164 Walks in New England 



our nostrils and expands our lungs with vital 

 force, force unexpended, and going on to other 

 years, and in our veins no less than in the growths 

 of the earth which to-day are and to-morrow shall 

 receive their boon of rest. 



Rest is what this hurrying day does not allow ; 

 and those who most long for it in sympathy with 

 free Nature know well they cannot have it save 

 for moments, such as Byron describes when he 

 says : 



u There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 



There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 

 There is society, where none intrudes, 



By the deep sea, and music in its roar. 



I love not man the less, but Nature more 

 From these our interviews, in which I steal 



From all I may be, or have been before, 

 To mingle with the universe, and feel 

 What I can ne er express, yet cannot all con 

 ceal.&quot; 



Thus it is that we touch Nature, in brief inter 

 views, a moment, an hour, half a day, and then 

 back again to the task which is ours. The rest, 

 the rapture, the sense of partaking of the very 

 soul of the universe, the sense, that is, of com 

 munion with the Spirit of earth and sea and all 

 things else, this is what our fall brings to us ; 

 and while the earth about us is lovely and full of 



