09-the ponds-第5节

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attractive　and　productive　industry。　　Many　a　forenoon　have　I　stolen

away；　preferring　to　spend　thus　the　most　valued　part　of　the　day；　for

I　was　rich；　if　not　in　money；　in　sunny　hours　and　summer　days；　and

spent　them　lavishly；　nor　do　I　regret　that　I　did　not　waste　more　of

them　in　the　workshop　or　the　teacher's　desk。　　But　since　I　left　those

shores　the　woodchoppers　have　still　further　laid　them　waste；　and　now

for　many　a　year　there　will　be　no　more　rambling　through　the　aisles　of

the　wood；　with　occasional　vistas　through　which　you　see　the　water。

My　Muse　may　be　excused　if　she　is　silent　henceforth。　　How　can　you

expect　the　birds　to　sing　when　their　groves　are　cut　down？

　　　　Now　the　trunks　of　trees　on　the　bottom；　and　the　old　log　canoe；

and　the　dark　surrounding　woods；　are　gone；　and　the　villagers；　who

scarcely　know　where　it　lies；　instead　of　going　to　the　pond　to　bathe

or　drink；　are　thinking　to　bring　its　water；　which　should　be　as　sacred

as　the　Ganges　at　least；　to　the　village　in　a　pipe；　to　wash　their

dishes　with！　　to　earn　their　Walden　by　the　turning　of　a　cock　or

drawing　of　a　plug！　　That　devilish　Iron　Horse；　whose　ear…rending

neigh　is　heard　throughout　the　town；　has　muddied　the　Boiling　Spring

with　his　foot；　and　he　it　is　that　has　browsed　off　all　the　woods　on

Walden　shore；　that　Trojan　horse；　with　a　thousand　men　in　his　belly；

introduced　by　mercenary　Greeks！　　Where　is　the　country's　champion；

the　Moore　of　Moore　Hill；　to　meet　him　at　the　Deep　Cut　and　thrust　an

avenging　lance　between　the　ribs　of　the　bloated　pest？

　　　　Nevertheless；　of　all　the　characters　I　have　known；　perhaps　Walden

wears　best；　and　best　preserves　its　purity。　　Many　men　have　been

likened　to　it；　but　few　deserve　that　honor。　　Though　the　woodchoppers

have　laid　bare　first　this　shore　and　then　that；　and　the　Irish　have

built　their　sties　by　it；　and　the　railroad　has　infringed　on　its

border；　and　the　ice…men　have　skimmed　it　once；　it　is　itself

unchanged；　the　same　water　which　my　youthful　eyes　fell　on；　all　the

change　is　in　me。　　It　has　not　acquired　one　permanent　wrinkle　after

all　its　ripples。　　It　is　perennially　young；　and　I　may　stand　and　see　a

swallow　dip　apparently　to　pick　an　insect　from　its　surface　as　of

yore。　　It　struck　me　again　tonight；　as　if　I　had　not　seen　it　almost

daily　for　more　than　twenty　years　　Why；　here　is　Walden；　the　same

woodland　lake　that　I　discovered　so　many　years　ago；　where　a　forest

was　cut　down　last　winter　another　is　springing　up　by　its　shore　as

lustily　as　ever；　the　same　thought　is　welling　up　to　its　surface　that

was　then；　it　is　the　same　liquid　joy　and　happiness　to　itself　and　its

Maker；　ay；　and　it　may　be　to　me。　　It　is　the　work　of　a　brave　man

surely；　in　whom　there　was　no　guile！　　He　rounded　this　water　with　his

hand；　deepened　and　clarified　it　in　his　thought；　and　in　his　will

bequeathed　it　to　Concord。　　I　see　by　its　face　that　it　is　visited　by

the　same　reflection；　and　I　can　almost　say；　Walden；　is　it　you？



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　It　is　no　dream　of　mine；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　To　ornament　a　line；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　I　cannot　come　nearer　to　God　and　Heaven

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Than　I　live　to　Walden　even。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　I　am　its　stony　shore；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　the　breeze　that　passes　o'er；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　In　the　hollow　of　my　hand

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Are　its　water　and　its　sand；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　its　deepest　resort

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Lies　high　in　my　thought。



　　　　The　cars　never　pause　to　look　at　it；　yet　I　fancy　that　the

engineers　and　firemen　and　brakemen；　and　those　passengers　who　have　a

season　ticket　and　see　it　often；　are　better　men　for　the　sight。　　The

engineer　does　not　forget　at　night；　or　his　nature　does　not；　that　he

has　beheld　this　vision　of　serenity　and　purity　once　at　least　during

the　day。　　Though　seen　but　once；　it　helps　to　wash　out　State　Street

and　the　engine's　soot。　　One　proposes　that　it　be　called　〃God's　Drop。〃

　　　　I　have　said　that　Walden　has　no　visible　inlet　nor　outlet；　but　it

is　on　the　one　hand　distantly　and　indirectly　related　to　Flint's　Pond；

which　is　more　elevated；　by　a　chain　of　small　ponds　coming　from　that

quarter；　and　on　the　other　directly　and　manifestly　to　Concord　River；

which　is　lower；　by　a　similar　chain　of　ponds　through　which　in　some

other　geological　period　it　may　have　flowed；　and　by　a　little　digging；

which　God　forbid；　it　can　be　made　to　flow　thither　again。　　If　by

living　thus　reserved　and　austere；　like　a　hermit　in　the　woods；　so

long；　it　has　acquired　such　wonderful　purity；　who　would　not　regret

that　the　comparatively　impure　waters　of　Flint's　Pond　should　be

mingled　with　it；　or　itself　should　ever　go　to　waste　its　sweetness　in

the　ocean　wave？

　　　　Flint's；　or　Sandy　Pond；　in　Lincoln；　our　greatest　lake　and　inland

sea；　lies　about　a　mile　east　of　Walden。　　It　is　much　larger；　being

said　to　contain　one　hundred　and　ninety…seven　acres；　and　is　more

fertile　in　fish；　but　it　is　comparatively　shallow；　and　not　remarkably

pure。　　A　walk　through　the　woods　thither　was　often　my　recreation。　　It

was　worth　the　while；　if　only　to　feel　the　wind　blow　on　your　cheek

freely；　and　see　the　waves　run；　and　remember　the　life　of　mariners。　　I

went　a…chestnutting　there　in　the　fall；　on　windy　days；　when　the　nuts

were　dropping　into　the　water　and　were　washed　to　my　feet；　and　one

day；　as　I　crept　along　its　sedgy　shore；　the　fresh　spray　blowing　in　my

face；　I　came　upon　the　mouldering　wreck　of　a　boat；　the　sides　gone；

and　hardly　more　than　the　impression　of　its　flat　bottom　left　amid　the

rushes；　yet　its　model　was　sharply　defined；　as　if　it　were　a　large

decayed　pad；　with　its　veins。　　It　was　as　impressive　a　wreck　as　one

could　imagine　on　the　seashore；　and　had　as　good　a　moral。　　It　is　by

this　time　mere　vegetable　mould　and　undistinguishable　pond　shore；

through　which　rushes　and　flags　have　pushed　up。　　I　used　to　admire　the

ripple　marks　on　the　sandy　bottom；　at　the　north　end　of　this　pond；

made　firm　and　hard　to　the　feet　of　the　wader　by　the　pressure　of　the

water；　and　the　rushes　which　grew　in　Indian　file；　in　waving　lines；

corresponding　to　these　marks；　rank　behind　rank；　as　if　the　waves　had

planted　them。　　There　also　I　have　found；　in　considerable　quantities；

curious　balls；　composed　apparently　of　fine　grass　or　roots；　of

pipewort　perhaps；　from　half　an　inch　to　four　inches　in　diameter；　and

perfectly　spherical。　　These　wash　back　and　forth　in　shallow　water　on

a　sandy　bottom；　and　are　sometimes　cast　on　the　shore。　　They　are

either　solid　grass；　or　have　a　little　sand　in　the　middle。　　At　first

you　would　say　that　they　were　formed　by　the　action　of　the　waves；　like

a　pebble；　yet　the　smallest　are　made　of　equally　coarse　materials；

half　an　inch　long；　and　they　are　produced　only　at　one　season　of　the

year。　　Moreover；　the　waves；　I　suspect；　do　not　so　much　construct　as

wear　down　a　material　which　has　already　acquired　consistency。　　They

preserve　their　form　when　dry　for　an　indefinite　period。

　　　　Flint's　Pond！　　Such　is　the　poverty　of　our　nomenclature。　　What

right　had　the　unclean　and　stupid　farmer；　whose　farm　abutted　on　this

sky　water；　whose　shores　he　has　ruthlessly　laid　bare；　to　give　his

name　to　it？　　Some　skin…flint；　who　loved　better　the　reflecting

surface　of　a　dollar；　or　a　bright　cent；　in　which　he　could　see　his　own

brazen　face；　who　regarded　even　the　wild　ducks　which　settled　in　it　as

trespassers；　his　fingers　grown　into　crooked　and　bony　talons　from　the

long　habit　of　grasping　harpy…like；　　so　it　is　not　named　for　me。　　I

go　not　there　to　see　him　nor　to　hear　of　him；　who　never　saw　it；　who

never　bathed　in　it；　who　never　loved　it；　who　never　protected　it；　who

never　spoke　a　good　word　for　it；　nor　thanked　God　that　He　had　made　it。

Rather　let　it　be　named　from　the　fishes　that　swim　in　it；　the　wild

fowl　or　quadrupeds　which　frequent　it；　the　wild　flowers　which　grow　by

its　shores；　or　some　wild　man　or　child　the　thread　of　whose　history　is

interwoven　with　its　own；　not　from　him　who　could　show　no　title　to　it

but　the　deed　which　a　like…minded　neighbor　or　legislature　gave　him　

him　who　thought　only　of　its　money　value；　whose　presence　perchance

cursed　all　the　shores；　who　exhausted　the　land　around　it；　and　would

fain　have　exhausted　the　waters　within　it；　who　regretted　only　that　it

was　not　English　hay　or　cranberry　meadow　　there　was　nothing　to

redeem　it；　forsooth；　in　his　eyes　　and　would　have　drained　and　sold

it　for　the　mud　at　its　bottom。　　It　did　not　turn　his　mill；　and　it　was

no　privilege　to　him　to　behold　it。　　I　respect　not　his　labors；　his

farm　where　everything　has　its　price；　who　would　carry　the　landscape；

who　would　carry　his　God；　to　market；　if　he　could　get　anything　for

him；　who　goes　to　market　for　his　god　as　it　is；　on　whose　farm　nothing

grows　free；　whose　fields　bear　no　crops；　whose　meadows　no　flowers；

whose　trees　no　fruits；　but　dollars；　who　loves　not　the　beauty　of　his

fruits；　whose　fruits　are　not　ripe　for　him　till　they　are　turned　to

dollars。　　Give　me　the　poverty　that　enjoys　true　wealth。　　Farmers　are

respectable　and　interesting　to　me　in　proportion　as　they　are　poor　

poor　farmers。　　A　model　farm！　where　the　house　stands　like　a　fungus　in

a　muckheap；　chambers　for　men　horses；　oxen；　and　swine；　cleansed