A Seasonable Divagation 137 



Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 

 Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, 

 Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.&quot; 



The world is too much with us yea, indeed. 



Oh, to meet face to face with Freedom on the 

 heights, where she dwells, free-eyed, full-bosomed, 

 forthright and faithful ! What is all the mischief 

 of men when one stands on a mountain summit, 

 and surveys vast billows of hills swelling around 

 him, north, south, east and west ; and descries 

 the Catskills and Greylock, Haystack, Monadnoc, 

 and even little Mount Tom, through the defile 

 of the Westfield river, and the Dome of the 

 Taconics, with multitudes of hills unnamed and 

 unknown, but forest-clad and glorious in green, 

 with chestnuts blossoming, oaks glistening, birches 

 shining, hemlocks, pines, spruces and balsams 

 darkling, and hackmatacks gayly dancing ! 

 Here in truth one feels free of human ills, for 

 here is that immitigable spirit, the freedom of 

 God s life, filling all the air. 



There is then, we find, something stronger, 

 more masterly, more beautiful, more encom 

 passing, more enduring, more holy and purifying, 

 than all that we children of Adam have done. It 

 was done before one of our race had been born 

 out of the slow evolved forms of life, before right 

 and wrong had become differentiated with the 



