SOUNDS.docx

SOUNDS.docx

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SOUNDS

Sounds

Butwhileweareconfinedtobooks,thoughthemostselectand

classic,andreadonlyparticularwrittenlanguages,whichare

themselvesbutdialectsandprovincial,weareindangerof

forgettingthelanguagewhichallthingsandeventsspeakwithout

metaphor,whichaloneiscopiousandstandard.Muchispublished,

butlittleprinted.Therayswhichstreamthroughtheshutterwill

benolongerrememberedwhentheshutteriswhollyremoved.No

methodnordisciplinecansupersedethenecessityofbeingforever

onthealert.Whatisacourseofhistoryorphilosophy,orpoetry,

nomatterhowwellselected,orthebestsociety,orthemost

admirableroutineoflife,comparedwiththedisciplineoflooking

alwaysatwhatistobeseen?

Willyoubeareader,astudent

merely,oraseer?

Readyourfate,seewhatisbeforeyou,andwalk

onintofuturity.

Ididnotreadbooksthefirstsummer;Ihoedbeans.Nay,I

oftendidbetterthanthis.ThereweretimeswhenIcouldnot

affordtosacrificethebloomofthepresentmomenttoanywork,

whetheroftheheadorhands.Iloveabroadmargintomylife.

Sometimes,inasummermorning,havingtakenmyaccustomedbath,I

satinmysunnydoorwayfromsunrisetillnoon,raptinarevery,

amidstthepinesandhickoriesandsumachs,inundisturbedsolitude

andstillness,whilethebirdssingaroundorflittednoiseless

throughthehouse,untilbythesunfallinginatmywestwindow,or

thenoiseofsometraveller'swagononthedistanthighway,Iwas

remindedofthelapseoftime.Igrewinthoseseasonslikecornin

thenight,andtheywerefarbetterthananyworkofthehandswould

havebeen.Theywerenottimesubtractedfrommylife,butsomuch

overandabovemyusualallowance.IrealizedwhattheOrientals

meanbycontemplationandtheforsakingofworks.Forthemost

part,Imindednothowthehourswent.Thedayadvancedasifto

lightsomeworkofmine;itwasmorning,andlo,nowitisevening,

andnothingmemorableisaccomplished.Insteadofsinginglikethe

birds,Isilentlysmiledatmyincessantgoodfortune.Asthe

sparrowhaditstrill,sittingonthehickorybeforemydoor,sohad

Imychuckleorsuppressedwarblewhichhemighthearoutofmy

nest.Mydayswerenotdaysoftheweek,bearingthestampofany

heathendeity,norweretheymincedintohoursandfrettedbythe

tickingofaclock;forIlivedlikethePuriIndians,ofwhomitis

saidthat"foryesterday,today,andtomorrowtheyhaveonlyone

word,andtheyexpressthevarietyofmeaningbypointingbackward

foryesterdayforwardfortomorrow,andoverheadforthepassing

day."Thiswassheeridlenesstomyfellow-townsmen,nodoubt;but

ifthebirdsandflowershadtriedmebytheirstandard,Ishould

nothavebeenfoundwanting.Amanmustfindhisoccasionsin

himself,itistrue.Thenaturaldayisverycalm,andwillhardly

reprovehisindolence.

Ihadthisadvantage,atleast,inmymodeoflife,overthose

whowereobligedtolookabroadforamusement,tosocietyandthe

theatre,thatmylifeitselfwasbecomemyamusementandnever

ceasedtobenovel.Itwasadramaofmanyscenesandwithoutan

end.Ifwewerealways,indeed,gettingourliving,andregulating

ourlivesaccordingtothelastandbestmodewehadlearned,we

shouldneverbetroubledwithennui.Followyourgeniusclosely

enough,anditwillnotfailtoshowyouafreshprospectevery

hour.Houseworkwasapleasantpastime.Whenmyfloorwasdirty,I

roseearly,and,settingallmyfurnitureoutofdoorsonthegrass,

bedandbedsteadmakingbutonebudget,dashedwateronthefloor,

andsprinkledwhitesandfromthepondonit,andthenwithabroom

scrubbeditcleanandwhite;andbythetimethevillagershad

brokentheirfastthemorningsunhaddriedmyhousesufficientlyto

allowmetomoveinagain,andmymeditationswerealmost

uninterupted.Itwaspleasanttoseemywholehouseholdeffectsout

onthegrass,makingalittlepilelikeagypsy'spack,andmy

three-leggedtable,fromwhichIdidnotremovethebooksandpen

andink,standingamidthepinesandhickories.Theyseemedgladto

getoutthemselves,andasifunwillingtobebroughtin.Iwas

sometimestemptedtostretchanawningoverthemandtakemyseat

there.Itwasworththewhiletoseethesunshineonthesethings,

andhearthefreewindblowonthem;somuchmoreinterestingmost

familiarobjectslookoutofdoorsthaninthehouse.Abirdsits

onthenextbough,life-everlastinggrowsunderthetable,and

blackberryvinesrunrounditslegs;pinecones,chestnutburs,and

strawberryleavesarestrewnabout.Itlookedasifthiswasthe

waytheseformscametobetransferredtoourfurniture,totables,

chairs,andbedsteads--becausetheyoncestoodintheirmidst.

Myhousewasonthesideofahill,immediatelyontheedgeof

thelargerwood,inthemidstofayoungforestofpitchpinesand

hickories,andhalfadozenrodsfromthepond,towhichanarrow

footpathleddownthehill.Inmyfrontyardgrewthestrawberry,

blackberry,andlife-everlasting,johnswortandgoldenrod,shrub

oaksandsandcherry,blueberryandgroundnut.NeartheendofMay,

thesandcherry（Cerasuspumila）adornedthesidesofthepathwith

itsdelicateflowersarrangedinumbelscylindricallyaboutits

shortstems,whichlast,inthefall,weigheddownwithgoodsized

andhandsomecherries,felloverinwreathslikeraysoneveryside.

ItastedthemoutofcomplimenttoNature,thoughtheywerescarcely

palatable.Thesumach（Rhusglabra）grewluxuriantlyaboutthe

house,pushingupthroughtheembankmentwhichIhadmade,and

growingfiveorsixfeetthefirstseason.Itsbroadpinnate

tropicalleafwaspleasantthoughstrangetolookon.Thelarge

buds,suddenlypushingoutlateinthespringfromdrystickswhich

hadseemedtobedead,developedthemselvesasbymagicinto

gracefulgreenandtenderboughs,aninchindiameter;and

sometimes,asIsatatmywindow,soheedlesslydidtheygrowand

taxtheirweakjoints,Iheardafreshandtenderboughsuddenly

falllikeafantotheground,whentherewasnotabreathofair

stirring,brokenoffbyitsownweight.InAugust,thelargemasses

ofberries,which,wheninflower,hadattractedmanywildbees,

graduallyassumedtheirbrightvelvetycrimsonhue,andbytheir

weightagainbentdownandbrokethetenderlimbs.

AsIsitatmywindowthissummerafternoon,hawksarecircling

aboutmyclearing;thetantivyofwildpigeons,flyingbytwoand

threesathwartmyview,orperchingrestlessonthewhitepine

boughsbehindmyhouse,givesavoicetotheair;afishhawk

dimplestheglassysurfaceofthepondandbringsupafish;amink

stealsoutofthemarshbeforemydoorandseizesafrogbythe

shore;thesedgeisbendingundertheweightofthereed-birds

flittinghitherandthither;andforthelasthalf-hourIhaveheard

therattleofrailroadcars,nowdyingawayandthenrevivinglike

thebeatofapartridge,conveyingtravellersfromBostontothe

country.ForIdidnotlivesooutoftheworldasthatboywho,as

Ihear,wasputouttoafarmerintheeastpartofthetown,but

erelongranawayandcamehomeagain,quitedownattheheeland

homesick.Hehadneverseensuchadullandout-of-the-wayplace;

thefolkswereallgoneoff;why,youcouldn'tevenhearthe

whistle!

IdoubtifthereissuchaplaceinMassachusettsnow:

--

"Intruth,ourvillagehasbecomeabutt

Foroneofthosefleetrailroadshafts,ando'er

Ourpeacefulplainitssoothingsoundis--Concord."

TheFitchburgRailroadtouchesthepondaboutahundredrods

southofwhereIdwell.Iusuallygotothevillagealongits

causeway,andam,asitwere,relatedtosocietybythislink.The

menonthefreighttrains,whogooverthewholelengthoftheroad,

bowtomeastoanoldacquaintance,theypassmesooften,and

apparentlytheytakemeforanemployee;andsoIam.Itoowould

fainbeatrack-repairersomewhereintheorbitoftheearth.

Thewhistleofthelocomotivepenetratesmywoodssummerand

winter,soundinglikethescreamofahawksailingoversome

farmer'syard,informingmethatmanyrestlesscitymerchantsare

arrivingwithinthecircleofthetown,oradventurouscountry

tradersfromtheotherside.Astheycomeunderonehorizon,they

shouttheirwarningtogetoffthetracktotheother,heard

sometimesthroughthecirclesoftwotowns.Herecomeyour

groceries,country;yourrations,countrymen!

Noristhereanyman

soindependentonhisfarmthathecansaythemnay.Andhere's

yourpayforthem!

screamsthecountryman'swhistle;timberlike

longbattering-ramsgoingtwentymilesanhouragainstthecity's

walls,andchairsenoughtoseatallthewearyandheavy-ladenthat

dwellwithinthem.Withsuchhugeandlumberingcivilitythe

countryhandsachairtothecity.AlltheIndianhuckleberryhills

arestripped,allthecranberrymeadowsarerakedintothecity.Up

comesthecotton,downgoesthewovencloth;upcomesthesilk,down

goesthewoollen;upcomethebooks,butdowngoesthewitthat

writesthem.

WhenImeettheenginewithitstrainofcarsmovingoffwith

planetarymotion--or,rather,likeacomet,forthebeholderknows

notifwiththatvelocityandwiththatdirectionitwillever

revisitthissystem,sinceitsorbitdoesnotlooklikeareturning

curve--withitssteamcloudlikeabannerstreamingbehindin

goldenandsilverwreaths,likemanyadownycloudwhichIhave

seen,highintheheavens,unfoldingitsmassestothelight--as

ifthistravelingdemigod,thiscloud-compeller,woulderelongtake

thesunsetskyfortheliveryofhistrain;whenIheartheiron

horsemakethehillsechow