"One attraction in coming to the woods to live was that I should
have leisure and opportunity to see the Spring come in."
THE OPENING OF large tracts by the ice-cutters commonly causes a pond to break up earlier; for the water, agitated by the wind, even in cold weather, wears away the surrounding ice. But such was not the effect on Walden that year, for she had soon got a thick new garment to take the place of the old. This pond never breaks up so soon as the others in this neighborhood, on account both of its greater depth and its having no stream passing through it to melt or wear away the ice. I never knew it to open in the course of a winter, not excepting that of '52-3, which gave the ponds so severe a trial. It commonly opens about the first of April, a week or ten days later than Flint's Pond and Fair Haven, beginning to melt on the north side and in the shallower parts where it began to freeze. It indicates better than any water hereabouts the absolute progress of the season, being least affected by transient changes of temperature. A severe cold of a few days duration in March may very much retard the opening of the former ponds, while the temperature of Walden increases almost uninterruptedly. A thermometer thrust into the middle of Walden on the 6th of March, 1847, stood at 32°, or freezing point; near the shore at 33°; in the middle of Flint's Pond, the same day, at 32?° at a dozen rods from the shore, in shallow water, under ice a foot thick, at 36°. This difference of three and a half degrees between the temperature of the deep water and the shallow in the latter pond, and the fact that a great proportion of it is comparatively shallow, show why it should break up so much sooner than Walden. The ice in the shallowest part was at this time several inches thinner than in the middle. In midwinter the middle had been the warmest and the ice thinnest there. So, also, every one who has waded about the shores of the pond in summer must have perceived how much warmer the water is close to the shore, where only three or four inches deep, than a little distance out, and on the surface where it is deep, than near the bottom. In spring the sun not only exerts an influence through the increased temperature of the air and earth, but its heat passes through ice a foot or more thick, and is reflected from the bottom in shallow water, and so also warms the water and melts the under side of the ice, at the same time that it is melting it more directly above, making it uneven, and causing the air bubbles which it contains to extend themselves upward and downward until it is completely honeycombed, and at last disappears suddenly in a single spring rain. Ice has its grain as well as wood, and when a cake begins to rot or "comb," that is, assume the appearance of honeycomb, whatever may be its position, the air cells are at right angles with what was the water surface. Where there is a rock or a log rising near to the surface the ice over it is much thinner, and is frequently quite dissolved by this reflected heat; and I have been told that in the experiment at Cambridge to freeze water in a shallow wooden pond, though the cold air circulated underneath, and so had access to both sides, the reflection of the sun from the bottom more than counterbalanced this advantage. When a warm rain in the middle of the winter melts off the snow-ice from Walden, and leaves a hard dark or transparent ice on the middle, there will be a strip of rotten though thicker white ice, a rod or more wide, about the shores, created by this reflected heat. Also, as I have said, the bubbles themselves within the ice operate as burning-glasses to melt the ice beneath.
The phenomena of the year take place every day in a pond on a small scale. Every morning, generally speaking, the shallow water is being warmed more rapidly than the deep, though it may not be made so warm after all, and every evening it is being cooled more rapidly until the morning. The day is an epitome of the year. The night is the winter, the morning and evening are the spring and fall, and the noon is the summer. The cracking and booming of the ice indicate a change of temperature. One pleasant morning after a cold night, February 24th, 1850, having gone to Flint's Pond to spend the day, I noticed with surprise, that when I struck the ice with the head of my axe, it resounded like a gong for many rods around, or as if I had struck on a tight drum-head. The pond began to boom about an hour after sunrise, when it felt the influence of the sun's rays slanted upon it from over the hills; it stretched itself and yawned like a waking man with a gradually increasing tumult, which was kept up three or four hours. It took a short siesta at noon, and boomed once more toward night, as the sun was withdrawing his influence. In the right stage of the weather a pond fires its evening gun with great regularity. But in the middle of the day, being full of cracks, and the air also being less elastic, it had completely lost its resonance, and probably fishes and muskrats could not then have been stunned by a blow on it. The fishermen say that the "thundering of the pond" scares the fishes and prevents their biting. The pond does not thunder every evening, and I cannot tell surely when to expect its thundering; but though I may perceive no difference in the weather, it does. Who would have suspected so large and cold and thick-skinned a thing to be so sensitive? Yet it has its law to which it thunders obedience when it should as surely as the buds expand in the spring. The earth is all alive and covered with papillae. The largest pond is as sensitive to atmospheric changes as the globule of mercury in its tube.
One attraction in coming to the woods to live was that I should have leisure and opportunity to see the Spring come in. The ice in the pond at length begins to be honeycombed, and I can set my heel in it as I walk. Fogs and rains and warmer suns are gradually melting the snow; the days have grown sensibly longer; and I see how I shall get through the winter without adding to my wood-pile, for large fires are no longer necessary. I am on the alert for the first signs of spring, to hear the chance note of some arriving bird, or the striped squirrel's chirp, for his stores must be now nearly exhausted, or see the woodchuck venture out of his winter quarters. On the 13th of March, after I had heard the bluebird, song sparrow, and red-wing, the ice was still nearly a foot thick. As the weather grew warmer it was not sensibly worn away by the water, nor broken up and floated off as in rivers, but, though it was completely melted for half a rod in width about the shore, the middle was merely honeycombed and saturated with water, so that you could put your foot through it when six inches thick; but by the next day evening, perhaps, after a warm rain followed by fog, it would have wholly disappeared, all gone off with the fog, spirited away. One year I went across the middle only five days before it disappeared entirely. In 1845 Walden was first completely open on the 1st of April; in '46, the 25th of March; in '47, the 8th of April; in '51, the 28th of March; in '52, the 18th of April; in '53, the 23d of March; in '54, about the 7th of April.
Every incident connected with the breaking up of the rivers and ponds and the settling of the weather is particularly interesting to us who live in a climate of so great extremes. When the warmer days come, they who dwell near the river hear the ice crack at night with a startling whoop as loud as artillery, as if its icy fetters were rent from end to end, and within a few days see it rapidly going out. So the alligator comes out of the mud with quakings of the earth. One old man, who has been a close observer of Nature, and seems as thoroughly wise in regard to all her operations as if she had been put upon the stocks when he was a boy, and he had helped to lay her keel — who has come to his growth, and can hardly acquire more of natural lore if he should live to the age of Methuselah (1) — told me — and I was surprised to hear him express wonder at any of Nature's operations, for I thought that there were no secrets between them — that one spring day he took his gun and boat, and thought that he would have a little sport with the ducks. There was ice still on the meadows, but it was all gone out of the river, and he dropped down without obstruction from Sudbury, where he lived, to Fair Haven Pond, which he found, unexpectedly, covered for the most part with a firm field of ice. It was a warm day, and he was surprised to see so great a body of ice remaining. Not seeing any ducks, he hid his boat on the north or back side of an island in the pond, and then concealed himself in the bushes on the south side, to await them. The ice was melted for three or four rods from the shore, and there was a smooth and warm sheet of water, with a muddy bottom, such as the ducks love, within, and he thought it likely that some would be along pretty soon. After he had lain still there about an hour he heard a low and seemingly very distant sound, but singularly grand and impressive, unlike anything he had ever heard, gradually swelling and increasing as if it would have a universal and memorable ending, a sullen rush and roar, which seemed to him all at once like the sound of a vast body of fowl coming in to settle there, and, seizing his gun, he started up in haste and excited; but he found, to his surprise, that the whole body of the ice had started while he lay there, and drifted in to the shore, and the sound he had heard was made by its edge grating on the shore — at first gently nibbled and crumbled off, but at length heaving up and scattering its wrecks along the island to a considerable height before it came to a standstill.
At length the sun's rays have attained the right angle, and warm winds blow up mist and rain and melt the snowbanks, and the sun, dispersing the mist, smiles on a checkered landscape of russet and white smoking with incense, through which the traveller picks his way from islet to islet, cheered by the music of a thousand tinkling rills and rivulets whose veins are filled with the blood of winter which they are bearing off.
Few phenomena gave me more delight than to observe the forms which thawing sand and clay assume in flowing down the sides of a deep cut on the railroad through which I passed on my way to the village, a phenomenon not very common on so large a scale, though the number of freshly exposed banks of the right material must have been greatly multiplied since railroads were invented. The material was sand of every degree of fineness and of various rich colors, commonly mixed with a little clay. When the frost comes out in the spring, and even in a thawing day in the winter, the sand begins to flow down the slopes like lava, sometimes bursting out through the snow and overflowing it where no sand was to be seen before. Innumerable little streams overlap and interlace one with another, exhibiting a sort of hybrid product, which obeys half way the law of currents, and half way that of vegetation. As it flows it takes the forms of sappy leaves or vines, making heaps of pulpy sprays a foot or more in depth, and resembling, as you look down on them, the laciniated, lobed, and imbricated thalluses of some lichens; or you are reminded of coral, of leopard's paws or birds' feet, of brains or lungs or bowels, and excrements of all kinds. It is a truly grotesque vegetation, whose forms and color we see imitated in bronze, a sort of architectural foliage more ancient and typical than acanthus, chiccory, ivy, vine, or any vegetable leaves; destined perhaps, under some circumstances, to become a puzzle to future geologists. The whole cut impressed me as if it were a cave with its stalactites laid open to the light. The various shades of the sand are singularly rich and agreeable, embracing the different iron colors, brown, gray, yellowish, and reddish. When the flowing mass reaches the drain at the foot of the bank it spreads out flatter into strands, the separate streams losing their semi-cylindrical form and gradually becoming more flat and broad, running together as they are more moist, till they form an almost flat sand, still variously and beautifully shaded, but in which you can trace the original forms of vegetation; till at length, in the water itself, they are converted into banks, like those formed off the mouths of rivers, and the forms of vegetation are lost in the ripple marks on the bottom.
The whole bank, which is from twenty to forty feet high, is sometimes overlaid with a mass of this kind of foliage, or sandy rupture, for a quarter of a mile on one or both sides, the produce of one spring day. What makes this sand foliage remarkable is its springing into existence thus suddenly. When I see on the one side the inert bank — for the sun acts on one side first — and on the other this luxuriant foliage, the creation of an hour, I am affected as if in a peculiar sense I stood in the laboratory of the Artist who made the world and me — had come to where he was still at work, sporting on this bank, and with excess of energy strewing his fresh designs about. I feel as if I were nearer to the vitals of the globe, for this sandy overflow is something such a foliaceous mass as the vitals of the animal body. You find thus in the very sands an anticipation of the vegetable leaf. No wonder that the earth expresses itself outwardly in leaves, it so labors with the idea inwardly. The atoms have already learned this law, and are pregnant by it. The overhanging leaf sees here its prototype. Internally, whether in the globe or animal body, it is a moist thick lobe, a word especially applicable to the liver and lungs and the leaves of fat ([letters of the Greek alphabet], labor, lapsus, to flow or slip downward, a lapsing; [letters of the Greek alphabet], globus, lobe, globe; also lap, flap, and many other words); externally a dry thin leaf, even as the f and v are a pressed and dried b. The radicals of lobe are lb, the soft mass of the b (single lobed, or B, double lobed), with the liquid l behind it pressing it forward. In globe, glb, the guttural gadds to the meaning the capacity of the throat. The feathers and wings of birds are still drier and thinner leaves. Thus, also, you pass from the lumpish grub in the earth to the airy and fluttering butterfly. The very globe continually transcends and translates itself, and becomes winged in its orbit. Even ice begins with delicate crystal leaves, as if it had flowed into moulds which the fronds of waterplants have impressed on the watery mirror. The whole tree itself is but one leaf, and rivers are still vaster leaves whose pulp is intervening earth, and towns and cities are the ova of insects in their axils.
When the sun withdraws the sand ceases to flow, but in the morning the streams will start once more and branch and branch again into a myriad of others. You here see perchance how blood-vessels are formed. If you look closely you observe that first there pushes forward from the thawing mass a stream of softened sand with a drop-like point, like the ball of the finger, feeling its way slowly and blindly downward, until at last with more heat and moisture, as the sun gets higher, the most fluid portion, in its effort to obey the law to which the most inert also yields, separates from the latter and forms for itself a meandering channel or artery within that, in which is seen a little silvery stream glancing like lightning from one stage of pulpy leaves or branches to another, and ever and anon swallowed up in the sand. It is wonderful how rapidly yet perfectly the sand organizes itself as it flows, using the best material its mass affords to form the sharp edges of its channel. Such are the sources of rivers. In the silicious matter which the water deposits is perhaps the bony system, and in the still finer soil and organic matter the fleshy fibre or cellular tissue. What is man but a mass of thawing clay? The ball of the human finger is but a drop congealed. The fingers and toes flow to their extent from the thawing mass of the body. Who knows what the human body would expand and flow out to under a more genial heaven? Is not the hand a spreading palm leaf with its lobes and veins? The ear may be regarded, fancifully, as a lichen, umbilicaria, on the side of the head, with its lobe or drop. The lip — labium, from labor (?) — laps or lapses from the sides of the cavernous mouth. The nose is a manifest congealed drop or stalactite. The chin is a still larger drop, the confluent dripping of the face. The cheeks are a slide from the brows into the valley of the face, opposed and diffused by the cheek bones. Each rounded lobe of the vegetable leaf, too, is a thick and now loitering drop, larger or smaller; the lobes are the fingers of the leaf; and as many lobes as it has, in so many directions it tends to flow, and more heat or other genial influences would have caused it to flow yet farther.
Thus it seemed that this one hillside illustrated the principle of all the operations of Nature. The Maker of this earth but patented a leaf. What Champollion (2) will decipher this hieroglyphic for us, that we may turn over a new leaf at last? This phenomenon is more exhilarating to me than the luxuriance and fertility of vineyards. True, it is somewhat excrementitious in its character, and there is no end to the heaps of liver, lights, and bowels, as if the globe were turned wrong side outward; but this suggests at least that Nature has some bowels, and there again is mother of humanity. This is the frost coming out of the ground; this is Spring. It precedes the green and flowery spring, as mythology precedes regular poetry. I know of nothing more purgative of winter fumes and indigestions. It convinces me that Earth is still in her swaddling-clothes, and stretches forth baby fingers on every side. Fresh curls spring from the baldest brow. There is nothing inorganic. These foliaceous heaps lie along the bank like the slag of a furnace, showing that Nature is "in full blast" within. The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit — not a fossil earth, but a living earth; compared with whose great central life all animal and vegetable life is merely parasitic. Its throes will heave our exuviae from their graves. You may melt your metals and cast them into the most beautiful moulds you can; they will never excite me like the forms which this molten earth flows out into. And not only it, but the institutions upon it are plastic like clay in the hands of the potter.
Ere long, not only on these banks, but on every hill and plain and in every hollow, the frost comes out of the ground like a dormant quadruped from its burrow, and seeks the sea with music, or migrates to other climes in clouds. Thaw with his gentle persuasion is more powerful than Thor (3) with his hammer. The one melts, the other but breaks in pieces.
When the ground was partially bare of snow, and a few warm days had dried its surface somewhat, it was pleasant to compare the first tender signs of the infant year just peeping forth with the stately beauty of the withered vegetation which had withstood the winter — life-everlasting, goldenrods, pinweeds, and graceful wild grasses, more obvious and interesting frequently than in summer even, as if their beauty was not ripe till then; even cotton-grass, cat-tails, mulleins, johnswort, hard-hack, meadow-sweet, and other strong-stemmed plants, those unexhausted granaries which entertain the earliest birds — decent weeds, at least, which widowed Nature wears. I am particularly attracted by the arching and sheaf-like top of the wool-grass; it brings back the summer to our winter memories, and is among the forms which art loves to copy, and which, in the vegetable kingdom, have the same relation to types already in the mind of man that astronomy has. It is an antique style, older than Greek or Egyptian. Many of the phenomena of Winter are suggestive of an inexpressible tenderness and fragile delicacy. We are accustomed to hear this king described as a rude and boisterous tyrant; but with the gentleness of a lover he adorns the tresses of Summer.
At the approach of spring the red squirrels got under my house, two at a time, directly under my feet as I sat reading or writing, and kept up the queerest chuckling and chirruping and vocal pirouetting and gurgling sounds that ever were heard; and when I stamped they only chirruped the louder, as if past all fear and respect in their mad pranks, defying humanity to stop them. No, you don't — chickaree — chickaree. They were wholly deaf to my arguments, or failed to perceive their force, and fell into a strain of invective that was irresistible.
The first sparrow of spring! The year beginning with younger hope than ever! The faint silvery warblings heard over the partially bare and moist fields from the bluebird, the song sparrow, and the red-wing, as if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell! What at such a time are histories, chronologies, traditions, and all written revelations? The brooks sing carols and glees to the spring. The marsh hawk, sailing low over the meadow, is already seeking the first slimy life that awakes. The sinking sound of melting snow is heard in all dells, and the ice dissolves apace in the ponds. The grass flames up on the hillsides like a spring fire — "et primitus oritur herba imbribus primoribus evocata"(4)— as if the earth sent forth an inward heat to greet the returning sun; not yellow but green is the color of its flame; — the symbol of perpetual youth, the grass-blade, like a long green ribbon, streams from the sod into the summer, checked indeed by the frost, but anon pushing on again, lifting its spear of last year's hay with the fresh life below. It grows as steadily as the rill oozes out of the ground. It is almost identical with that, for in the growing days of June, when the rills are dry, the grass-blades are their channels, and from year to year the herds drink at this perennial green stream, and the mower draws from it betimes their winter supply. So our human life but dies down to its root, and still puts forth its green blade to eternity.
Walden is melting apace. There is a canal two rods wide along the northerly and westerly sides, and wider still at the east end. A great field of ice has cracked off from the main body. I hear a song sparrow singing from the bushes on the shore — olit, olit, olit-chip, chip, chip, che char-che wiss, wiss, wiss. He too is helping to crack it. How handsome the great sweeping curves in the edge of the ice, answering somewhat to those of the shore, but more regular! It is unusually hard, owing to the recent severe but transient cold, and all watered or waved like a palace floor. But the wind slides eastward over its opaque surface in vain, till it reaches the living surface beyond. It is glorious to behold this ribbon of water sparkling in the sun, the bare face of the pond full of glee and youth, as if it spoke the joy of the fishes within it, and of the sands on its shore — a silvery sheen as from the scales of a leuciscus,(5) as it were all one active fish. Such is the contrast between winter and spring. Walden was dead and is alive again. But this spring it broke up more steadily, as I have said.
The change from storm and winter to serene and mild weather, from dark and sluggish hours to bright and elastic ones, is a memorable crisis which all things proclaim. It is seemingly instantaneous at last. Suddenly an influx of light filled my house, though the evening was at hand, and the clouds of winter still overhung it, and the eaves were dripping with sleety rain. I looked out the window, and lo! Where yesterday was cold gray ice there lay the transparent pond already calm and full of hope as in a summer evening, reflecting a summer evening sky in its bosom, though none was visible overhead, as if it had intelligence with some remote horizon. I heard a robin in the distance, the first I had heard for many a thousand years, methought, whose note I shall not forget for many a thousand more — the same sweet and powerful song as of yore. O the evening robin, at the end of a New England summer day! If I could ever find the twig he sits upon! I mean he; I mean the twig. This at least is not the Turdus migratorius. The pitch pines and shrub oaks about my house, which had so long drooped, suddenly resumed their several characters, looked brighter, greener, and more erect and alive, as if effectually cleansed and restored by the rain. I knew that it would not rain any more. You may tell by looking at any twig of the forest, ay, at your very wood-pile, whether its winter is past or not. As it grew darker, I was startled by the honking of geese flying low over the woods, like weary travellers getting in late from Southern lakes, and indulging at last in unrestrained complaint and mutual consolation. Standing at my door, I could bear the rush of their wings; when, driving toward my house, they suddenly spied my light, and with hushed clamor wheeled and settled in the pond. So I came in, and shut the door, and passed my first spring night in the woods.
In the morning I watched the geese from the door through the mist, sailing in the middle of the pond, fifty rods off, so large and tumultuous that Walden appeared like an artificial pond for their amusement. But when I stood on the shore they at once rose up with a great flapping of wings at the signal of their commander, and when they had got into rank circled about over my head, twenty-nine of them, and then steered straight to Canada, with a regular honk from the leader at intervals, trusting to break their fast in muddier pools. A "plump" of ducks rose at the same time and took the route to the north in the wake of their noisier cousins.
For a week I heard the circling, groping clangor of some solitary goose in the foggy mornings, seeking its companion, and still peopling the woods with the sound of a larger life than they could sustain. In April the pigeons were seen again flying express in small flocks, and in due time I heard the martins twittering over my clearing, though it had not seemed that the township contained so many that it could afford me any, and I fancied that they were peculiarly of the ancient race that dwelt in hollow trees ere white men came. In almost all climes the tortoise and the frog are among the precursors and heralds of this season, and birds fly with song and glancing plumage, and plants spring and bloom, and winds blow, to correct this slight oscillation of the poles and preserve the equilibrium of nature.
As every season seems best to us in its turn, so the coming in of spring is like the creation of Cosmos out of Chaos and the realization of the Golden Age.(6) —
"Eurus ad Auroram Nabathaeaque regna recessit,
Persidaque, et radiis juga subdita matutinis."
"The East-Wind withdrew to Aurora and the Nabathean kingdom,
And the Persian, and the ridges placed under the morning rays.
. . . . . . .
Man was born. Whether that Artificer of things,
The origin of a better world, made him from the divine seed;
Or the earth, being recent and lately sundered from the high
Ether, retained some seeds of cognate heaven."(7)
A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts. We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence of the slightest dew that falls on it; and did not spend our time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call doing our duty. We loiter in winter while it is already spring. In a pleasant spring morning all men's sins are forgiven. Such a day is a truce to vice. While such a sun holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return. Through our own recovered innocence we discern the innocence of our neighbors. You may have known your neighbor yesterday for a thief, a drunkard, or a sensualist, and merely pitied or despised him, and despaired of the world; but the sun shines bright and warm this first spring morning, recreating the world, and you meet him at some serene work, and see how it is exhausted and debauched veins expand with still joy and bless the new day, feel the spring influence with the innocence of infancy, and all his faults are forgotten. There is not only an atmosphere of good will about him, but even a savor of holiness groping for expression, blindly and ineffectually perhaps, like a new-born instinct, and for a short hour the south hill-side echoes to no vulgar jest. You see some innocent fair shoots preparing to burst from his gnarled rind and try another year's life, tender and fresh as the youngest plant. Even he has entered into the joy of his Lord. Why the jailer does not leave open his prison doors — why the judge does not dismis his case — why the preacher does not dismiss his congregation! It is because they do not obey the hint which God gives them, nor accept the pardon which he freely offers to all.
"A return to goodness produced each day in the tranquil and beneficent breath of the morning, causes that in respect to the love of virtue and the hatred of vice, one approaches a little the primitive nature of man, as the sprouts of the forest which has been felled. In like manner the evil which one does in the interval of a day prevents the germs of virtues which began to spring up again from developing themselves and destroys them.
"After the germs of virtue have thus been prevented many times from developing themselves, then the beneficent breath of evening does not suffice to preserve them. As soon as the breath of evening does not suffice longer to preserve them, then the nature of man does not differ much from that of the brute. Men seeing the nature of this man like that of the brute, think that he has never possessed the innate faculty of reason. Are those the true and natural sentiments of man?"(8)
"The Golden Age was first created, which without any avenger
Spontaneously without law cherished fidelity and rectitude.
Punishment and fear were not; nor were threatening words read
On suspended brass; nor did the suppliant crowd fear
The words of their judge; but were safe without an avenger.
Not yet the pine felled on its mountains had descended
To the liquid waves that it might see a foreign world,
And mortals knew no shores but their own.
. . . . . . .
There was eternal spring, and placid zephyrs with warm
Blasts soothed the flowers born without seed."(9)
On the 29th of April, as I was fishing from the bank of the river near the Nine-Acre-Corner bridge, standing on the quaking grass and willow roots, where the muskrats lurk, I heard a singular rattling sound, somewhat like that of the sticks which boys play with their fingers, when, looking up, I observed a very slight and graceful hawk, like a nighthawk, alternately soaring like a ripple and tumbling a rod or two over and over, showing the under side of its wings, which gleamed like a satin ribbon in the sun, or like the pearly inside of a shell. This sight reminded me of falconry and what nobleness and poetry are associated with that sport. The Merlin it seemed to me it might be called: but I care not for its name. It was the most ethereal flight I had ever witnessed. It did not simply flutter like a butterfly, nor soar like the larger hawks, but it sported with proud reliance in the fields of air; mounting again and again with its strange chuckle, it repeated its free and beautiful fall, turning over and over like a kite, and then recovering from its lofty tumbling, as if it had never set its foot on terra firma. It appeared to have no companion in the universe — sporting there alone — and to need none but the morning and the ether with which it played. It was not lonely, but made all the earth lonely beneath it. Where was the parent which hatched it, its kindred, and its father in the heavens? The tenant of the air, it seemed related to the earth but by an egg hatched some time in the crevice of a crag; — or was its native nest made in the angle of a cloud, woven of the rainbow's trimmings and the sunset sky, and lined with some soft midsummer haze caught up from earth? Its eyry now some cliffy cloud.
Beside this I got a rare mess of golden and silver and bright cupreous fishes, which looked like a string of jewels. Ah! I have penetrated to those meadows on the morning of many a first spring day, jumping from hummock to hummock, from willow root to willow root, when the wild river valley and the woods were bathed in so pure and bright a light as would have waked the dead, if they had been slumbering in their graves, as some suppose. There needs no stronger proof of immortality. All things must live in such a light. O Death, where was thy sting? O Grave, where was thy victory, then?(10)
Our village life would stagnate if it were not for the unexplored forests and meadows which surround it. We need the tonic of wildness — to wade sometimes in marshes where the bittern and the meadow-hen lurk, and hear the booming of the snipe; to smell the whispering sedge where only some wilder and more solitary fowl builds her nest, and the mink crawls with its belly close to the ground. At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be infinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. We can never have enough of nature. We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder-cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander. We are cheered when we observe the vulture feeding on the carrion which disgusts and disheartens us, and deriving health and strength from the repast. There was a dead horse in the hollow by the path to my house, which compelled me sometimes to go out of my way, especially in the night when the air was heavy, but the assurance it gave me of the strong appetite and inviolable health of Nature was my compensation for this. I love to see that Nature is so rife with life that myriads can be afforded to be sacrificed and suffered to prey on one another; that tender organizations can be so serenely squashed out of existence like pulp — tadpoles which herons gobble up, and tortoises and toads run over in the road; and that sometimes it has rained flesh and blood! With the liability to accident, we must see how little account is to be made of it. The impression made on a wise man is that of universal innocence. Poison is not poisonous after all, nor are any wounds fatal. Compassion is a very untenable ground. It must be expeditious. Its pleadings will not bear to be stereotyped.
Early in May, the oaks, hickories, maples, and other trees, just putting out amidst the pine woods around the pond, imparted a brightness like sunshine to the landscape, especially in cloudy days, as if the sun were breaking through mists and shining faintly on the hillsides here and there. On the third or fourth of May I saw a loon in the pond, and during the first week of the month I heard the whip-poor-will, the brown thrasher, the veery, the wood pewee, the chewink, and other birds. I had heard the wood thrush long before. The phoebe had already come once more and looked in at my door and window, to see if my house was cavern-like enough for her, sustaining herself on humming wings with clinched talons, as if she held by the air, while she surveyed the premises. The sulphur-like pollen of the pitch pine soon covered the pond and the stones and rotten wood along the shore, so that you could have collected a barrelful. This is the "sulphur showers" we hear of. Even in Calidas'(11) drama of Sacontala,(12) we read of "rills dyed yellow with the golden dust of the lotus." And so the seasons went rolling on into summer, as one rambles into higher and higher grass.
Thus was my first year's life in the woods completed; and the second year was similar to it. I finally left Walden September 6th, 1847.
Notes
1. "Methuselah lived 969 years, and then he died.", Genesis 5:27
2. Jean Francois Champollion (1790-1832) French Egyptologist & linguist, first deciphered Egyption hieroglyphics in 1798-1822
3. in Norse mythology, god of war & thunder
4. "And for the first time the grass rises, called forth by the first rains" - Marcus Terrentius Varro (116-27? B.C.) Roman author
5. a minnow
6. in Greek mythology, the creation of the universe
7. Ovid (43 B.C.-7 A.D.) Roman poet, from Metamorphoses
8. Meng-tse (372?-287? B.C.) Chinese philosopher, follower of Confucius
9. Ovid (43 B.C.-7 A.D.) Roman poet, from Metamorphoses
10. 1 Corinthians 15:55
11. Calidas or Kalidasa - 5th century Hindu dramatist and poet
12. Sacontala; or the Fatal Ring, translated from the sanscrit by Sir William Jones, 1789
| 掘冰人的大量挖掘，通常使得一个湖沼的冰解冻得早一些；因为即使在寒冷的气候中，给风吹动了的水波，都能够消蚀它周围的冰块。可是这一年，瓦尔登没有受到这种影响，因为它立刻穿上了新的一层厚冰，来替代那旧的一层。这一个湖，从不像邻近的那些湖沼的冰化得那样早，因为它深得多，而且底下并没有流泉经过，来溶化或耗损上面的冰。我从没有见它在冬天里爆开过；只除了一八五二——一八五三年的冬季，那个冬季给许多湖沼这样严重的一次考验。它通常在四月一口开冻，比茀灵特湖或美港迟一星期或十天，从北岸，和一些浅水的地方开始，也正是那里先行冻结起来的。它比附近任何水波更切合时令，指示了季节的绝对进度，毫不受温度变幻不定的影响。三月里严寒了几天，便能延迟其他湖沼的开冻日了，但瓦尔登的温度却几乎没有中断地在增高。
一八四七年三月六日，一只温度表插入心，得三十二度，或冰点，湖岸附近，得三十三度；同日，在弗灵特湖心，得三十二度半；离岸十二杆的浅水处，在一英尺厚的冰下面，得三十六度。后者湖中，浅水深水的温度相差三度半，而事实上这一个湖大部分都是浅水，这就可以说明为什么它的化冰日期要比瓦尔登早得多了。那时，最浅水中的冰要比湖心的冰薄上好几英寸。仲冬，反而是湖心最温暖，那儿的冰最薄。同样，夏季里在湖岸附近，涉水而过的人都知道的，靠湖沼的水要温暖得多，尤其是只三、四英寸水的地方，游泳出去远了一点，深水的水面也比深水深处温暖得多。而在春天，阳光不仅在温度逐渐增加的天空与大地上发挥它的力量，它的热量还透过了一英尺或一英尺以上的厚冰，在浅水处更从水底反射到上面，使水波温暖了，并且溶化了冰的下部，同时从上面，阳光更直接地溶化了冰，使它不均匀了，凸起了气泡，升上又降下，直到后来全部成了蜂窝，到最后一阵春雨，它们全部消失。冰，好比树木一样，也有纹理，当一个冰块开始溶化，或蜂窝化了，不论它在什么地位，气泡和水面总是成直角地相连的。在水面下有一块突出的岩石或木料时，它们上面的冰总要薄得多，往往给反射的热力所溶解；我听说，在剑桥曾有过这样的试验，在一个浅浅的木制的湖沼中冻冰，用冷空气在下面流过，使得上下都可以发生影响，而从水底反射上来的太阳的热量仍然可以胜过这种影响。当仲冬季节下了一阵温暖的雨，溶解了上带雪的冰，只在湖心留着一块黑色而坚硬的透明的冰，这就会出现一种腐化的，但更厚的自冰，约一杆或一杆多阔，沿湖岸都是，正是这反射的热量所形成的。还有是我已经说起过的，冰中间的气泡像凸透镜一样从下面起来溶解冰。
这一年四季的现象，每天在湖上变化着，但规模很小。一般说来，每天早晨，浅水比深水温暖得更快，可是到底不能温暖得怎样，而每天黄昏，它却也冷得更快，直到早晨。一天正是一年的缩影。夜是冬季，早晨和傍晚是春秋，中午是夏季。冰的爆裂声和隆隆声在指示着温度的变化。一八五〇年二月二十四日，一个寒冷的夜晚过去后，在令人愉快的黎明中，我跑到茀灵特湖去消磨这一天，惊异地发现我只用斧头劈了一下冰，便像敲了锣一样，声音延展到好几杆远，或者也可以说，好像我打响了一只绷得紧紧的鼓。太阳升起以后大约一个小时，湖感受到斜斜地从山上射下来的阳光的热力了，开始发出隆隆的声响；它伸懒腰，打呵欠，像一个才醒过来的人，闹声渐渐越来越响，这样继续了三四个小时。正午是睡午觉的时候，可是快到傍晚的时候，太阳收回它的影响，隆隆声又响起来了。在正常的天气中，每天，湖发射了它的黄昏礼炮，很有定时。只是在正午，裂痕已经太多，空气的弹性也不够，所以它完全失去了共鸣，鱼和麝鼠大约都不会听到而被震动得呆住的。渔夫们说，“湖的雷鸣”吓得鱼都不敢咬钩了。湖并不是每晚都打雷的，我也不知道该什么时候期待它的雷鸣，可是，虽然我不能从气候中感到什么不同，有时还是响起来了。谁想得到这样大，这样冷，这样厚皮的事物，竟然这样的敏感？然而，它也有它的规律，它发出雷声是要大家服从它，像蓓蕾应该在春天萌芽一样。周身赘疣的大地生机蓬勃。对于大气的变化，最大的湖也敏感得像管往中的水银。
吸引我住到森林中来的是我要生活得有闲暇，并有机会看到春天的来临。最后，湖中的冰开始像蜂房那样了，我一走上去，后跟都陷进去了。雾，雨，温暖的太阳慢慢地把雪溶化了；你感觉到白昼已延长得多，我看到我的燃料已不必增添，尽够过冬，现在已经根本不需要生个旺火了。我注意地等待着春天的第一个信号，倾听着一些飞来鸟雀的偶然的乐音，或有条纹的松鼠的啁啾，因为它的储藏大约也告罄了吧，我也想看——看土拨鼠如何从它们冬蛰的地方出现。三月十三日，我已经听到青鸟、篱雀和红翼鸫，冰那时却还有一英尺厚。因为天气更温暖了，它不再给水冲掉，也不像河里的冰那样地浮动，虽然沿岸半杆阔的地方都已经溶化，可是湖心的依然像蜂房一样，饱和着水，六英寸深的时候，还可以用你的脚穿过去；可是第二天晚上，也许在一阵温暖的雨和紧跟着的大雾之后，它就全部消失，跟着雾一起走掉，迅速而神秘地给带走了。有一年，我在湖心散步之后的第五天，它全部消隐了。一八四五年，瓦尔登在四月一日全部开冻；四六年，三月二十五日；四七年，四月八日；五一年，三月二十八日；五二年，四月十八日；五三年，三月二十三日；五四年，大约在四月七日。
凡有关于河和湖的开冻，春光之来临的一切琐碎事，对我们生活在这样极端的气候中的人，都是特别地有趣的。当比较温和的日子来到的时候，住在河流附近的人，晚间能听到冰裂开的声响，惊人的吼声，像一声大炮，好像那冰的锁链就此全都断了，几天之内，只见它迅速地消溶。正像鳄鱼从泥土中钻了出来，大地为之震动。有一位老年人，是大自然的精密的观察家，关于大自然的一切变幻，似乎他有充分的智慧，好像他还只是一个孩子的时候，大自然给放在造船台上，而他也帮助过安置她的龙骨似的，——他现在已经成长了，即使他再活下去，活到玛土撒拉①那样的年纪，也不会增加多少大自然的知识了。
① 《圣经》中最长寿的人。据《创世纪》第5章第27节，玛士撒拉共活了969岁。
他告诉我，有一个春季的日子里，他持熗坐上了船，想跟那些野鸭进行竞技，——听到他居然也对大自然的任何变幻表示惊奇，我感到诧异，因为我想他跟大自然之间一定不会有任何秘密了。那时草原上还有冰，可是河里完全没有了，他毫无阻碍地从他住的萨德伯里地方顺流而下，到了美港湖，在那里，他突然发现大部分还是坚实的冰。这是一个温和的日子，而还有这样大体积的冰残留着，使他非常惊异。因为看不到野鸭，他把船藏在北部，或者说，湖中一个小岛的背后，而他自己则躲在南岸的灌木丛中，等待它们。离岸三四杆的地方，冰已经都溶化掉了，有着平滑而温暖的水，水底却很泥泞，这正是鸭子所喜爱的，所以他想，不久一定会有野鸭飞来。他一动不动地躺卧在那里，大约已有一个小时了，他听到了一种低沉，似乎很远的声音，出奇地伟大而给人留下深刻的印象，那是从来没有听到过的，慢慢地上涨而加强，仿佛它会有一个全宇宙的，令人难忘的音乐尾声一样，一种愠郁的激撞声和吼声，由他听来，仿佛一下子大群的飞禽要降落到这里来了，于是他抓住了熗，急忙跳了起来，很是兴奋；可是他发现，真是惊奇的事，整整一大块冰，就在躺卧的时候却行动起来了，向岸边流动，而他所听到的正是它的边沿摩擦湖岸的粗厉之声，——起先还比较的温和，一点一点地咬着，碎落着，可是到后来却沸腾了，把它自己撞到湖岸上，冰花飞溅到相当的高度，才又落下而复归于平静。
终于，太阳的光线形成了直角，温暖的风吹散了雾和雨，更溶化了湖岸上的积雪，雾散后的太阳，向着一个褐色和白色相间隔的格子形的风景微笑，而且熏香似的微雾还在缭绕呢。旅行家从一个小岛屿寻路到另一个小岛屿，给一千道淙淙的小溪和小涧的音乐迷住了，在它们的脉管中，冬天的血液畅流，从中逝去。
除了观察解冻的泥沙流下铁路线的深沟陡坡的形态以外，再没有什么现象更使我喜悦的了，我行路到村中去，总要经过那里，这一种形态，不是常常能够看到像这样大的规模的，虽然说，自从铁路到处兴建以来，许多新近曝露在外的铁路路基都提供了这种合适的材料。那材料是各种粗细不同的细沙，颜色也各不相同，往往还要包含一些泥土。当霜冻到了春天里又重新涌现的时候，甚至还在冬天冰雪未溶将溶的时候呢，沙子就开始流下陡坡了，好像火山的熔岩，有时还穿透了积雪而流了出来，泛滥在以前没有见过沙子的地方。无数这样的小溪流，相互地叠起，交叉，展现出一种混合的产物，一半服从着流水的规律，一半又服从着植物的规律。因为它流下来的时候，那状态颇像萌芽发叶，或藤蔓的蔓生，造成了许多软浆似的喷射，有时深达一英尺或一英尺以上，你望它们的时候，形态像一些苔藓的条裂的、有裂片的、叠盖的叶状体；或者，你会想到珊瑚，豹掌，或鸟爪，或人脑，或脏腑，或任何的分泌。这真是一种奇异的滋育，它们的形态和颜色，或者我们从青铜器上看到过模仿，这种建筑学的枝叶花簇的装饰比古代的茛苕叶，菊苣，常春藤，或其他的植物叶更古，更典型；也许，在某种情形之下，会使得将来的地质学家百思不得其解了。这整个深沟给了我深刻的印象，好像这是一个山洞被打开而钟乳石都曝露在阳光之下。沙子的各种颜色，简直是丰富，悦目，包含了铁的各种不同的颜色，棕色的，灰色的，黄色的，红色的。当那流质到了路基脚下的排水沟里，它就平摊开来而成为浅滩，各种溪流已失去了它们的半圆柱形，越来越平坦而广阔了，如果更湿润一点，它们就更加混和在一起，直到它们形成了一个几乎完全平坦的沙地，却依旧有千变万化的、美丽的色调，其中你还能看出原来的植物形态；直到后来，到了水里，变成了沙岸，像一些河口上所见的那样，这时才失去植物的形态，而变为沟底的粼粼波纹。
整个铁路路基约二十英尺到四十英尺高，有时给这种枝叶花簇的装饰所覆盖，或者说，这是细沙的裂痕吧，在其一面或两面都有，长达四分之一英里，这便是一个春日的产品。这些沙泥枝叶的惊人之处，在于突然间就构成了。当我在路基的一面，因为太阳是先照射在一面的，看到的是一个毫无生气的斜面，而另外的一面上，我却看到了如此华丽的枝叶，它只是一小时的创造，我深深地被感动了，仿佛在一种特别的意义上来说，我是站在这个创造了世界和自己的大艺术家的画室中，——跑到他正在继续工作的地点去，他在这路基上嬉戏，以过多的精力到处画下了他的新颖的图案。我觉得我仿佛和这地球的内脏更加接近起来，因为流沙呈叶形体，像动物的心肺一样。在这沙地上，你看到会出现叶子的形状。难怪大地表现在外面的形式是叶形了，因为在它内部，它也在这个意念之下劳动着。原子已经学习了这个规律，而孕育在它里面了。高挂在树枝上的叶子在这里看到它的原形了。无论在地球或动物身体的内部，都有润湿的，厚厚的叶，这一个字特别适用于肝，肺和脂肪叶（它的字源，labor，lapsus，是飘流，向下流，或逝去的意思；globus，是1obe（叶），globe（地球）的意思；更可以化出lap（叠盖），flap（扁宽之悬垂物）和许多别的字〕，而在外表上呢，一张干燥的薄薄的leaf（叶子），便是那f音，或V音，都是一个压缩了的干燥的b音。叶片lobe这个字的辅音是lb，柔和的b音（单叶片的，B是双叶片的）有流音l陪衬着，推动了它。在地球globe一个字的glb中，g这个喉音用喉部的容量增加了字面意义。鸟雀的羽毛依然是叶形的，只是更干燥，更薄了。这样，你还可以从土地的粗笨的蛴螬进而看到活泼的，翩跹的蝴蝶。我们这个地球变幻不已，不断地超越自己，它也在它的轨道上扑动翅膀。甚至冰也是以精致的晶体叶子来开始的，好像它流进一种模型翻印出来的，而那模型便是印在湖的镜面上的水草的叶子。整个一棵树，也不过是一张叶于，而河流是更大的叶子，它的叶质是河流中间的大地，乡镇和城市是它们的叶腋上的虫卵。
而当太阳西沉时，沙停止了流动，一到早晨，这条沙溪却又开始流动，一个支流一个支流地分成了亿万道川流。也许你可以从这里知道血管是如何形成的，如果你仔细观察，你可以发现，起初从那溶解体中，有一道软化的沙流，前面有一个水滴似的顶端，像手指的圆圆的突出部分，缓慢而又盲目地向下找路，直到后来因为太阳升得更高了，它也有了更多的热力和水分，那流质的较大的部分就为了要服从那最呆滞的部分也服从的规律，和后者分离了，脱颖而出，自己形成了一道弯弯曲曲的渠道或血管，从中你可以看到一个银色的川流，像闪电般地闪耀，从一段泥沙形成的枝叶，闪到另一段，而又总是不时地给细沙吞没。神奇的是那些细沙流得既快，又把自己组织得极为完美，利用最好的材料来组成渠道的两边。河流的源远流长正是这样的一回事。大约骨骼的系统便是水分和硅所形成的，而在更精细的泥土和有机化合物上，便形成了我们的肌肉纤维或纤维细胞。人是什么，还不是一团溶解的泥上？人的手指足趾的顶点只是凝结了的一滴。
手指和足趾从身体的溶解体中流出，流到了它们的极限。在一个更富生机的环境之中，谁知道人的身体会扩张和流到如何的程度？手掌，可不也像一张张开的棕桐叶的有叶片和叶脉的吗？耳朵，不妨想象为一种苔藓，学名Umbilicaria，挂在头的两侧，也有它的叶片似的耳垂或者滴。唇——字源labium，大约是从labor（劳动）化出来的——便是在口腔的上下两边叠着悬垂着的。鼻子，很明显，是一个凝聚了的水滴，或钟乳石。下巴是更大的一滴了，整个面孔的水滴汇合在这里。面颊是一个斜坡，从眉毛上向山谷降下，广布在颧骨上。每一张草叶的叶片也是一滴浓厚的在缓缓流动的水滴，或大或小；叶片乃是叶的手指，有多少叶片，便说明它企图向多少方向流动，如果它有更多的热量或别种助长的影响，它就流得更加远了。
这样看来，这一个小斜坡已图解了大自然的一切活动的原则。地球的创造者只专利一个叶子的形式。哪一个香波利盎①能够为我们解出这象形文字的意义，使我们终于能翻到新的一叶去呢？这一个现象给我的欣喜，更甚于一个丰饶多产的葡萄园。
①香波利盎（1778- 1867），法国考古学家。
真的，性质上这是分泌，而肝啊，肺脏啊，肠子啊，多得无底，好像大地的里面给翻了出来；可是这至少说明了大自然是有肠子的，又是人类的母亲。这是从地里出来的霜；这是春天。正如神话先于正式的诗歌，它先于青青的春天，先于百花怒放的春天。我知道再没有一种事物更能荡涤冬天的雾霭和消化不良的了。它使我相信，大地还在襁褓之中，还在到处伸出它的婴孩的手指。从那最光秃的额头上冒出了新的鬈发。世上没有一物是无机的。路基上的叶形的图案，仿佛是锅炉中的熔滓，说明大自然的内部“烧得火旺”。大地不只是已死的历史的一个片段，地层架地层像一本书的层层叠叠的书页，主要让地质学家和考古学家去研究；大地是活生生的诗歌，像一株树的树叶，它先于花朵，先于果实；——不是一个化石的地球，而是一个活生生的地球；和它一比较，一切动植物的生命都不过寄生在这个伟大的中心生命上。它的剧震可以把我们的残骸从它们的坟墓中曝露出来。你可以把你的金属熔化了，把它们铸成你能铸成的最美丽的形体来；可是不能像这大地的溶液所形成的图案那样使我兴奋。还不仅是它，任何制度，都好像放在一个陶器工人手上的一块粘土，是可塑的啊。
不多久，不仅在这些湖岸上，在每一个小山，平原和每一个洞窟中，都有霜从地里出来了，像一个四足动物从冬眠中醒了过来一样，在音乐声中寻找着海洋，或者要迁移到云中另外的地方。柔和劝诱的溶雪，比之用锤子的雷神，力量大得多。这一种是溶解，那另一种却把它击成碎片。
土地上有一部分已没有了积雪，一连几个温暖的日子把它的表面晒得相当的干燥了，这时的赏心悦目之事是用这新生之年的婴孩期中各种初生的柔和的现象，来同那些熬过了冬天的一些苍老的植物的高尚的美比较，——长生草，黄色紫菀，针刺草和别种高雅的野草，往往在这时比它们在夏季里更加鲜明，更加有味，好像它们的美非得熬过了冬才到达成熟时期似的：甚至棉花草，猫尾草，毛蕊花，狗尾草，绣线草，草原细草，以及其他有强壮草茎的植物，这些都是早春的飞鸟之无穷的谷仓，——至少是像像样样的杂草，它们是大自然过冬的点缀。我特别给羊毛草的穹隆形的禾束似的顶部所吸引；它把夏天带到冬日我们的记忆中，那种形态，也是艺术家所喜欢描绘的，而且在植物王国中，它的形式和人心里的类型的关系正如星象学与人的心智的关系一样。它是比希腊语或埃及语更古老的一种古典风格。许多冬天的现象偏偏暗示了无法形容的柔和，脆弱的精致。我们常听人把冬天描写成一个粗莽狂烈的暴君：其实它正用情人似的轻巧的手脚在给夏天装饰着鬈发呢。
春天临近时，赤松鼠来到了我的屋子底下，成双作对，正当我静坐阅读或写作的时候，它们就在我脚下，不断地发出最奇怪的卿卿咕咕的叫声，不断地长嘶短鸣，要是我蹬了几脚，叫声就更加高，好像它们的疯狂的恶作剧已经超过了畏惧的境界，无视于人类的禁令了。你别——叽喀里一叽喀里地叫。对于我的驳斥，它们听也不听，它们不觉得我声势汹汹，反而破口大骂，弄得我毫无办法。
春天的第一只麻雀！这一年又在从来没有这样年轻的希望之中开始了！最初听到很微弱的银色的啁啾之声传过了一部分还光秃秃的，润湿的田野，那是发自青鸟、篱雀和红翼鸫的，仿佛冬天的最后的雪花在叮当地飘落！在这样的一个时候，历史、编年纪、传说，一切启示的文字又算得了什么！小溪向春天唱赞美诗和四部曲。沼泽上的鹰隼低低地飞翔地草地上，已经在寻觅那初醒的脆弱的生物了。在所有的谷中，听得到溶雪的滴答之声，而湖上的冰在迅速地溶化。小草像春火在山腰燃烧起来了，——“et primitus oritur herba imbribus primoribus evocata，”①——好像大地送上了一个内在的热力来迎候太阳的归来；而火焰的颜色，不是黄的，是绿的，——永远的青春的象征，那草叶，像一根长长的绿色缎带，从草地上流出来流向夏季。是的，它给霜雪阻拦过，可是它不久又在向前推进，举起了去年的干草的长茎，让新的生命从下面升起来。它像小泉源的水从地下淙淙的冒出来一样。它与小溪几乎是一体的，因为在六月那些长日之中，小溪已经干涸了，这些草叶成了它的小道，多少个年代来，牛羊从这永恒的青色的溪流上饮水，到了时候，刈草的人把它们割去供给冬天的需要。我们人类的生命即使绝灭，只是绝灭不了根，那根上仍能茁生绿色的草叶，至于永恒。
①拉丁文，春雨带来一片新绿。
瓦尔登湖迅速地溶冰了。靠北，靠西有一道两杆阔的运河，流到了东西更阔。一大部分的冰从它的主体上裂开了。我听到一只篱雀在岸上灌木林中唱着，——欧利，欧利，欧利，——吉泼，吉泼，吉泼，诧，却尔，——诧，维斯，维斯，维斯。它也在帮忙破裂冰块，冰块边沿的那样巨大的曲线是何等的潇洒，跟湖岸多少有着呼应，可是要规则得多了！这是出奇的坚硬，因为最近曾有一度短短的严寒时期，冰上都有着波纹，真像一个皇宫的地板。可是风徒然向东拂过它不透光的表面，直到吹皱那远处活的水波。看这缎带似的水在阳光底下闪耀，真是太光辉灿烂了，湖的颜容上充满了快活和青春，似乎它也说明了游鱼之乐，以及湖岸上的细沙的欢恰。这是银色的鱼岁鱼鱼鳞上的光辉，整个湖仿佛是一条活跃的鱼。冬天和春天的对比就是这样。瓦尔登死而复生了。可是我已经说过，这一个春天湖开冻得更为从容不迫。
从暴风雪和冬天转换到晴朗而柔和的天气，从黑暗而迟缓的时辰转换到光亮和富于弹性的时刻，这种转化是一切事物都在宣告着的很值得纪念的重大转变。最后它似乎是突如其来的。突然，注入的光明充满了我的屋子，虽然那时已将近黄昏了，而且冬天的灰云还布满天空，雨雪之后的水珠还从檐上落下来。我从窗口望出去，瞧！昨天还是灰色的寒冰的地方，横陈着湖的透明的皓体，已经像一个夏日的傍晚似的平静，充满了希望，在它的胸怀上反映了一个夏季的夕阳天，虽然上空还看不到这样的云彩，但是它仿佛已经和一个远远的天空心心相印了。我听到有一只知更鸟在远处叫，我想，我好像有几千年没有听到它了。虽然它的乐音是再过几千年我也决不会忘记的，——它还是那样甜蜜而有力量，像过去的歌声一样。啊，黄昏的知更乌，在新英格兰的夏日的天空下！但愿我能找到他栖立的树枝！我指的是他；我说的是那树枝。至少这不是Turdus migratorius①。我的屋子周围的苍松和矮橡树，垂头丧气已久，突然又恢复了它们的好些个性，看上去更光亮，更苍翠，更挺拔，更生气蓬勃了，好像它们给雨水有效地洗过，复苏了一样。我知道再不会下雨。看看森林中任何一个枝桠，是的，看看你那一堆燃料，你可以知道冬天过去没有。天色渐渐黑下来，我给飞鹅的映声惊起，它们低飞过森林，像疲倦的旅行家，从南方的湖上飞来，到得已经迟了，终于大诉其苦，而且互相安慰着。站在门口，我能听到它们拍翅膀的声音；而向我的屋子方向近来时，突然发现了我的灯火，喋喋的声浪忽然静下来，它们盘旋而去，停在湖上。于是我回进屋子里，关上门，在森林中度过我的第一个春宵。
① 候鸟。
在黎明中，我守望着雾中的飞鹅，在五十杆以外的湖心游泳，它们这样多，这样乱，瓦尔登仿佛成了一个供它们嬉戏的人造池。可是，等到我站到湖岸上，它们的领袖发出一个信号，全体拍动了翅膀，便立时起飞，它们列成一队形，就在我头顶盘旋一匝，一共二十九只，直向加拿大飞去，它们的领袖每隔一定的间歇便发出一声唳叫，好像通知它们到一些比较混浊的湖中去用早饭。一大堆野鸭也同时飞了起来，随着喧闹的飞鹅向北飞去。
有一星期，我听到失群的孤鹅在雾蒙蒙的黎明中盘旋，摸索，叫唳，寻找它的伴侣，给予森林以超过它能负担的音响。四月中看得到鸽子了，一小队一小队迅速飞过：到一定的时候我听到小燕儿在我的林中空地上吱吱叫，虽然我知道飞燕在乡镇并不是多得让我在这里也可以有一两只，但是我想这种小燕儿也许是古代的苗裔，在白人来到之前，它们就在树洞中居住了。几乎在任何地区，乌龟和青蛙常常是这一季节的前驱者和传信使，而鸟雀歌唱着飞，闪着它们的羽毛，植物一跃而起，花朵怒放，和风也吹拂，以调正两极的振摆，保持大自然的平衡。
每一个季节，在我看来，对于我们都是各极其妙的；因此春大的来临，很像混沌初开，宇宙创始，黄金时代的再现。——
“Eurus ad Auroram Nabathaeaque regna recessit， Persldaque，et radiis juga subdita matutinis。”
“东风退到曙光和拿巴沙王国②，
② 阿拉伯古国，在巴勒斯坦之东及东南方，约建于公元前312年，公元106年成为罗马的一个省。
波斯，和臵于黎明光芒下的山冈。 ………… 人诞生了。究竟是万物的创造主， 为创始更好世界，以神的种子创造人； 还是为了大地，新近才从高高的太空 坠落，保持了一些天上的同类种族。”①
① 这首诗引自罗马诗人奥维德（公元前43- 约公元17）的《变形记》第1卷，后面还有一段诗也引自它的第1卷。
一场柔雨，青草更青。我们的展望也这样，当更好的思想注入其中，它便光明起来。我们有福了，如果我们常常生活在“现在”，对任何发生的事情，都能善于利用，就像青草承认最小一滴露水给它的影响；别让我们惋惜失去的机会，把时间耗费在抱怨中，而要认为那是尽我们的责任。春天已经来到了，我们还停留在冬天里。在一个愉快的春日早晨，一切人类的罪恶全部得到了宽赦。这样的一个日子是罪恶消融的日子。阳光如此温暖，坏人也会回头。由于我们自己恢复了纯洁，我们也发现了邻人的纯洁。也许，在昨天，你还把某一个邻居看做贼子醉鬼，或好色之徒，不是可怜他，就是轻视他，对世界你也是非常悲观；可是太阳照耀得光亮而温和，在这个春天的第一个黎明，世界重新创造，你碰到他正在做一件清洁的工作，看到他的衰颓而淫欲的血管中，静静的欢乐涨溢了，在祝福这一个新日子，像婴孩一样纯洁地感受了春天的影响，他的一切错误你一下子都忘记了。不仅他周身充满着善意，甚至还有一种圣洁的风味缭绕着，也许正盲目地无结果地寻求着表现，好像有了一种新的本能，片刻之间，向阳的南坡上便没有任何庸俗的笑声回荡。你看到他纠曲的树皮上有一些纯洁的芽枝等着茁生，要尝试这一年的新生活，这样柔和，新鲜，有如一株幼树。他甚至于已经进入了上帝的喜悦中间。为什么狱吏不把牢狱的门打开，——为什么审判官不把他手上的案件撤销，——为什么布道的人不叫会众离去；这是因为这些人不服从上帝给他们的暗示，也因为他们不愿接受上帝自由地赐给一切人的大赦。
“牛山之木尝美矣，以其效于大国也。斧斤伐之可以为美乎？是其日夜之所息，雨露之所润，非无萌孽之生焉。牛羊之从而牧之，是以若彼之濯濯也。人见其濯濯也，以为未尝有材焉，此岂山之性也哉。”
“虽存乎人者，岂无仁义之心哉。其所以放其良心者，亦犹斧斤之于木也。旦旦而伐之，可为美乎？其日夜之所息，平旦之气，其好恶与人相近也者几希？则其旦昼之所为，有梏亡之矣。梏之反复，则其夜气不足以存，夜气不足以存，则其违禽兽不远矣。人见其禽兽也，而以为未尝有才焉者，是岂人之情也哉。”②
② 《孟子·告子章句》（上）。梭罗是引用鲍蒂尔的译文的，不太准确，尚能达意。
黄金时代初创时，世无复仇者， 没有法律而自动信守忠诚和正直， 没有刑名没有恐惧，从来也没有。 恐吓文字没铸在黄铜上高高挂起，乞援者也不焦虑审判者口头的话， 一切都平安，世无复仇者。 高山上还没有松树被砍伐下来， 水波可以流向一个异国的世界， 人类除了自己的海岸不知有其他。 ………… 春光永不消逝，徐风温馨吹拂， 抚育那不须播种自然生长的花朵。
在四月二十九日，我在九亩角桥附近的河岸上钓鱼，站在飘摇的草和柳树的根上，那里躲着一些麝鼠。我听到了一种奇特的响声，有一点像小孩子用他们的手指来玩的木棒所发出来的声音，这时我抬头一看，我看到了一只很小、很漂亮的鹰，模样像夜鹰，一忽儿像水花似的飞旋，一忽儿翻跟斗似的落下一两杆，如是轮流，展示了它的翅膀的内部，在日光下闪闪如一条缎带，或者说像一只贝壳内层的珠光。这一副景象使我想起了放鹰捕禽的技术，关于这一项运动曾经伴随着何等崇高的意兴，抒写过多少诗歌啊。这好像可以称为鴥隼了，我倒是不在乎它的名字。这是我所看见过的最灵活的一次飞翔。它并不像一只蝴蝶那样翩跹，也不像较大的那一些鸷鹰似的扶摇，它在太空中骄傲而有信心地嬉戏，发出奇异的咯咯之声，越飞越高，于是一再任意而优美地下降，像鸢鸟般连连翻身，然后又从它在高处的翻腾中恢复过来，好像它从来不愿意降落在大地上，看来在天空之中，鸷鸟之不群兮，——它独自在那里嬉戏，除了空气和黎明之外，它似乎也不需要一起游戏的伴侣。它并不是孤寂的，相形之下，下面的大地可是异常地孤寂。孵养它的母亲在什么地方呢？它的同类呢，它的天空中的父亲呢？它是空中的动物，似乎它和大地只有一个关系，就是有过那样的一个蛋，什么时候在巉岩的裂隙中被孵了一下；难道说它的故乡的巢穴是在云中一角，是以彩虹作边沿，以夕阳天编成，并且用从地面浮起的一阵仲夏的薄雾来围绕住的吗？它的猛禽巢在悬岩似的云中。
此外，我居然捕到了很难得的一堆金色银色闪闪发光的杯形鱼，看来很像一串宝石。啊！我在许多早春的黎明深入过这些个草地，从一个小丘跳到另一个小丘，从一枝柳树的根，到达另一枝柳树的根，当时野性的河谷和森林都沐浴在这样纯净、这样璀璨的光芒中，如果死者真像人家设想过的，都不过在坟墓中睡着了觉，那他们都会给唤醒过来的。不需要更有力的证据来证明不朽了！一切事物都必须生活在这样的一道光芒下。啊，死亡，你的针螯在何处？啊，坟墓，你的胜利又在哪儿呢？
如果没有一些未经探险的森林和草原绕着村庄，我们的乡村生活将是何等的凝滞。我们需要旷野来营养，——有时跋涉在潜伏着山鸡和鹭鸶的沼泽地区，听鹬声，有时嗅嗅微语着的菅草，在那里只有一些更野更孤独的鸟筑了它的巢，而貂鼠爬来了，它肚皮贴着地，爬行着。在我们热忱地发现和学习一切事物的同时，我们要求万物是神秘的，并且是无法考察的，要求大陆和海洋永远地狂野，未经勘察，也无人测探，因为它们是无法测探的。我们决不会对大自然感到厌倦。我们必须从无穷的精力，广大的巨神似的形象中得到焕发，必须从海岸和岸上的破舟碎片，从旷野和它的生意盎然的以及腐朽林木，从雷云，从连下三个星期致成水灾的雨，从这一切中得到精神的焕发。我们需要看到我们突破自己的限度，需要在一些我们从未漂泊过的牧场上自由地生活。当我们观察到使我们作呕和沮丧的腐尸给鸷鹰吃掉的时候，我们高兴起来了，它们是能从这里面得到健康和精力的。回到我的木屋去的路中，在一个洞穴里面有一匹死马，往往能逼得我绕道而行，特别在晚上空气很闷的时候，但是它使我相信大自然的强壮胃口与不可侵犯的健康，这却给了我一个很好的补偿。我爱看大自然充满了生物，能受得住无数生灵相互残杀的牺牲与受苦，组织薄弱的，就像软浆一样地给澄清，给榨掉了——苍鹭一口就吞下了蝌蚪，乌龟和虾蟆在路上给车轮碾死，有时候，血肉会像雨点一样落下来！既然这样容易遭遇不测啊，我们必须明白，不要过于介意。在一个智慧者的印象中，宇宙万物是普遍无知的。毒药反而不一定是毒的，受伤反而不一定是致命的。恻隐之心是一个很不可靠的基础。它是稍纵即逝的。它的诉诸同情的方法不能一成不变。
五月初，橡树、山核桃树、枫树和别的树才从沿湖的松林中发芽抽叶，给予风景一个阳光似的光辉，特别在多云的日子里，好像太阳是透过云雾而微弱地在小山的这里那里照耀的。五月三日或四日，我在湖中看到了一只潜水鸟。在这一个月的第一个星期中，我听到了夜鹰，棕色的鸫鸟，画眉，小鹟，雀子和其他的飞禽。林中的画眉我是早已听到了的。鹟鸟又到我的门窗上来张张望望，要看看我这一座木屋能不能够做它的桌，它翅膀急促地拍动着，停在空中，爪子紧紧地抓着，好像它是这样地抓住了空气似的，同时它仔仔细细地观察了我的屋子。苍松的硫磺色的花粉不久就铺满了湖面和圆石以及沿湖的那些腐朽了的树木，因此你可以用桶来满满地装上一桶。这就是我们曾经听到过的所谓“硫磺雨”。甚至在迦梨陀娑①的剧本《沙恭达罗》中，我们就读到，“莲花的金粉把小河染黄了。”便这样，季节流驶，到了夏天，你漫游在越长越高的丰草中了。
① 印度古代剧作家。约生于4到5世纪。《沙恭达罗》是他的代表作。
我第一年的林中生活便这样说完了，第二年和它有点差不多。最后在一八四七年的九月六日，我离开了瓦尔登。 |
