96 
WALDEN. 
in moonless nights by him. Such was that part of crea¬ 
tion where I had squatted; —- 
“ There was a shepherd that did live, 
And held his thoughts as high 
As were the mounts whereon his flocks 
Did hourly feed him by.” 
What should we think of the shepherd’s life if his 
flocks always wandered to higher pastures than his 
thoughts ? 
Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my 
life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with 
Nature herself. I have been as sincere a worshipper 
of Aurora as the Greeks. I got up early and bathed in 
the pond; that was a religious exercise, and one of the 
best things which I did. They say that characters were 
engraven on the bathing tub of king Tching-thang 
to this effect: “ Renew thyself completely each day; 
do it again, and again, and forever again.” I can un¬ 
derstand that. Morning brings back the heroic ages. 
I was as much affected by the faint hum of a mosquito 
making its invisible and unimaginable tour through my 
apartment at earliest dawn, when I was sitting with door 
and windows open, as I could be by any trumpet that 
ever sang of fame. It was Homer’s requiem; itself an 
Iliad and Odyssey in the air, singing its own wrath and 
wanderings. There was something cosmical about it; 
a standing advertisement, till forbidden, of the everlast¬ 
ing vigor and fertility of the world. The morning, 
which is the most memorable season of the day, is the 
awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; 
and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which 
slumbers all the rest of the day and night. Little is to be 
