94 EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
built the railroad dwelt; and tlie bones they 
gnawed lie about. I am cheered by the sound 
of running water now down the wooden troughs 
each side the cut. This road breaks the sur¬ 
face of the earth. Here is the dryest walking 
in wet weather, and the easiest in snowy. Even 
the sight of smoke from the shanty excites me 
to-day. Already these puddles on the railroad, 
reflecting the pine woods, remind me of sum¬ 
mer lakes. 
When I hear the telegraph harp I think I 
must read the Greek poets. This sound is like 
a brighter color, red, or blue, or green, where 
all was dull white or black. It prophesies 
finer senses, a finer life, a golden age. It is 
the poetry of the railroad. The heroic and 
poetic thoughts which the Irish laborers had at 
their toil has now got expression, that which 
has made the world mad so long. Or is it the 
gods expressing their delight at this invention ? 
The flowing sand bursts out through the snow 
and overflows it where no sand was to be seen. 
. . . . Again it rains, and I turn about. The 
sound of water falling on rocks and of air fall¬ 
ing on trees are very much alike. Though 
cloudy, the air excites me. Yesterday all was 
tight as a stricture on my breast. To-day all 
is loosened. It is a different element from what 
it was. The sides of the bushy hill where the 
