal　migration；　but；　looking　up；　we　are　unable　to　detect　the

substance　of　the　thought　itself。　Our　winged　thoughts　are　turned

to　poultry。　They　no　longer　soar；　and　they　attain　only　to　a

Shanghai　and　Cochin…　China　grandeur。　Those　GRA…A…ATE　THOUGHTS；

those　GRA…A…ATE　men　you　hear　of！



We　hug　the　earthhow　rarely　we　mount！　Methinks　we　might　elevate

ourselves　a　little　more。　We　might　climb　a　tree；　at　least。　I　found

my　account　in　climbing　a　tree　once。　It　was　a　tall　white　pine；　on

the　top　of　a　hill；　and　though　I　got　well　pitched；　I　was　well　paid

for　it；　for　I　discovered　new　mountains　in　the　horizon　which　I　had

never　seen　beforeso　much　more　of　the　earth　and　the　heavens。　I

might　have　walked　about　the　foot　of　the　tree　for　threescore　years

and　ten；　and　yet　I　certainly　should　never　have　seen　them。　But；

above　all；　I　discovered　around　meit　was　near　the　end　of

Juneon　the　ends　of　the　topmost　branches　only；　a　few　minute　and

delicate　red　conelike　blossoms；　the　fertile　flower　of　the　white

pine　looking　heavenward。　I　carried　straightway　to　the　village　the

topmost　spire；　and　showed　it　to　stranger　jurymen　who　walked　the

streetsfor　it　was　court　weekand　to　farmers　and　lumber…dealers

and　woodchoppers　and　hunters；　and　not　one　had　ever　seen　the　like

before；　but　they　wondered　as　at　a　star　dropped　down。　Tell　of

ancient　architects　finishing　their　works　on　the　tops　of　columns

as　perfectly　as　on　the　lower　and　more　visible　parts！　Nature　has

from　the　first　expanded　the　minute　blossoms　of　the　forest　only

toward　the　heavens；　above　men's　heads　and　unobserved　by　them。　We

see　only　the　flowers　that　are　under　our　feet　in　the　meadows。　The

pines　have　developed　their　delicate　blossoms　on　the　highest　twigs

of　the　wood　every　summer　for　ages；　as　well　over　the　heads　of

Nature's　red　children　as　of　her　white　ones；　yet　scarcely　a　farmer

or　hunter　in　the　land　has　ever　seen　them。







Above　all；　we　cannot　afford　not　to　live　in　the　present。　He　is

blessed　over　all　mortals　who　loses　no　moment　of　the　passing　life

in　remembering　the　past。　Unless　our　philosophy　hears　the　cock

crow　in　every　barnyard　within　our　horizon；　it　is　belated。　That

sound　commonly　reminds　us　that　we　are　growing　rusty　and　antique

in　our　employments　and　habits　of　thoughts。　His　philosophy　comes

down　to　a　more　recent　time　than　ours。　There　is　something

suggested　by　it　that　is　a　newer　testament；the　gospel　according

to　this　moment。　He　has　not　fallen　astern；　he　has　got　up　early　and

kept　up　early；　and　to　be　where　he　is　is　to　be　in　season；　in　the

foremost　rank　of　time。　It　is　an　expression　of　the　health　and

soundness　of　Nature；　a　brag　for　all　the　world；healthiness　as　of

a　spring　burst　forth；　a　new　fountain　of　the　Muses；　to　celebrate

this　last　instant　of　time。　Where　he　lives　no　fugitive　slave　laws

are　passed。　Who　has　not　betrayed　his　master　many　times　since　last

he　heard　that　note？



The　merit　of　this　bird's　strain　is　in　its　freedom　from　all

plaintiveness。　The　singer　can　easily　move　us　to　tears　or　to

laughter；　but　where　is　he　who　can　excite　in　us　a　pure　morning

joy？　When；　in　doleful　dumps；　breaking　the　awful　stillness　of　our

wooden　sidewalk　on　a　Sunday；　or；　perchance；　a　watcher　in　the

house　of　mourning；　I　hear　a　cockerel　crow　far　or　near；　I　think　to

myself；　〃There　is　one　of　us　well；　at　any　rate；〃and　with　a

sudden　gush　return　to　my　senses。







We　had　a　remarkable　sunset　one　day　last　November。　I　was　walking

in　a　meadow；　the　source　of　a　small　brook；　when　the　sun　at　last；

just　before　setting；　after　a　cold；　gray　day；　reached　a　clear

stratum　in　the　horizon；　and　the　softest；　brightest　morning

sunlight　fell　on　the　dry　grass　and　on　the　stems　of　the　trees　in

the　opposite　horizon　and　on　the　leaves　of　the　shrub　oaks　on　the

hillside；　while　our　shadows　stretched　long　over　the　meadow　east…

ward；　as　if　we　were　the　only　motes　in　its　beams。　It　was　such　a

light　as　we　could　not　have　imagined　a　moment　before；　and　the　air

also　was　so　warm　and　serene　that　nothing　was　wanting　to　make　a

paradise　of　that　meadow。　When　we　reflected　that　this　was　not　a

solitary　phenomenon；　never　to　happen　again；　but　that　it　would

happen　forever　and　ever；　an　infinite　number　of　evenings；　and

cheer　and　reassure　the　latest　child　that　walked　there；　it　was

more　glorious　still。



The　sun　sets　on　some　retired　meadow；　where　no　house　is　visible；

with　all　the　glory　and　splendor　that　it　lavishes　on　cities；　and

perchance　as　it　has　never　set　beforewhere　there　is　but　a

solitary　marsh　hawk　to　have　his　wings　gilded　by　it；　or　only　a

musquash　looks　out　from　his　cabin；　and　there　is　some　little

black…veined　brook　in　the　midst　of　the　marsh；　just　beginning　to

meander；　winding　slowly　round　a　decaying　stump。　We　walked　in　so

pure　and　bright　a　light；　gilding　the　withered　grass　and　leaves；

so　softly　and　serenely　bright；　I　thought　I　had　never　bathed　in

such　a　golden　flood；　without　a　ripple　or　a　murmur　to　it。　The　west

side　of　every　wood　and　rising　ground　gleamed　like　the　boundary　of

Elysium；　and　the　sun　on　our　backs　seemed　like　a　gentle　herdsman

driving　us　home　at　evening。



So　we　saunter　toward　the　Holy　Land；　till　one　day　the　sun　shall

shine　more　brightly　than　ever　he　has　done；　shall　perchance　shine

into　our　minds　and　hearts；　and　light　up　our　whole　lives　with　a

great　awakening　light；　as　warm　and　serene　and　golden　as　on　a

bankside　in　autumn。











End