334 
WALDEN. 
heard a robin in the distance, the first I had heard for 
many a thousand years, methought, whose note I shall 
not forget for many a thousand more, — the same sweet 
and powerful song as of yore. O the evening robin, at 
the end of a New England summer day! If I could 
ever find the twig he sits upon! I mean he; I mean 
the twig. This at least is not the Turdus migratorius. 
The pitch-pines and shrub-oaks about my house, which 
had so long drooped, suddenly resumed their several 
characters, looked brighter, greener, and more erect and 
alive, as if effectually cleansed and restored by the rain. 
I knew that it would not rain any more. You may tell 
by looking at any twig of the forest, ay, at your very 
wood-pile, whether its winter is past or not. As it grew 
darker, I was startled by the honking of geese flying 
low over the woods, like weary travellers getting in late 
from southern lakes, and indulging at last in unre¬ 
strained complaint and mutual consolation. Standing 
at my door, I could hear the rush of their wings; when, 
driving toward my house, they suddenly spied my light, 
and with hushed clamor wheeled and settled in the pond. 
So I came in, and shut the door, and passed my first 
spring night in the woods. 
In the morning I watched the geese from the door 
through the mist, sailing in the middle of the pond, fifty 
rods off, so large and tumultuous that Walden appeared 
like an artificial pond for their amusement. But when 
I stood on the shore they at once rose up with a great 
flapping of wings at the signal of their commander, and 
when they had got into rank circled about over my 
head, twenty-nine , of them, and then steered straight to 
Canada, with a regular honk from the leader at inter¬ 
vals, trusting to break their fast in muddier pools. A 
