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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