208 
WALDEN. 
of sylvan spectacle. I have spent many an hour, when 
I was younger, floating over its surface as the zephyr 
willed, having paddled my boat to the middle, and lying 
on my back across the seats, in a summer forenoon, 
dreaming awake, until I was aroused by the boat touch¬ 
ing the sand, and I arose to see what shore my fates had 
impelled me to ; days when idleness was the most attrac¬ 
tive and productive industry. Many a forenoon have I 
stolen away, preferring to spend thus the most valued 
part of the day; for I was rich, if not in money, in sun¬ 
ny hours and summer days, and spent them lavishly; 
nor do I regret that I did not waste more of them in the 
workshop or the teacher’s desk. But since I left those 
shores the woodchoppers have still further laid them 
waste, and now for many a year there will be no more 
rambling through the aisles of the wood, with occasional 
vistas through which you see the water. My Muse 
may be excused if she is silent henceforth. How can 
you expect the birds to sing when their groves are cut 
down ? 
Now the trunks of trees on the bottom, and the old 
log canoe, and the dark surrounding woods, are gone, 
and the villagers, who scarcely know where it lies, in¬ 
stead of going to the pond to bathe or drink, are think¬ 
ing to bring its water, which should be as sacred as the 
Ganges at least, to the village in a pipe, to wash their 
dishes with! — to earn their Walden by the turning of a 
cock or drawing of a plug! That devilish Iron Horse, 
whose ear-rending neigh is heard throughout the town, 
has muddied the Boiling Spring with his foot, and he it 
is that has browsed off all the woods on Walden shore; 
that Trojan horse, with a thousand men in his belly, in¬ 
troduced by mercenary Greeks! Where is the coun- 
