09-the ponds-第4部分

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brush　　this　the　light　dust…cloth　　which　retains　no　breath　that

is　breathed　on　it；　but　sends　its　own　to　float　as　clouds　high　above

its　surface；　and　be　reflected　in　its　bosom　still。

　　　　A　field　of　water　betrays　the　spirit　that　is　in　the　air。　　It　is

continually　receiving　new　life　and　motion　from　above。　　It　is

intermediate　in　its　nature　between　land　and　sky。　　On　land　only　the

grass　and　trees　wave；　but　the　water　itself　is　rippled　by　the　wind。

I　see　where　the　breeze　dashes　across　it　by　the　streaks　or　flakes　of

light。　　It　is　remarkable　that　we　can　look　down　on　its　surface。　　We

shall；　perhaps；　look　down　thus　on　the　surface　of　air　at　length；　and

mark　where　a　still　subtler　spirit　sweeps　over　it。

　　　　The　skaters　and　water…bugs　finally　disappear　in　the　latter　part

of　October；　when　the　severe　frosts　have　come；　and　then　and　in

November；　usually；　in　a　calm　day；　there　is　absolutely　nothing　to

ripple　the　surface。　　One　November　afternoon；　in　the　calm　at　the　end

of　a　rain…storm　of　several　days'　duration；　when　the　sky　was　still

completely　overcast　and　the　air　was　full　of　mist；　I　observed　that

the　pond　was　remarkably　smooth；　so　that　it　was　difficult　to

distinguish　its　surface；　though　it　no　longer　reflected　the　bright

tints　of　October；　but　the　sombre　November　colors　of　the　surrounding

hills。　　Though　I　passed　over　it　as　gently　as　possible；　the　slight

undulations　produced　by　my　boat　extended　almost　as　far　as　I　could

see；　and　gave　a　ribbed　appearance　to　the　reflections。　　But；　as　I　was

looking　over　the　surface；　I　saw　here　and　there　at　a　distance　a　faint

glimmer；　as　if　some　skater　insects　which　had　escaped　the　frosts

might　be　collected　there；　or；　perchance；　the　surface；　being　so

smooth；　betrayed　where　a　spring　welled　up　from　the　bottom。　　Paddling

gently　to　one　of　these　places；　I　was　surprised　to　find　myself

surrounded　by　myriads　of　small　perch；　about　five　inches　long；　of　a

rich　bronze　color　in　the　green　water；　sporting　there；　and　constantly

rising　to　the　surface　and　dimpling　it；　sometimes　leaving　bubbles　on

it。　　In　such　transparent　and　seemingly　bottomless　water；　reflecting

the　clouds；　I　seemed　to　be　floating　through　the　air　as　in　a　balloon；

and　their　swimming　impressed　me　as　a　kind　of　flight　or　hovering；　as

if　they　were　a　compact　flock　of　birds　passing　just　beneath　my　level

on　the　right　or　left；　their　fins；　like　sails；　set　all　around　them。

There　were　many　such　schools　in　the　pond；　apparently　improving　the

short　season　before　winter　would　draw　an　icy　shutter　over　their

broad　skylight；　sometimes　giving　to　the　surface　an　appearance　as　if

a　slight　breeze　struck　it；　or　a　few　rain…drops　fell　there。　　When　I

approached　carelessly　and　alarmed　them；　they　made　a　sudden　splash

and　rippling　with　their　tails；　as　if　one　had　struck　the　water　with　a

brushy　bough；　and　instantly　took　refuge　in　the　depths。　　At　length

the　wind　rose；　the　mist　increased；　and　the　waves　began　to　run；　and

the　perch　leaped　much　higher　than　before；　half　out　of　water；　a

hundred　black　points；　three　inches　long；　at　once　above　the　surface。

Even　as　late　as　the　fifth　of　December；　one　year；　I　saw　some　dimples

on　the　surface；　and　thinking　it　was　going　to　rain　hard　immediately；

the　air　being　fun　of　mist；　I　made　haste　to　take　my　place　at　the　oars

and　row　homeward；　already　the　rain　seemed　rapidly　increasing；　though

I　felt　none　on　my　cheek；　and　I　anticipated　a　thorough　soaking。　　But

suddenly　the　dimples　ceased；　for　they　were　produced　by　the　perch；

which　the　noise　of　my　oars　had　seared　into　the　depths；　and　I　saw

their　schools　dimly　disappearing；　so　I　spent　a　dry　afternoon　after

all。

　　　　An　old　man　who　used　to　frequent　this　pond　nearly　sixty　years

ago；　when　it　was　dark　with　surrounding　forests；　tells　me　that　in

those　days　he　sometimes　saw　it　all　alive　with　ducks　and　other

water…fowl；　and　that　there　were　many　eagles　about　it。　　He　came　here

a…fishing；　and　used　an　old　log　canoe　which　he　found　on　the　shore。

It　was　made　of　two　white　pine　logs　dug　out　and　pinned　together；　and

was　cut　off　square　at　the　ends。　　It　was　very　clumsy；　but　lasted　a

great　many　years　before　it　became　water…logged　and　perhaps　sank　to

the　bottom。　　He　did　not　know　whose　it　was；　it　belonged　to　the　pond。

He　used　to　make　a　cable　for　his　anchor　of　strips　of　hickory　bark

tied　together。　　An　old　man；　a　potter；　who　lived　by　the　pond　before

the　Revolution；　told　him　once　that　there　was　an　iron　chest　at　the

bottom；　and　that　he　had　seen　it。　　Sometimes　it　would　come　floating

up　to　the　shore；　but　when　you　went　toward　it；　it　would　go　back　into

deep　water　and　disappear。　　I　was　pleased　to　hear　of　the　old　log

canoe；　which　took　the　place　of　an　Indian　one　of　the　same　material

but　more　graceful　construction；　which　perchance　had　first　been　a

tree　on　the　bank；　and　then；　as　it　were；　fell　into　the　water；　to

float　there　for　a　generation；　the　most　proper　vessel　for　the　lake。

I　remember　that　when　I　first　looked　into　these　depths　there　were

many　large　trunks　to　be　seen　indistinctly　lying　on　the　bottom；　which

had　either　been　blown　over　formerly；　or　left　on　the　ice　at　the　last

cutting；　when　wood　was　cheaper；　but　now　they　have　mostly

disappeared。

　　　　When　I　first　paddled　a　boat　on　Walden；　it　was　completely

surrounded　by　thick　and　lofty　pine　and　oak　woods；　and　in　some　of　its

coves　grape…vines　had　run　over　the　trees　next　the　water　and　formed

bowers　under　which　a　boat　could　pass。　　The　hills　which　form　its

shores　are　so　steep；　and　the　woods　on　them　were　then　so　high；　that；

as　you　looked　down　from　the　west　end；　it　had　the　appearance　of　an

amphitheatre　for　some　land　of　sylvan　spectacle。　　I　have　spent　many

an　hour；　when　I　was　younger；　floating　over　its　surface　as　the　zephyr

willed；　having　paddled　my　boat　to　the　middle；　and　lying　on　my　back

across　the　seats；　in　a　summer　forenoon；　dreaming　awake；　until　I　was

aroused　by　the　boat　touching　the　sand；　and　I　arose　to　see　what　shore

my　fates　had　impelled　me　to；　days　when　idleness　was　the　most

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　othe