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thrown out in digging the cellar。 Why not put my house； my
parlor； behind this plot； instead of behind that meager
assemblage of curiosities； that poor apology for a Nature and
Art； which I call my front yard？ It is an effort to clear up and
make a decent appearance when the carpenter and mason have
departed； though done as much for the passer…by as the dweller
within。 The most tasteful front…yard fence was never an agreeable
object of study to me； the most elaborate ornaments； acorn tops；
or what not； soon wearied and disgusted me。 Bring your sills up
to the very edge of the swamp； then （though it may not be the
best place for a dry cellar）； so that there be no access on that
side to citizens。 Front yards are not made to walk in； but； at
most； through； and you could go in the back way。
Yes； though you may think me perverse； if it were proposed to me
to dwell in the neighborhood of the most beautiful garden that
ever human art contrived； or else of a Dismal Swamp； I should
certainly decide for the swamp。 How vain； then； have been all
your labors； citizens； for me！
My spirits infallibly rise in proportion to the outward
dreariness。 Give me the ocean； the desert； or the wilderness！ In
the desert； pure air and solitude compensate for want of moisture
and fertility。 The traveler Burton says of it〃Your MORALE
improves； you become frank and cordial； hospitable and
single…minded。。。。 In the desert； spirituous liquors excite only
disgust。 There is a keen enjoyment in a mere animal existence。〃
They who have been traveling long on the steppes of Tartary say；
〃On re…entering cultivated lands； the agitation； perplexity； and
turmoil of civilization oppressed and suffocated us； the air
seemed to fail us； and we felt every moment as if about to die of
asphyxia。〃 When I would recreate myself； I seek the darkest woods
the thickest and most interminable and； to the citizen； most
dismal； swamp。 I enter a swamp as a sacred place； a sanctum
sanctorum。 There is the strength； the marrow； of Nature。 The
wildwood covers the virgin mould；and the same soil is good for
men and for trees。 A man's health requires as many acres of
meadow to his prospect as his farm does loads of muck。 There are
the strong meats on which he feeds。 A town is saved； not more by
the righteous men in it than by the woods and swamps that
surround it。 A township where one primitive forest waves above
while another primitive forest rots belowsuch a town is fitted
to raise not only corn and potatoes； but poets and philosophers
for the coming ages。 In such a soil grew Homer and Confucius and
the rest； and out of such a wilderness comes the Reformer eating
locusts and wild honey。
To preserve wild animals implies generally the creation of a
forest for them to dwell in or resort to。 So it is with man。 A
hundred years ago they sold bark in our streets peeled from our
own woods。 In the very aspect of those primitive and rugged trees
there was； methinks； a tanning principle which hardened and
consolidated the fibers of men's thoughts。 Ah！ already I shudder
for these comparatively degenerate days of my native village；
when you cannot collect a load of bark of good thickness； and we
no longer produce tar and turpentine。
The civilized nationsGreece； Rome； Englandhave been sustained
by the primitive forests which anciently rotted where they stand。
They survive as long as the soil is not exhausted。 Alas for human
culture！ little is to be expected of a nation； when the vegetable
mould is exhausted； and it is compelled to make manure of the
bones of its fathers。 There the poet sustains himself merely by
his own superfluous fat； and the philosopher comes down on his
marrow…bones。
It is said to be the task of the American 〃to work the virgin
soil；〃 and that 〃agriculture here already assumes proportions
unknown everywhere else。〃 I think that the farmer displaces the
Indian even because he redeems the meadow； and so makes himself
stronger and in some respects more natural。 I was surveying for a
man the other day a single straight line one hundred and
thirty…two rods long； through a swamp at whose entrance might
have been written the words which Dante read over the entrance to
the infernal regions；〃Leave all hope； ye that enter〃that is；
of ever getting out again； where at one time I saw my employer
actually up to his neck and swimming for his life in his
property； though it was still winter。 He had another similar
swamp which I could not survey at all； because it was completely
under water； and nevertheless； with regard to a third swamp；
which I did SURVEY from a distance； he remarked to me； true to
his instincts； that he would not part with it for any
consideration； on account of the mud which it contained。 And that
man intends to put a girdling ditch round the whole in the course
of forty months； and so redeem it by the magic of his spade。 I
refer to him only as the type of a class。
The weapons with which we have gained our most important
victories； which should be handed down as heirlooms from father
to son； are not the sword and the lance； but the bushwhack； the
turf…cutter； the spade； and the bog hoe； rusted with the blood of
many a meadow； and begrimed with the dust of many a hard…fought
field。 The very winds blew the Indian's cornfield into the
meadow； and pointed out the way which he had not the skill to
follow。 He had no better implement with which to intrench himself
in the land than a clam…shell。 But the farmer is armed with plow
and spade。
In literature it is only the wild that attracts us。 Dullness is
but another name for tameness。 It is the uncivilized free and
wild thinking in Hamlet and the Iliad； in all the scriptures and
mythologies； not learned in the schools； that delights us。 As the
wild duck is more swift and beautiful than the tame； so is the
wildthe mallardthought； which 'mid falling dews wings its way
above the fens。 A truly good book is something as natural； and as
unexpectedly and unaccountably fair and perfect； as a wild…flower
discovered on the prairies of the West or in the jungles of the
East。 Genius is a light which makes the darkness visible； like
the lightning's flash； which perchance shatters the temple of
knowledge itselfand not a taper lighted at the hearthstone of
the race； which pales before the light of common day。
English literature； from the days of the minstrels to the Lake
PoetsChaucer and Spenser and Milton； and even Shakespeare；
includedbreathes no quite fresh and； in this sense； wild
strain。 It is an essentially tame and civilized literature；
reflecting Greece and Rome。 Her wilderness is a green wood； her
wild man a Robin Hood。 There is plenty of genial love of Nature；
but not so much of Nature herself。 Her chronicles inform us when
her wild animals； but not when the wild man in her； became
extinct。
The science of Humboldt is one thing； poetry is another thing。
The poet today； notwithstanding all the discoveries of science；
and the accumulated learning of mankind； enjoys no advantage over
Homer。
Where is the literature which gives expression to Nature？ He
would be a poet who could impress the winds and streams into his
service； to speak for him； who nailed words to their primitive
senses； as farmers drive down stakes in the spring； which the
frost has heaved； who derived his words as often as he used
themtransplanted them to his page with earth adhering to their
roots； whose words were so true and fresh and natural that they
would appear to expand like the buds at the approach of spring；
though they lay half smothered between two musty leaves in a
libraryaye； to bloom and bear fruit there； after their kind；
annually； for the faithful reader； in sympathy with surrounding
Nature。
I do not know of any poetry to quote which adequately expresses
this yearning for the Wild。 Approached from this side； the best
poetry is tame。 I do not know where to find in any literature；
ancient or modern； any account which contents me of that Nature
with which even I am acquainted。 You will perceive that I demand
something which no Augustan nor Elizabethan age； which no
culture； in short； can give。 Mythology comes nearer to it than
anything。 How much more fertile a Nature； at least； has Grecian
mythology its root in than English literature！ Mythology is the
crop which the Old World bore before its soil was exhausted；
before the fancy and imagination were affected with blight； and
which it still bears； wherever its pristine vigor is unabated。
All other literatures endure only as the elms which overshadow
our houses； but this is like the great dragon…tree of the Western
Isles； as old as mankind； and； whether that does or not； will
endure as long； for the decay of other literatures makes the soil
in which it thrives。
The West is preparing to add its fables to those of the East。 The
valleys of the Ganges； the Ni