142 Walks in New England 



globe, and has in it Cathay and Ceylon and Araby 

 the Blest and so many other realms of tradition 

 and poesy. For though we know all the regions 

 of the earth and their peoples, and there are no 

 secrets hidden from us of a sophisticated genera 

 tion, to whom all things have become common, 

 yet there lingers in the salt air a fascination that 

 knowledge and reason does not destroy, and that 

 adds to its physical impact an element that be 

 longs to past romance. 



Past in certain phases, but living in other lines ; 

 for the ocean is always the home of infinite power ; 

 swept over though it is by thousands of the petty 

 craft of men, it is still untamed and strange, and 

 its tragedies are numerous enough and better 

 known than they were of old. On some cliff 

 above the broad Atlantic, with nothing between 

 one and the shores of Spain, there still comes to 

 the ear the mystic song of the sailor that Count 

 Arnaldos heard, and asked in vain to be taught : 



&quot; In each sail that skims the horizon, 

 In each landward blowing breeze, 



I behold the stately galley, 



Hear those mournful melodies, 



Till my soul is full of longing 

 For the secret of the sea.&quot; 



Yet Thoreau thought the secret of the sea was 

 better caught on land : 



