SPKIN G. 
333 
Walden is melting apace. There is a canal two rods 
wide along the northerly and westerly sides, and wider 
still at the east end. A great field of ice has cracked 
off from the main body. I hear a song-sparrow singing 
from the bushes on the shore, — olit , olit, olit , — chip , 
chip , chifp, che char , —- che wiss , wiss , wiss. He too is 
helping to crack it. How handsome the great sweeping 
curves in the edge of the ice, answering somewhat to 
those of the shore, but more regular! It is unusually 
hard, owing to the recent severe but transient cold, and 
all watered or waved like a palace floor. But the wind 
slides eastward over its opaque surface in vain, till it 
reaches the living surface beyond. It is glorious to be¬ 
hold this ribbon of water sparkling in the sun, the bare 
face of the pond full of glee and youth, as if it spoke the 
joy of the fishes within it, and of the sands on its shore, 
-—■ a silvery sheen as from the scales of a leuciscus , as it 
were all one active fish. Such is the contrast between 
winter and spring. Walden was dead and is alive again. 
But this spring it broke up more steadily, as I have 
said. 
The change from storm and winter to serene and mild 
weather, from dark and sluggish hours to bright and 
elastic ones, is a memorable crisis which all things pro¬ 
claim. It is seemingly instantaneous at last. Suddenly 
an influx of light filled my house, though the evening 
was at hand, and the clouds of winter still overhung it, 
and the eaves were dripping with sleety rain. I looked 
out the window, and lo! where yesterday was cold gray 
ice there lay the transparent pond already calm and full of 
hope as in a summer evening, reflecting a summer even¬ 
ing sky in its bosom, though none was visible overhead, 
as if it had intelligence with some remote horizon. I 
