The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, Volume VII (of 20)


Page 23 of 99



View from Annursnack Hill

EVERY MAN IS A ROMAN FORUM

All things are up and down, east and west, to me. In me is the forum out of which go the Appian and Sacred ways, and a thousand beside, to the ends of the world. If I forget my centralness, and say a bean winds with or against the sun, and not right or left, it will not be true south of the equator.

THE ASSABET

July 18.

Up this pleasant stream let's row

For the livelong summer's day,

Sprinkling foam where'er we go

In wreaths as white as driven snow.

Ply the oars! away! away![57]

Now we glide along the shore,

Chucking lilies as we go,

While the yellow-sanded floor

Doggedly resists the oar,

Like some turtle dull and slow.

Now we stem the middle tide,

Plowing through the deepest soil;

Ridges pile on either side,

While we through the furrow glide,

Reaping bubbles for our toil.

Dew before and drought behind,

Onward all doth seem to fly;

Naught contents the eager mind,

Only rapids now are kind,

Forward are the earth and sky. 85

Sudden music strikes the ear,

Leaking out from yonder bank,

Fit such voyagers to cheer.

Sure there must be Naiads here,

Who have kindly played this prank.

There I know the cunning pack

Where yon self-sufficient rill

All its telltale hath kept back,

Through the meadows held its clack,

And now bubbleth its fill.

Silent flows the parent stream,

And if rocks do lie below

Smothers with her waves the din,

As it were a youthful sin,

Just as still and just as slow.

But this gleeful little rill,

Purling round its storied pebble,

Tinkles to the selfsame tune

From December until June,

Nor doth any drought enfeeble.

See the sun behind the willows,

Rising through the golden haze,

How he gleams along the billows,

Their white crests the easy pillows

Of his dew-besprinkled rays.

Forward press we to the dawning,

For Aurora leads the way, 86

Sultry noon and twilight scorning;

In each dewdrop of the morning

Lies the promise of a day.

Rivers from the sun do flow,

Springing with the dewy morn;

Voyageurs 'gainst time do row,

Idle noon nor sunset know,

Ever even with the dawn.[58]

Since that first "Away! away!"

Many a lengthy league we've rowed,

Still the sparrow on the spray

Hastes to usher in the day

With her simple stanza'd ode.[59]

THE BREEZE'S INVITATION

July 20.

Come let's roam the breezy pastures,

Where the freest zephyrs blow,

Batten on the oak tree's rustle,

And the pleasant insect bustle,

Dripping with the streamlet's flow.

What if I no wings do wear,

Thro' this solid-seeming air

I can skim like any swallow;

Whoso dareth let her follow,

And we'll be a jovial pair.

Like two careless swifts let's sail,

Zephyrus shall think for me; 87

Over hill and over dale,

Riding on the easy gale,

We will scan the earth and sea.

Yonder see that willow tree

Winnowing the buxom air;

You a gnat and I a bee,

With our merry minstrelsy

We will make a concert there.

One green leaf shall be our screen,

Till the sun doth go to bed,

I the king and you the queen

Of that peaceful little green,

Without any subject's aid.

To our music Time will linger,

And earth open wide her ear,

Nor shall any need to tarry

To immortal verse to marry

Such sweet music as he'll hear.

July 24.

Nature doth have her dawn each day,

But mine are far between;

Content, I cry, for, sooth to say,

Mine brightest are, I ween.

For when my sun doth deign to rise,

Though it be her noontide,

Her fairest field in shadow lies,

Nor can my light abide. 88

Sometimes I bask me in her day,

Conversing with my mate;

But if we interchange one ray,

Forthwith her heats abate.

Through his discourse I climb and see,

As from some eastern hill,

A brighter morrow rise to me

Than lieth in her skill.

As't were two summer days in one,

Two Sundays come together,

Our rays united make one sun,

With fairest summer weather.[60]

July 25. There is no remedy for love but to love more.

Aug. 31. Made seven miles, and moored our boat on the west side of a little rising ground which in the spring forms an island in the river, the sun going down on one hand, and our eminence contributing its shadow to the night on the other.[61] In the twilight so elastic is the air that the sky seems to tinkle [sic] over farmhouse and wood. Scrambling up the bank of our terra incognita we fall on huckleberries, which have slowly ripened here, husbanding the juices which the months have distilled, for our peculiar use this night.[62] If they had been rank poison, the entire simplicity and confidence with which we plucked them would have 89 insured their wholesomeness. The devout attitude of the hour asked a blessing on that repast. It was fit for the setting sun to rest on.

From our tent here on the hillside, through that isosceles door, I see our lonely mast on the shore, it may be as an eternity fixture, to be seen in landscapes henceforth, or as the most temporary standstill of time, the boat just come to anchor, and the mast still rocking to find its balance.[63]



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