136 
WALDEN. 
are the spirits, the low spirits and melancholy fore¬ 
bodings, of fallen souls that once in human shape night- 
walked the earth and did the deeds of darkness, now 
expiating their sins with their wailing hymns or thren¬ 
odies in the scenery of their transgressions. They give 
me a new sense of the variety and capacity of that na¬ 
ture which is our common dwelling. Oh-o-o-o-o that I 
never had been bor-r-r-r-n! sighs one on this side of 
the pond, and circles with the restlessness of despair to 
some new perch on the gray oaks. Then — that I 
never had been bor-r-r-r-n / echoes another on the far¬ 
ther side with tremulous sincerity, and — bor-r-r-r-n ! 
comes faintly from far in the Lincoln woods. 
I was also serenaded by a hooting owl. Near at hand 
you could fancy it the most melancholy sound in Nature, 
as if she meant by this to stereotype and make perma¬ 
nent in her choir the dying moans of a human being, — 
some poor weak relic of mortality who has left hope 
behind, and howls like an animal, yet with human sobs, 
on entering the dark valley, made more awful by a cer¬ 
tain gurgling melodiousness, — I find myself beginning 
with the letters gl when I try to imitate it, —■ expressive 
of a mind which has reached the gelatinous mildewy 
stage in the mortification of all healthy and courageous 
thought. It reminded me of ghouls and idiots and in¬ 
sane howlings. But now one answers from far woods 
in a' strain made really melodious by distance, — Boo 
hoo hoo , hoorer hoo; and indeed for the most part it 
suggested only pleasing associations, whether heard by 
day or night, summer or winter. 
I rejoice that there are owls. Let them do the 
idiotic and maniacal hooting for men. It is a sound 
admirably suited to swamps and twilight woods which 
