SOMETIMES, HAVING HAD a surfeit of human society and gossip, and worn out all my village friends, I rambled still farther westward than I habitually dwell, into yet more unfrequented parts of the town, "to fresh woods and pastures new,(1)" or, while the sun was setting, made my supper of huckleberries and blueberries on Fair Haven Hill, and laid up a store for several days. The fruits do not yield their true flavor to the purchaser of them, nor to him who raises them for the market. There is but one way to obtain it, yet few take that way. If you would know the flavor of huckleberries, ask the cowboy or the partridge. It is a vulgar error to suppose that you have tasted huckleberries who never plucked them. A huckleberry never reaches Boston; they have not been known there since they grew on her three hills. The ambrosial and essential part of the fruit is lost with the bloom which is rubbed off in the market cart, and they become mere provender. As long as Eternal Justice reigns, not one innocent huckleberry can be transported thither from the country's hills.
1. John Milton (1608-1674) English poet, from Lycidas
Occasionally, after my hoeing was done for the day, I joined some impatient companion who had been fishing on the pond since morning, as silent and motionless as a duck or a floating leaf, and, after practising various kinds of philosophy, had concluded commonly, by the time I arrived, that he belonged to the ancient sect of Coenobites.(2) There was one older man, an excellent fisher and skilled in all kinds of woodcraft, who was pleased to look upon my house as a building erected for the convenience of fishermen; and I was equally pleased when he sat in my doorway to arrange his lines. Once in a while we sat together on the pond, he at one end of the boat, and I at the other; but not many words passed between us, for he had grown deaf in his later years, but he occasionally hummed a psalm, which harmonized well enough with my philosophy. Our intercourse was thus altogether one of unbroken harmony, far more pleasing to remember than if it had been carried on by speech. When, as was commonly the case, I had none to commune with, I used to raise the echoes by striking with a paddle on the side of my boat, filling the surrounding woods with circling and dilating sound, stirring them up as the keeper of a menagerie his wild beasts, until I elicited a growl from every wooded vale and hillside.
2. religious communities - pronounced "See no bites" (a pun!)
In warm evenings I frequently sat in the boat playing the flute, and saw the perch, which I seem to have charmed, hovering around me, and the moon travelling over the ribbed bottom, which was strewed with the wrecks of the forest. (below: white perch) Formerly I had come to this pond adventurously, from time to time, in dark summer nights, with a companion, and, making a fire close to the water's edge, which we thought attracted the fishes, we caught pouts with a bunch of worms strung on a thread, and when we had done, far in the night, threw the burning brands high into the air like skyrockets, which, coming down into the pond, were quenched with a loud hissing, and we were suddenly groping in total darkness. Through this, whistling a tune, we took our way to the haunts of men again. But now I had made my home by the shore.
Sometimes, after staying in a village parlor till the family had all retired, I have returned to the woods, and, partly with a view to the next day's dinner, spent the hours of midnight fishing from a boat by moonlight, serenaded by owls and foxes, and hearing, from time to time, the creaking note of some unknown bird close at hand. These experiences were very memorable and valuable to me — anchored in forty feet of water, and twenty or thirty rods from the shore,(3) surrounded sometimes by thousands of small perch and shiners, dimpling the surface with their tails in the moonlight, and communicating by a long flaxen line with mysterious nocturnal fishes which had their dwelling forty feet below, or sometimes dragging sixty feet of line about the pond as I drifted in the gentle night breeze, now and then feeling a slight vibration along it, indicative of some life prowling about its extremity, of dull uncertain blundering purpose there, and slow to make up its mind. At length you slowly raise, pulling hand over hand, some horned pout squeaking and squirming to the upper air. It was very queer, especially in dark nights, when your thoughts had wandered to vast and cosmogonal themes in other spheres, to feel this faint jerk, which came to interrupt your dreams and link you to Nature again. It seemed as if I might next cast my line upward into the air, as well as downward into this element, which was scarcely more dense. Thus I caught two fishes as it were with one hook.
3. Twenty or thirty rods is 330-495 feet
The scenery of Walden is on a humble scale, and, though very beautiful, does not approach to grandeur, nor can it much concern one who has not long frequented it or lived by its shore; yet this pond is so remarkable for its depth and purity as to merit a particular description. It is a clear and deep green well, half a mile long and a mile and three quarters in circumference, and contains about sixty-one and a half acres; a perennial spring in the midst of pine and oak woods, without any visible inlet or outlet except by the clouds and evaporation. The surrounding hills rise abruptly from the water to the height of forty to eighty feet, though on the southeast and east they attain to about one hundred and one hundred and fifty feet respectively, within a quarter and a third of a mile. They are exclusively woodland. All our Concord waters have two colors at least; one when viewed at a distance, and another, more proper, close at hand. The first depends more on the light, and follows the sky. In clear weather, in summer, they appear blue at a little distance, especially if agitated, and at a great distance all appear alike. In stormy weather they are sometimes of a dark slate-color. The sea, however, is said to be blue one day and green another without any perceptible change in the atmosphere. I have seen our river, when, the landscape being covered with snow, both water and ice were almost as green as grass. Some consider blue "to be the color of pure water, whether liquid or solid." But, looking directly down into our waters from a boat, they are seen to be of very different colors. Walden is blue at one time and green at another, even from the same point of view. Lying between the earth and the heavens, it partakes of the color of both. Viewed from a hilltop it reflects the color of the sky; but near at hand it is of a yellowish tint next the shore where you can see the sand, then a light green, which gradually deepens to a uniform dark green in the body of the pond. In some lights, viewed even from a hilltop, it is of a vivid green next the shore. Some have referred this to the reflection of the verdure; but it is equally green there against the railroad sandbank, and in the spring, before the leaves are expanded, and it may be simply the result of the prevailing blue mixed with the yellow of the sand. Such is the color of its iris. This is that portion, also, where in the spring, the ice being warmed by the heat of the sun reflected from the bottom, and also transmitted through the earth, melts first and forms a narrow canal about the still frozen middle. Like the rest of our waters, when much agitated, in clear weather, so that the surface of the waves may reflect the sky at the right angle, or because there is more light mixed with it, it appears at a little distance of a darker blue than the sky itself; and at such a time, being on its surface, and looking with divided vision, so as to see the reflection, I have discerned a matchless and indescribable light blue, such as watered or changeable silks and sword blades suggest, more cerulean than the sky itself, alternating with the original dark green on the opposite sides of the waves, which last appeared but muddy in comparison. It is a vitreous greenish blue, as I remember it, like those patches of the winter sky seen through cloud vistas in the west before sundown. Yet a single glass of its water held up to the light is as colorless as an equal quantity of air. It is well known that a large plate of glass will have a green tint, owing, as the makers say, to its "body," but a small piece of the same will be colorless. How large a body of Walden water would be required to reflect a green tint I have never proved. The water of our river is black or a very dark brown to one looking directly down on it, and, like that of most ponds, imparts to the body of one bathing in it a yellowish tinge; but this water is of such crystalline purity that the body of the bather appears of an alabaster whiteness, still more unnatural, which, as the limbs are magnified and distorted withal, produces a monstrous effect, making fit studies for a Michael Angelo.(4)
4. Michelangelo (1475-1564) Italian sculptor, painter, architect, poet
The water is so transparent that the bottom can easily be discerned at the depth of twenty-five or thirty feet. Paddling over it, you may see, many feet beneath the surface, the schools of perch and shiners, perhaps only an inch long, yet the former easily distinguished by their transverse bars, and you think that they must be ascetic fish that find a subsistence there. Once, in the winter, many years ago, when I had been cutting holes through the ice in order to catch pickerel, as I stepped ashore I tossed my axe back on to the ice, but, as if some evil genius had directed it, it slid four or five rods directly into one of the holes, where the water was twenty-five feet deep. Out of curiosity, I lay down on the ice and looked through the hole, until I saw the axe a little on one side, standing on its head, with its helve erect and gently swaying to and fro with the pulse of the pond; and there it might have stood erect and swaying till in the course of time the handle rotted off, if I had not disturbed it. Making another hole directly over it with an ice chisel which I had, and cutting down the longest birch which I could find in the neighborhood with my knife, I made a slip-noose, which I attached to its end, and, letting it down carefully, passed it over the knob of the handle, and drew it by a line along the birch, and so pulled the axe out again.
The shore is composed of a belt of smooth rounded white stones like paving-stones, excepting one or two short sand beaches, and is so steep that in many places a single leap will carry you into water over your head; and were it not for its remarkable transparency, that would be the last to be seen of its bottom till it rose on the opposite side. Some think it is bottomless. It is nowhere muddy, and a casual observer would say that there were no weeds at all in it; and of noticeable plants, except in the little meadows recently overflowed, which do not properly belong to it, a closer scrutiny does not detect a flag nor a bulrush, nor even a lily, yellow or white, but only a few small heart-leaves and potamogetons,(5) and perhaps a water-target or two; all which however a bather might not perceive; and these plants are clean and bright like the element they grow in. The stones extend a rod or two into the water, and then the bottom is pure sand, except in the deepest parts, where there is usually a little sediment, probably from the decay of the leaves which have been wafted on to it so many successive falls, and a bright green weed is brought up on anchors even in midwinter.
5. water plants
We have one other pond just like this, White Pond, in Nine Acre Corner, about two and a half miles westerly; but, though I am acquainted with most of the ponds within a dozen miles of this centre I do not know a third of this pure and well-like character. Successive nations perchance have drank at, admired, and fathomed it, and passed away, and still its water is green and pellucid as ever. Not an intermitting spring! Perhaps on that spring morning when Adam and Eve were driven out of Eden Walden Pond was already in existence, and even then breaking up in a gentle spring rain accompanied with mist and a southerly wind, and covered with myriads of ducks and geese, which had not heard of the fall, when still such pure lakes sufficed them. Even then it had commenced to rise and fall, and had clarified its waters and colored them of the hue they now wear, and obtained a patent of Heaven to be the only Walden Pond in the world and distiller of celestial dews. Who knows in how many unremembered nations' literatures this has been the Castalian Fountain?(6) or what nymphs presided over it in the Golden Age? It is a gem of the first water which Concord wears in her coronet.
6. in Greek mythology, source of poetic inspiration
Yet perchance the first who came to this well have left some trace of their footsteps. I have been surprised to detect encircling the pond, even where a thick wood has just been cut down on the shore, a narrow shelf-like path in the steep hillside, alternately rising and falling, approaching and receding from the water's edge, as old probably as the race of man here, worn by the feet of aboriginal hunters, and still from time to time unwittingly trodden by the present occupants of the land. This is particularly distinct to one standing on the middle of the pond in winter, just after a light snow has fallen, appearing as a clear undulating white line, unobscured by weeds and twigs, and very obvious a quarter of a mile off in many places where in summer it is hardly distinguishable close at hand. The snow reprints it, as it were, in clear white type alto-relievo.(7) The ornamented grounds of villas which will one day be built here may still preserve some trace of this.
7. sculptural relief with at least half of the modeled form projecting
The pond rises and falls, but whether regularly or not, and within what period, nobody knows, though, as usual, many pretend to know.(8) It is commonly higher in the winter and lower in the summer, though not corresponding to the general wet and dryness. I can remember when it was a foot or two lower, and also when it was at least five feet higher, than when I lived by it. There is a narrow sand-bar running into it, with very deep water on one side, on which I helped boil a kettle of chowder, some six rods from the main shore, about the year 1824, which it has not been possible to do for twenty-five years; and, on the other hand, my friends used to listen with incredulity when I told them, that a few years later I was accustomed to fish from a boat in a secluded cove in the woods, fifteen rods from the only shore they knew, which place was long since converted into a meadow. But the pond has risen steadily for two years, and now, in the summer of '52, is just five feet higher than when I lived there, or as high as it was thirty years ago, and fishing goes on again in the meadow. This makes a difference of level, at the outside, of six or seven feet; and yet the water shed by the surrounding hills is insignificant in amount, and this overflow must be referred to causes which affect the deep springs. This same summer the pond has begun to fall again. It is remarkable that this fluctuation, whether periodical or not, appears thus to require many years for its accomplishment. I have observed one rise and a part of two falls, and I expect that a dozen or fifteen years hence the water will again be as low as I have ever known it. Flint's Pond, a mile eastward, allowing for the disturbance occasioned by its inlets and outlets, and the smaller intermediate ponds also, sympathize with Walden, and recently attained their greatest height at the same time with the latter. The same is true, as far as my observation goes, of White Pond.
8. Walden is now understood to be a "flow-through" pond, with underwater connections to other local bodies of water. The shape of the pond was created as a glacial sink hole.
This rise and fall of Walden at long intervals serves this use at least; the water standing at this great height for a year or more, though it makes it difficult to walk round it, kills the shrubs and trees which have sprung up about its edge since the last rise — pitch pines, birches, alders, aspens, and others — and, falling again, leaves an unobstructed shore; for, unlike many ponds and all waters which are subject to a daily tide, its shore is cleanest when the water is lowest. On the side of the pond next my house a row of pitch pines, fifteen feet high, has been killed and tipped over as if by a lever, and thus a stop put to their encroachments; and their size indicates how many years have elapsed since the last rise to this height. By this fluctuation the pond asserts its title to a shore, and thus the shore is shorn, and the trees cannot hold it by right of possession. These are the lips of the lake, on which no beard grows. It licks its chaps from time to time. When the water is at its height, the alders, willows, and maples send forth a mass of fibrous red roots several feet long from all sides of their stems in the water, and to the height of three or four feet from the ground, in the effort to maintain themselves; and I have known the high blueberry bushes about the shore, which commonly produce no fruit, bear an abundant crop under these circumstances.
Some have been puzzled to tell how the shore became so regularly paved. My townsmen have all heard the tradition — the oldest people tell me that they heard it in their youth — that anciently the Indians were holding a pow-wow upon a hill here, which rose as high into the heavens as the pond now sinks deep into the earth, and they used much profanity, as the story goes, though this vice is one of which the Indians were never guilty, and while they were thus engaged the hill shook and suddenly sank, and only one old squaw, named Walden, escaped, and from her the pond was named.(9) It has been conjectured that when the hill shook these stones rolled down its side and became the present shore. It is very certain, at any rate, that once there was no pond here, and now there is one; and this Indian fable does not in any respect conflict with the account of that ancient settler whom I have mentioned, who remembers so well when he first came here with his divining-rod, saw a thin vapor rising from the sward, and the hazel pointed steadily downward, and he concluded to dig a well here. As for the stones, many still think that they are hardly to be accounted for by the action of the waves on these hills; but I observe that the surrounding hills are remarkably full of the same kind of stones, so that they have been obliged to pile them up in walls on both sides of the railroad cut nearest the pond; and, moreover, there are most stones where the shore is most abrupt; so that, unfortunately, it is no longer a mystery to me. I detect the paver. If the name was not derived from that of some English locality — Saffron Walden,(10) for instance — one might suppose that it was called originally Walled-in Pond.
9. "This is told of Alexander's Lake in Killingly Ct. by Barber. v his Con. Hist Coll" - note made by Thoreau in his copy of Walden
10. At least one early settler of Concord was from the English town of Saffron Walden. "Evelyn in his Diary (1645) mentions 'the parish of Saffron Walden, famous for the abundance of Saffron there cultivated, and esteemed the best of any foreign county'" - note made by Thoreau in his copy of Walden
The pond was my well ready dug. For four months in the year its water is as cold as it is pure at all times; and I think that it is then as good as any, if not the best, in the town. In the winter, all water which is exposed to the air is colder than springs and wells which are protected from it. The temperature of the pond water which had stood in the room where I sat from five o'clock in the afternoon till noon the next day, the sixth of March, 1846, the thermometer having been up to 65o or 70o some of the time, owing partly to the sun on the roof, was 42o, or one degree colder than the water of one of the coldest wells in the village just drawn. The temperature of the Boiling Spring the same day was 45o, or the warmest of any water tried, though it is the coldest that I know of in summer, when, beside, shallow and stagnant surface water is not mingled with it. Moreover, in summer, Walden never becomes so warm as most water which is exposed to the sun, on account of its depth. In the warmest weather I usually placed a pailful in my cellar, where it became cool in the night, and remained so during the day; though I also resorted to a spring in the neighborhood. It was as good when a week old as the day it was dipped, and had no taste of the pump. Whoever camps for a week in summer by the shore of a pond, needs only bury a pail of water a few feet deep in the shade of his camp to be independent of the luxury of ice.
There have been caught in Walden pickerel, one weighing seven pounds — to say nothing of another which carried off a reel with great velocity, which the fisherman safely set down at eight pounds because he did not see him — perch and pouts, some of each weighing over two pounds, shiners, chivins or roach (Leuciscus pulchellus,) a very few breams (Pomotis obesus,) (11) and a couple of eels, one weighing four pounds — I am thus particular because the weight of a fish is commonly its only title to fame, and these are the only eels I have heard of here; — also, I have a faint recollection of a little fish some five inches long, with silvery sides and a greenish back, somewhat dace-like in its character, which I mention here chiefly to link my facts to fable. Nevertheless, this pond is not very fertile in fish. Its pickerel, though not abundant, are its chief boast. I have seen at one time lying on the ice pickerel of at least three different kinds: a long and shallow one, steel-colored, most like those caught in the river; a bright golden kind, with greenish reflections and remarkably deep, which is the most common here; and another, golden-colored, and shaped like the last, but peppered on the sides with small dark brown or black spots, intermixed with a few faint blood-red ones, very much like a trout. The specific name reticulatus would not apply to this; it should be guttatus rather. These are all very firm fish, and weigh more than their size promises. The shiners, pouts, and perch also, and indeed all the fishes which inhabit this pond, are much cleaner, handsomer, and firmer-fleshed than those in the river and most other ponds, as the water is purer, and they can easily be distinguished from them. Probably many ichthyologists (12) would make new varieties of some of them. There are also a clean race of frogs and tortoises, and a few mussels in it; muskrats and minks leave their traces about it, and occasionally a travelling mud-turtle visits it. Sometimes, when I pushed off my boat in the morning, I disturbed a great mud-turtle which had secreted himself under the boat in the night. Ducks and geese frequent it in the spring and fall, the white-bellied swallows (Hirundo bicolor) skim over it, kingfishers dart away from its coves, and the peetweets (Totanus macularius) "teeter" along its stony shores all summer. I have sometimes disturbed a fish hawk sitting on a white pine over the water; but I doubt if it is ever profaned by the wind of a gull, like Fair Haven.(13) At most, it tolerates one annual loon. These are all the animals of consequence which frequent it now.
11. "Pomotis obesus [v Nov 26-58] one trout weighing a little over 5 ibs — (Nov. 14-57)" - note made by Thoreau in his copy of Walden
12. zoologists who study fish, including their structure, classification, and habits
13. bay of the Sudbury River approximately one mile from Walden
You may see from a boat, in calm weather, near the sandy eastern shore, where the water is eight or ten feet deep, and also in some other parts of the pond, some circular heaps half a dozen feet in diameter by a foot in height, consisting of small stones less than a hen's egg in size, where all around is bare sand. At first you wonder if the Indians could have formed them on the ice for any purpose, and so, when the ice melted, they sank to the bottom; but they are too regular and some of them plainly too fresh for that. They are similar to those found in rivers; but as there are no suckers nor lampreys here, I know not by what fish they could be made. Perhaps they are the nests of the chivin. These lend a pleasing mystery to the bottom.
The shore is irregular enough not to be monotonous. I have in my mind's eye the western, indented with deep bays, the bolder northern, and the beautifully scalloped southern shore, where successive capes overlap each other and suggest unexplored coves between. The forest has never so good a setting, nor is so distinctly beautiful, as when seen from the middle of a small lake amid hills which rise from the water's edge; for the water in which it is reflected not only makes the best foreground in such a case, but, with its winding shore, the most natural and agreeable boundary to it. There is no rawness nor imperfection in its edge there, as where the axe has cleared a part, or a cultivated field abuts on it. The trees have ample room to expand on the water side, and each sends forth its most vigorous branch in that direction. There Nature has woven a natural selvage, and the eye rises by just gradations from the low shrubs of the shore to the highest trees. There are few traces of man's hand to be seen. The water laves the shore as it did a thousand years ago.
A lake is the landscape's most beautiful and expressive feature. It is earth's eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature. The fluviatile (1) trees next the shore are the slender eyelashes which fringe it, and the wooded hills and cliffs around are its overhanging brows.
1. "fluviatile", from the Latin name for river, refers to moving water, and appears to be misused here
Standing on the smooth sandy beach at the east end of the pond, in a calm September afternoon, when a slight haze makes the opposite shore-line indistinct, I have seen whence came the expression, "the glassy surface of a lake." When you invert your head, it looks like a thread of finest gossamer stretched across the valley, and gleaming against the distant pine woods, separating one stratum of the atmosphere from another. You would think that you could walk dry under it to the opposite hills, and that the swallows which skim over might perch on it. Indeed, they sometimes dive below this line, as it were by mistake, and are undeceived. As you look over the pond westward you are obliged to employ both your hands to defend your eyes against the reflected as well as the true sun, for they are equally bright; and if, between the two, you survey its surface critically, it is literally as smooth as glass, except where the skater insects, at equal intervals scattered over its whole extent, by their motions in the sun produce the finest imaginable sparkle on it, or, perchance, a duck plumes itself, or, as I have said, a swallow skims so low as to touch it. It may be that in the distance a fish describes an arc of three or four feet in the air, and there is one bright flash where it emerges, and another where it strikes the water; sometimes the whole silvery arc is revealed; or here and there, perhaps, is a thistle-down floating on its surface, which the fishes dart at and so dimple it again. It is like molten glass cooled but not congealed, and the few motes in it are pure and beautiful like the imperfections in glass. You may often detect a yet smoother and darker water, separated from the rest as if by an invisible cobweb, boom of the water nymphs, resting on it. From a hilltop you can see a fish leap in almost any part; for not a pickerel or shiner picks an insect from this smooth surface but it manifestly disturbs the equilibrium of the whole lake. It is wonderful with what elaborateness this simple fact is advertised — this piscine murder will out — and from my distant perch I distinguish the circling undulations when they are half a dozen rods in diameter. You can even detect a water-bug (Gyrinus) (2) ceaselessly progressing over the smooth surface a quarter of a mile off; for they furrow the water slightly, making a conspicuous ripple bounded by two diverging lines, but the skaters glide over it without rippling it perceptibly. When the surface is considerably agitated there are no skaters nor water-bugs on it, but apparently, in calm days, they leave their havens and adventurously glide forth from the shore by short impulses till they completely cover it. It is a soothing employment, on one of those fine days in the fall when all the warmth of the sun is fully appreciated, to sit on a stump on such a height as this, overlooking the pond, and study the dimpling circles which are incessantly inscribed on its otherwise invisible surface amid the reflected skies and trees. Over this great expanse there is no disturbance but it is thus at once gently smoothed away and assuaged, as, when a vase of water is jarred, the trembling circles seek the shore and all is smooth again. Not a fish can leap or an insect fall on the pond but it is thus reported in circling dimples, in lines of beauty, as it were the constant welling up of its fountain, the gentle pulsing of its life, the heaving of its breast. The thrills of joy and thrills of pain are undistinguishable. How peaceful the phenomena of the lake! Again the works of man shine as in the spring. Ay, every leaf and twig and stone and cobweb sparkles now at mid-afternoon as when covered with dew in a spring morning. Every motion of an oar or an insect produces a flash of light; and if an oar falls, how sweet the echo!
2. small aquatic beetle that swims on the surface of the water
In such a day, in September or October, Walden is a perfect forest mirror, set round with stones as precious to my eye as if fewer or rarer. Nothing so fair, so pure, and at the same time so large, as a lake, perchance, lies on the surface of the earth. Sky water. It needs no fence. Nations come and go without defiling it. It is a mirror which no stone can crack, whose quicksilver will never wear off, whose gilding Nature continually repairs; no storms, no dust, can dim its surface ever fresh; — a mirror in which all impurity presented to it sinks, swept and dusted by the sun's hazy brush — this the light dust-cloth — which retains no breath that is breathed on it, but sends its own to float as clouds high above its surface, and be reflected in its bosom still.
A field of water betrays the spirit that is in the air. It is continually receiving new life and motion from above. It is intermediate in its nature between land and sky. On land only the grass and trees wave, but the water itself is rippled by the wind. I see where the breeze dashes across it by the streaks or flakes of light. It is remarkable that we can look down on its surface. We shall, perhaps, look down thus on the surface of air at length, and mark where a still subtler spirit sweeps over it.
The skaters and water-bugs finally disappear in the latter part of October, when the severe frosts have come; and then and in November, usually, in a calm day, there is absolutely nothing to ripple the surface. One November afternoon, in the calm at the end of a rain-storm of several days' duration, when the sky was still completely overcast and the air was full of mist, I observed that the pond was remarkably smooth, so that it was difficult to distinguish its surface; though it no longer reflected the bright tints of October, but the sombre November colors of the surrounding hills. Though I passed over it as gently as possible, the slight undulations produced by my boat extended almost as far as I could see, and gave a ribbed appearance to the reflections. But, as I was looking over the surface, I saw here and there at a distance a faint glimmer, as if some skater insects which had escaped the frosts might be collected there, or, perchance, the surface, being so smooth, betrayed where a spring welled up from the bottom. Paddling gently to one of these places, I was surprised to find myself surrounded by myriads of small perch, about five inches long, of a rich bronze color in the green water, sporting there, and constantly rising to the surface and dimpling it, sometimes leaving bubbles on it. In such transparent and seemingly bottomless water, reflecting the clouds, I seemed to be floating through the air as in a balloon, and their swimming impressed me as a kind of flight or hovering, as if they were a compact flock of birds passing just beneath my level on the right or left, their fins, like sails, set all around them. There were many such schools in the pond, apparently improving the short season before winter would draw an icy shutter over their broad skylight, sometimes giving to the surface an appearance as if a slight breeze struck it, or a few rain-drops fell there. When I approached carelessly and alarmed them, they made a sudden splash and rippling with their tails, as if one had struck the water with a brushy bough, and instantly took refuge in the depths. At length the wind rose, the mist increased, and the waves began to run, and the perch leaped much higher than before, half out of water, a hundred black points, three inches long, at once above the surface. Even as late as the fifth of December, one year, I saw some dimples on the surface, and thinking it was going to rain hard immediately, the air being fun of mist, I made haste to take my place at the oars and row homeward; already the rain seemed rapidly increasing, though I felt none on my cheek, and I anticipated a thorough soaking. But suddenly the dimples ceased, for they were produced by the perch, which the noise of my oars had seared into the depths, and I saw their schools dimly disappearing; so I spent a dry afternoon after all.
An old man who used to frequent this pond nearly sixty years ago, when it was dark with surrounding forests, tells me that in those days he sometimes saw it all alive with ducks and other water-fowl, and that there were many eagles about it. He came here a-fishing, and used an old log canoe which he found on the shore. It was made of two white pine logs dug out and pinned together, and was cut off square at the ends. It was very clumsy, but lasted a great many years before it became water-logged and perhaps sank to the bottom. He did not know whose it was; it belonged to the pond. He used to make a cable for his anchor of strips of hickory bark tied together. An old man, a potter, who lived by the pond before the Revolution, told him once that there was an iron chest at the bottom, and that he had seen it. Sometimes it would come floating up to the shore; but when you went toward it, it would go back into deep water and disappear. I was pleased to hear of the old log canoe, which took the place of an Indian one of the same material but more graceful construction, which perchance had first been a tree on the bank, and then, as it were, fell into the water, to float there for a generation, the most proper vessel for the lake. I remember that when I first looked into these depths there were many large trunks to be seen indistinctly lying on the bottom, which had either been blown over formerly, or left on the ice at the last cutting, when wood was cheaper; but now they have mostly disappeared.
When I first paddled a boat on Walden, it was completely surrounded by thick and lofty pine and oak woods, and in some of its coves grape-vines had run over the trees next the water and formed bowers under which a boat could pass. The hills which form its shores are so steep, and the woods on them were then so high, that, as you looked down from the west end, it had the appearance of an amphitheatre for some land 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 touching the sand, and I arose to see what shore my fates had impelled me to; days when idleness was the most attractive 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 sunny 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, instead of going to the pond to bathe or drink, are thinking to bring its water, which should be as sacred as the Ganges (3) 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, introduced by mercenary Greeks! Where is the country's champion, the Moore of Moore-Hall,(4) to meet him at the Deep Cut (5) and thrust an avenging lance between the ribs of the bloated pest?
3. river in northern India, sacred to Hindus
4. hero of an English ballad, who killed a dragon
5. The "Deep Cut" is the route of the Fitchburg Railroad, described by Thoreau as "about a quarter of a mile long — and thirty or forty feet deep"
Nevertheless, of all the characters I have known, perhaps Walden wears best, and best preserves its purity.(6) Many men have been likened to it, but few deserve that honor. Though the woodchoppers have laid bare first this shore and then that, and the Irish have built their sties by it, and the railroad has infringed on its border, and the ice-men have skimmed it once, it is itself unchanged, the same water which my youthful eyes fell on; all the change is in me. It has not acquired one permanent wrinkle after all its ripples. It is perennially young, and I may stand and see a swallow dip apparently to pick an insect from its surface as of yore. It struck me again tonight, as if I had not seen it almost daily for more than twenty years — Why, here is Walden, the same woodland lake that I discovered so many years ago; where a forest was cut down last winter another is springing up by its shore as lustily as ever; the same thought is welling up to its surface that was then; it is the same liquid joy and happiness to itself and its Maker, ay, and it may be to me. It is the work of a brave man surely, in whom there was no guile! He rounded this water with his hand, deepened and clarified it in his thought, and in his will bequeathed it to Concord. I see by its face that it is visited by the same reflection; and I can almost say, Walden, is it you?
6. "In the years after Thoreau's death Walden was exploited for recreational use. The railroad put in picnic tables in 1866, a bath house in 1868, and in 1880 began conducting excursions to the pond that continued into the next century. A pavilion, merry-go-round, race track, boat rentals, and concessions were Victorian period embellishments." - Ronald Wesley Hoag
It is no dream of mine,
To ornament a line;
I cannot come nearer to God and Heaven
Than I live to Walden even.
I am its stony shore,
And the breeze that passes o'er;
In the hollow of my hand
Are its water and its sand,
And its deepest resort
Lies high in my thought.(7)
7. poem by Henry Thoreau
The cars never pause to look at it; yet I fancy that the engineers and firemen and brakemen, and those passengers who have a season ticket and see it often, are better men for the sight. The engineer does not forget at night, or his nature does not, that he has beheld this vision of serenity and purity once at least during the day. Though seen but once, it helps to wash out State-street (8) and the engine's soot. One proposes that it be called "God's Drop."(9)
8. Boston financial district
9. "One" is Emerson
I have said that Walden has no visible inlet nor outlet, but it is on the one hand distantly and indirectly related to Flint's Pond, which is more elevated, by a chain of small ponds coming from that quarter, and on the other directly and manifestly to Concord River, which is lower, by a similar chain of ponds through which in some other geological period it may have flowed, and by a little digging, which God forbid, it can be made to flow thither again. If by living thus reserved and austere, like a hermit in the woods, so long, it has acquired such wonderful purity, who would not regret that the comparatively impure waters of Flint's Pond should be mingled with it, or itself should ever go to waste its sweetness in the ocean wave?
Flint's, or Sandy Pond, in Lincoln, our greatest lake and inland sea, lies about a mile east of Walden. It is much larger, being said to contain one hundred and ninety-seven acres, and is more fertile in fish; but it is comparatively shallow, and not remarkably pure. A walk through the woods thither was often my recreation. It was worth the while, if only to feel the wind blow on your cheek freely, and see the waves run, and remember the life of mariners. I went a-chestnutting there in the fall, on windy days, when the nuts were dropping into the water and were washed to my feet; and one day, as I crept along its sedgy shore, the fresh spray blowing in my face, I came upon the mouldering wreck of a boat, the sides gone, and hardly more than the impression of its flat bottom left amid the rushes; yet its model was sharply defined, as if it were a large decayed pad, with its veins. It was as impressive a wreck as one could imagine on the seashore, and had as good a moral. It is by this time mere vegetable mould and undistinguishable pond shore, through which rushes and flags have pushed up. I used to admire the ripple marks on the sandy bottom, at the north end of this pond, made firm and hard to the feet of the wader by the pressure of the water, and the rushes which grew in Indian file, in waving lines, corresponding to these marks, rank behind rank, as if the waves had planted them. There also I have found, in considerable quantities, curious balls, composed apparently of fine grass or roots, of pipewort perhaps, from half an inch to four inches in diameter, and perfectly spherical. These wash back and forth in shallow water on a sandy bottom, and are sometimes cast on the shore. They are either solid grass, or have a little sand in the middle. At first you would say that they were formed by the action of the waves, like a pebble; yet the smallest are made of equally coarse materials, half an inch long, and they are produced only at one season of the year. Moreover, the waves, I suspect, do not so much construct as wear down a material which has already acquired consistency. They preserve their form when dry for an indefinite period.
Flint's Pond! Such is the poverty of our nomenclature. What right had the unclean and stupid farmer,(10) whose farm abutted on this sky water, whose shores he has ruthlessly laid bare, to give his name to it? Some skin-flint, who loved better the reflecting surface of a dollar, or a bright cent, in which he could see his own brazen face; who regarded even the wild ducks which settled in it as trespassers; his fingers grown into crooked and bony talons from the long habit of grasping harpy-like; — so it is not named for me. I go not there to see him nor to hear of him; who never saw it, who never bathed in it, who never loved it, who never protected it, who never spoke a good word for it, nor thanked God that He had made it. Rather let it be named from the fishes that swim in it, the wild fowl or quadrupeds which frequent it, the wild flowers which grow by its shores, or some wild man or child the thread of whose history is interwoven with its own; not from him who could show no title to it but the deed which a like-minded neighbor or legislature gave him who thought only of its money value; whose presence perchance cursed — him all the shores; who exhausted the land around it, and would fain have exhausted the waters within it; who regretted only that it was not English hay or cranberry meadow — there was nothing to redeem it, forsooth, in his eyes — and would have drained and sold it for the mud at its bottom. It did not turn his mill, and it was no privilege to him to behold it. I respect not his labors, his farm where everything has its price, who would carry the landscape, who would carry his God, to market, if he could get anything for him; who goes to market for his god as it is; on whose farm nothing grows free, whose fields bear no crops, whose meadows no flowers, whose trees no fruits, but dollars; who loves not the beauty of his fruits, whose fruits are not ripe for him till they are turned to dollars. Give me the poverty that enjoys true wealth. Farmers are respectable and interesting to me in proportion as they are poor — poor farmers. A model farm! where the house stands like a fungus in a muckheap, chambers for men horses, oxen, and swine, cleansed and uncleansed, all contiguous to one another! Stocked with men! A great grease-spot, redolent of manures and buttermilk! Under a high state of cultivation, being manured with the hearts and brains of men! As if you were to raise your potatoes in the churchyard! Such is a model farm.
10. Flint had denied Thoreau's request for permission to build a cabin at Flint's Pond. If permission had been granted, we might be reading a book called "Flint".
No, no; if the fairest features of the landscape are to be named after men, let them be the noblest and worthiest men alone. Let our lakes receive as true names at least as the Icarian Sea,(11) where "still the shore" a "brave attempt resounds.(12)"
11. named after Icarus; in Greek mythology he flew too close to the sun on wings of feathers and wax, and fell to his death when the wax melted.
12. William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585-1649) Scottish poet, Icarus
Goose Pond, of small extent, is on my way to Flint's; Fair Haven, an expansion of Concord River, said to contain some seventy acres, is a mile southwest; and White Pond, of about forty acres, is a mile and a half beyond Fair Haven. This is my lake country.(13) These, with Concord River, are my water privileges; and night and day, year in year out, they grind such grist as I carry to them.
13. reference to the Lake Country of England, associated with Romantic poets
Since the wood-cutters, and the railroad, and I myself have profaned Walden, perhaps the most attractive, if not the most beautiful, of all our lakes, the gem of the woods, is White Pond; — a poor name from its commonness, whether derived from the remarkable purity of its waters or the color of its sands. In these as in other respects, however, it is a lesser twin of Walden. They are so much alike that you would say they must be connected under ground. It has the same stony shore, and its waters are of the same hue. As at Walden, in sultry dog-day weather, looking down through the woods on some of its bays which are not so deep but that the reflection from the bottom tinges them, its waters are of a misty bluish-green or glaucous color. Many years since I used to go there to collect the sand by cartloads, to make sandpaper with,(14) and I have continued to visit it ever since.
14. The Thoreau family manufactured sandpaper as well as pencils
One who frequents it proposes to call it Virid Lake. Perhaps it might be called Yellow Pine Lake, from the following circumstance. About fifteen years ago you could see the top of a pitch pine, of the kind called yellow pine hereabouts, though it is not a distinct species, projecting above the surface in deep water, many rods from the shore. It was even supposed by some that the pond had sunk, and this was one of the primitive forest that formerly stood there. I find that even so long ago as 1792, in a "Topographical Description of the Town of Concord," by one of its citizens, in the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society, the author, after speaking of Walden and White Ponds, adds, "In the middle of the latter may be seen, when the water is very low, a tree which appears as if it grew in the place where it now stands, although the roots are fifty feet below the surface of the water; the top of this tree is broken off, and at that place measures fourteen inches in diameter." In the spring of '49 I talked with the man who lives nearest the pond in Sudbury, who told me that it was he who got out this tree ten or fifteen years before. As near as he could remember, it stood twelve or fifteen rods from the shore, where the water was thirty or forty feet deep. It was in the winter, and he had been getting out ice in the forenoon, and had resolved that in the afternoon, with the aid of his neighbors, he would take out the old yellow pine. He sawed a channel in the ice toward the shore, and hauled it over and along and out on to the ice with oxen; but, before he had gone far in his work, he was surprised to find that it was wrong end upward, with the stumps of the branches pointing down, and the small end firmly fastened in the sandy bottom. It was about a foot in diameter at the big end, and he had expected to get a good saw-log, but it was so rotten as to be fit only for fuel, if for that. He had some of it in his shed then. There were marks of an axe and of woodpeckers on the butt. He thought that it might have been a dead tree on the shore, but was finally blown over into the pond, and after the top had become water-logged, while the butt-end was still dry and light, had drifted out and sunk wrong end up. His father, eighty years old, could not remember when it was not there. Several pretty large logs may still be seen lying on the bottom, where, owing to the undulation of the surface, they look like huge water snakes in motion.
This pond has rarely been profaned by a boat, for there is little in it to tempt a fisherman. Instead of the white lily, which requires mud, or the common sweet flag, the blue flag (Iris versicolor) grows thinly in the pure water, rising from the stony bottom all around the shore, where it is visited by hummingbirds in June; and the color both of its bluish blades and its flowers and especially their reflections, is in singular harmony with the glaucous water.
White Pond and Walden are great crystals on the surface of the earth, Lakes of Light. If they were permanently congealed, and small enough to be clutched, they would, perchance, be carried off by slaves, like precious stones, to adorn the heads of emperors; but being liquid, and ample, and secured to us and our successors forever, we disregard them, and run after the diamond of Kohinoor.(15) They are too pure to have a market value; they contain no muck. How much more beautiful than our lives, how much more transparent than our characters, are they! We never learned meanness of them. How much fairer than the pool before the farmers door, in which his ducks swim! Hither the clean wild ducks come. Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her. The birds with their plumage and their notes are in harmony with the flowers, but what youth or maiden conspires with the wild luxuriant beauty of Nature? She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside. Talk of heaven! ye disgrace earth
15. gem with a very long history, better known in Thoreau's time: given to Queen Victoria in 1850, on display at the Crystal Palace Exhibition in London’s Hyde Park in 1851
| 有时，对人类社会及其言谈扯淡，对所有村中的友人们又都厌倦了，我便向西而漫游，越过了惯常起居的那些地方，跑到这乡镇的更无人迹的区域，来到“新的森林和新的牧场”上；或当夕阳西沉时，到美港山上，大嚼其越橘和浆果，再把它们拣拾起来，以备几天内的食用。水果可是不肯把它的色、香、味给购买它的人去享受的，也不肯给予为了出卖它而栽培它的商人去享受的。要享受那种色、香、味只有一个办法，然而很少人采用这个办法。如果你要知道越橘的色、香、味，你得请问牧童和鹧鸪。从来不采越橘的人，以为已经尝全了它的色、香、味，这是一个庸俗的谬见。从来没有一只越橘到过波士顿，它们虽然在波士顿的三座山上长满了，却没有进过城。水果的美味和它那本质的部分，在装上了车子运往市场去的时候，跟它的鲜丽一起给磨损了，它变成了仅仅是食品。只要永恒的正义还在统治宇宙，没有一只纯真的越橘能够从城外的山上运到城里来的。
在我干完了一天的锄地工作之后，偶尔我来到一个不耐烦的侣伴跟前，他从早晨起就在湖上钓鱼了，静静的，一动不动的，像一只鸭子，或一张漂浮的落叶，沉思着他的各种各样的哲学，而在我来到的时候，大致他已自认为是属于修道院僧中的古老派别了。有一个老年人，是个好渔夫，尤精于各种木工，他很高兴把我的屋子看作是为便利渔民而建筑的屋子，他坐在我的屋门口整理钓丝，我也同样高兴。我们偶尔一起泛舟湖上，他在船的这一头，我在船的另一头；我们并没有交换了多少话，因为他近年来耳朵聋了，偶尔他哼起一首圣诗来，这和我的哲学异常地和谐。我们的神交实在全部都是和谐的，回想起来真是美妙，比我们的谈话要有意思得多，我常是这样的，当找不到人谈话了，就用桨敲打我的船舷，寻求回声，使周围的森林被激起了一圈圈扩展着的声浪，像动物园中那管理群兽的人激动了兽群那样，每一个山林和青翠的峡谷最后都发出了咆哮之声。
在温和的黄昏中，我常坐在船里弄笛，看到鲈鱼游泳在我的四周，好似我的笛音迷住了它们一样，而月光旅行在肋骨似的水波上，那上面还零乱地散布着破碎的森林。很早以前，我一次次探险似的来到这个湖上，在一些夏天的黑夜里，跟一个同伴一起来；在水边生了一堆火，吸引鱼群，我们又在钓丝钩上放了虫子作鱼饵钓起了一条条鳘鱼；这样我们一直搞到夜深以后，才把火棒高高地抛掷到空中，它们像流星烟火一样，从空中落进湖里发出一些响亮的咝声，便熄灭了，于是我们就突然在完全的黑暗之中摸索。我用口哨吹着歌，穿过黑暗，又上路口到人类的集名处。可是现在我已经在湖岸上有了自己的家。
有时，在村中一个客厅里待到他们一家子都要休息时，我就回到了森林里；那时，多少是为了明天的伙食，我把子夜的时辰消耗在月光之下的垂钓之上，坐在一条船里，听枭鸟和狐狸唱它们的小夜曲，时时我还听到附近的不知名的鸟雀发出尖厉的啸声。这一些经验对我是很值得回忆和很宝贵的，在水深四十英尺的地方抛了锚，离岸约二三杆之远，有时大约有几千条小鲈鱼和银鱼围绕着我，它们的尾巴给月光下的水面点出了无数的水涡；用了一根细长的麻绳，我和生活在四十英尺深的水底的一些神秘的夜间的鱼打交道了，有时我拖着长六十英尺的钓丝，听凭柔和的夜风把我的船儿在湖上漂荡，我时不时地感到了微弱的震动，说明有一个生命在钓丝的那一端徘徊，却又愚蠢地不能确定它对这盲目撞上的东西怎样办，还没有完全下决心呢。到后来，你一手又一手，慢慢地拉起钓丝，而一些长角的鳘鱼一边发出咯吱咯吱的声音，一边扭动着身子，给拉到了空中。特别在黑暗的夜间，当你的思想驰骋在广大宇宙的主题上的时候，而你却感到这微弱的震动，打断了你的梦想，又把你和大自然联结了起来，这是很奇怪的。我仿佛会接着把钓丝往上甩，甩到天空里去，正如我同时把钓丝垂入这密度未必更大的水的元素中去的情况一样。这样我像是用一只钓钩而捉住了两条鱼。
瓦尔登的风景是卑微的，虽然很美，却并不是宏伟的，不常去游玩的人，不住在它岸边的人未必能被它吸引住：但是这一个湖以深邃和清澈著称，值得给予突出的描写。这是一个明亮的深绿色的湖，半英里长，圆周约一英里又四分之三，面积约六十一英亩半；它是松树和橡树林中央的岁月悠久的老湖，除了雨和蒸发之外，还没有别的来龙去脉可寻。四周的山峰突然地从水上升起，到四十至八十英尺的高度，但在东南面高到一百英尺，而东边更高到一百五十英尺，其距离湖岸，不过四分之一英里及三分之一英里。山上全部都是森林。所有我们康科德地方的水波，至少有两种颜色，一种是站在远处望见的，另一种，更接近本来的颜色，是站在近处看见的。第一种更多地靠的是光，根据天色变化。在天气好的夏季里，从稍远的地方望去，它呈现了蔚蓝颜色，特别在水波荡漾的时候，但从很远的地方望去，却是一片深蓝。在风暴的天气下，有时它呈现出深石板色。海水的颜色则不然，据说它这天是蓝色的，另一天却又是绿色了，尽管天气连些微的可感知的变化也没有。我们这里的水系中，我看到当白雪覆盖这一片风景时，水和冰几乎都是草绿色的。有人认为，蓝色.乃是纯洁的水的颜色，无论那是流动的水“或凝结的水”。可是，直接从一条船上俯看近处湖水，它又有着非常之不同的色彩。甚至从同一个观察点，看瓦尔登是这会儿蓝，那忽儿绿。置身于天地之间，它分担了这两者的色素。从山顶上看，它反映天空的颜色，可是走近了看，在你能看到近岸的细砂的地方，水色先是黄澄澄的，然后是淡绿色的了，然后逐渐地加深起来，直到水波一律地呈现了全湖一致的深绿色。却在有些时候的光线下，便是从一个山顶望去，靠近湖岸的水色也是碧绿得异常生动的。有人说，这是绿原的反映；可是在铁路轨道这儿的黄沙地带的衬托下，也同样是碧绿的，而且，在春天，树叶还没有长大，这也许是太空中的蔚蓝，调和了黄沙以后形成的一个单纯的效果。这是它的虹色彩圈的色素。也是在这一个地方，春天一来，冰块给水底反射上来的太阳的热量，也给土地中传播的太阳的热量溶解了，这里首先溶解成一条狭窄的运河的样子，而中间还是冻冰。在晴朗的气候中，像我们其余的水波，激湍地流动时，波平面是在九十度的直角度里反映了天空的，或者因为太光亮了，从较远处望去，它比天空更蓝些；而在这种时候，泛舟湖上，四处眺望倒影，我发现了一种无可比拟、不能描述的淡蓝色，像浸水的或变色的丝绸，还像青锋宝剑，比之天空还更接近天蓝色，它和那波光的另一面原来的深绿色轮番地闪现，那深绿色与之相比便似乎很混浊了。这是一个玻璃似的带绿色的蓝色，照我所能记忆的，它仿佛是冬天里，日落以前，西方乌云中露出的一角晴天。可是你举起一玻璃杯水，放在空中看，它却毫无颜色，如同装了同样数量的一杯空气一样。众所周知，一大块厚玻璃板便呈现了微绿的颜色，据制造玻璃的人说，那是“体积”的关系，同样的玻璃，少了就不会有颜色了。应该有多少的水量才能泛出这样的绿色呢，我从来都无法证明。一个直接朝下望着我们的水色的人所见到的是黑的，或深棕色的，一个到河水中游泳的人，河水像所有的湖一样，会给他染上一种黄颜色；但是这个湖水却是这样地纯洁，游泳者会白得像大理石一样，而更奇怪的是，在这水中四肢给放大了，并且给扭曲了，形态非常夸张，值得让米开朗琪罗①来作一番研究。
① 米开朗琪罗（1475- 1564），意大利文艺复兴时期的雕塑家、画家。
水是这样的透明，二十五至三十英尺下面的水底都可以很清楚地看到。赤脚踏水时，你看到在水面下许多英尺的地方有成群的鲈鱼和银鱼，大约只一英寸长，连前者的横行的花纹也能看得清清楚楚，你会觉得这种鱼也是不愿意沾染红尘，才到这里来生存的。有一次，在冬天里，好几年前了，为了钓梭鱼，我在冰上挖了几个洞，上岸之后，我把一柄斧头扔在冰上，可是好像有什么恶鬼故意要开玩笑似的，斧头在冰上滑过了四五杆远，刚好从一个窟窿中滑了下去，那里的水深二十五英尺，为了好奇，我躺在冰上，从那窟窿里望，我看到了那柄斧头，它偏在一边头向下直立着，那斧柄笔直向上，顺着湖水的脉动摇摇摆摆，要不是我后来又把它吊了起来，它可能就会这样直立下去，直到木柄烂掉为止。就在它的上面，用我带来的凿冰的凿子，我又凿了一个洞，又用我的刀，割下了我看到的附近最长的一条赤杨树枝，我做了一个活结的绳圈，放在树枝的一头，小心地放下去，用它套住了斧柄凸出的地方，然后用赤杨枝旁边的绳子一拉，这样就把那柄斧头吊了起来。
湖岸是由一长溜像铺路石那样的光滑的圆圆的白石组成的；除一两处小小的沙滩之外，它陡立着，纵身一跃便可以跳到一个人深的水中；要不是水波明净得出奇，你决不可能看到这个湖的底部，除非是它又在对岸升起。有人认为它深得没有底。它没有一处是泥泞的，偶尔观察的过客或许还会说，它里面连水草也没有一根；至于可以见到的水草，除了最近给上涨了的水淹没的、并不属于这个湖的草地以外，便是细心地查看也确实是看不到菖蒲和芦苇的，甚至没有水莲花，无论是黄色的或是白色的，最多只有一些心形叶子和河蓼草，也许还有一两张眼子菜；然而，游泳者也看不到它们；便是这些水草，也像它们生长在里面的水一样的明亮而无垢。岸石伸展入水，只一二杆远，水底已是纯粹的细沙，除了最深的部分，那里总不免有一点沉积物，也许是腐朽了的叶子，多少个秋天来，落叶被刮到湖上，另外还有一些光亮的绿色水苔，甚至在深冬时令拔起铁锚来的时候，它们也会跟着被拔上来的。
我们还有另一个这样的湖，在九亩角那里的白湖，在偏西两英里半之处；可是以这里为中心的十二英里半径的圆周之内，虽然还有许多的湖沼是我熟悉的，我却找不出第三个湖有这样的纯洁得如同井水的特性。大约历来的民族都饮用过这湖水，艳羡过它并测量过它的深度，而后他们一个个消逝了，湖水却依然澄清，发出绿色。一个春天也没有变化过！也许远在亚当和夏娃被逐出伊甸乐园时，那个春晨之前，已经存在了，甚至在那个时候，随着轻雾和一阵阵的南风，飘下了一阵柔和的春雨，湖面不再平静了，成群的野鸭和天鹅在湖上游着，它们一点都没有知道逐出乐园这一回事，能有这样纯粹的湖水真够满足啦。就是在那时候，它已经又涨，又落，纯清了它的水，还染上了现在它所有的色泽，还专有了这一片天空，成了世界上唯一的一个，它是天上露珠的蒸馏器。谁知道，在多少篇再没人记得的民族诗篇中，这个湖曾被誉为喀斯泰里亚之泉①？在黄金时代里，有多少山林水泽的精灵曾在这里居住？这是在康科德的冠冕上的第一滴水明珠。
① 传说中文艺女神居住的帕那萨斯山的神泉。
第一个到这个湖边来的人们可能留下过他们的足迹。我曾经很惊异地发现，就在沿湖被砍伐了的一个浓密的森林那儿，峻削的山崖中，有一条绕湖一匝的狭窄的高架的小径，一会儿上，一忽儿下，一会儿接近湖，一忽儿又离远了一些，它或许和人类同年，土著的猎者，用脚步走出了这条路来，以后世世代代都有这片土地上的居住者不知不觉地用脚走过去。冬天，站在湖中央，看起来这就更加清楚，特别在下了一阵小雪之后，它就成了连绵起伏的一条白线，败草和枯枝都不能够掩蔽它，许多地点，在四分之一英里以外看起来还格外清楚，但是夏天里，便是走近去看，也还是看不出来。可以说，雪花用清楚的白色的浮雕又把它印刷出来了。但愿到了将来，人们在这里建造一些别墅的装饰庭园时，还能保留这一残迹。
湖水时涨时落，但是有没有规律，如有规律，又是怎样的周期，谁也不知道，虽然有不少人，照常要装作是知道的。冬天的水位通常要高一些，夏天的总低一些，但水位与天气的干燥潮湿却没有关系。我还记得，何时水退到比我住在那儿的时候低了一两英尺，何时又涨高了至少有五英尺。有一个狭长的沙洲伸展到湖中，它的一面是深水，离主岸约六杆，那大约是一八二四年，我曾在上面煮开过一壶杂烩，可是一连二十五年水淹没了它，我无法再去煮什么了；另一方面，当我告诉我的朋友们说，数年之后，我会经常垂钧在森林中的那个僻隐的山凹里，驾一叶扁舟，在离开他们现在看得见的湖岸约十五杆的地方，那里早已成为一片草地了，他们常常听得将信将疑。可是，两年来，湖一直在涨高，现在，一八五二年的夏天，比我居住那儿的时候已经高出五英尺，相当于三十年之前的高度，在那片草地上又可以垂钓了。从外表看，水位已涨了六七英尺，但是从周围的山上流下来的水量实际上不多，涨水一定是由于影响它深处泉源的一些原因。同一个夏天里水又退了。惊人的是这种涨落，不管它有否周期，却需要好几年才能够完成。我观察到一次涨，又部分地观察了两次退，我想在十二或十五年后，水位又要降落到我以前知道的地方。偏东一英里，茀灵特湖有泉水流入，又流水出去，是激荡涨落的，而一些介乎中间的较小的湖沼却和同进退，最近也涨到了它们的最高的水位，时间与后者相同。根据我的观察所及，白湖的情形也如此。
间隔很久的瓦尔登湖的涨落至少有这样一个作用：在最高的水位维持了一年左右，沿湖步行固然困难了，但自从上一次水涨以来，沿湖生长的灌木和苍松，白桦，桤木，白杨等树木都给冲刷掉了，等它水位退下，就留下一片干净的湖岸，它不像别的湖沼和每天水位涨落的河流，它在水位最低时，湖岸上反而最清洁。在我屋边的那湖岸上，一排十五英尺高的苍松给冲刷了，仿佛给杠杆掀倒了似的，这样制止了它们的侵占；那树木的大小恰好说明了上次水位上涨到这个高度迄今有了多少年。用这样的涨落方式，湖保持了它的拥有湖岸的权利，湖岸这样被刮去了胡须，树木不能凭着所有权来占领它。湖的舌头舔着，使胡子生长不出来。它时时要舔舔它的面颊。当湖水涨得最高时，桤木，柳树和枫树从它们的淹在水里的根上伸出来大量纤维质的红根须，长达数英尺，离地有三四英尺高，想这样来保护它们自己；我还发现了，那些在岸边高处的浆果，通常是不结果实的，但在这种情况下，却就有了丰收。
湖岸怎么会铺砌得这样整齐，有人百思不得其解，乡镇上的人都听到过传说，最年老的人告诉我说，他们是在青年时代听来的——在古时候，正当印第安人在一个小山上举行狂欢庆典，小山忽然高高升到天上，就像湖现在这样深深降人地下，据说他们做了许多不敬神的行为，其实印第安人从没有犯过这种罪，正当他们这样亵读神明的时候，山岳震撼，大地突然间沉下去，只留下了一个印第安女子，名叫瓦尔登，她逃掉了性命，从此这湖沿用了她的名字。据揣想是在山岳震撼时，这些圆石滚了下来，铺成了现在的湖岸。无论如何，这一点可以确定，以前这里没有湖，现在却有了一个；这一个印第安神话跟我前面说起过的那一位古代的居民是毫无抵触的，他清清楚楚地记得他初来时，带来一根魔杖①，他看到草地上升起了一种稀薄的雾气，那根榛木杖就一直指向下面，直到后来他决定挖一口井。至于那些石子呢，很多人认为它们不可能起固于山的波动；据我观察，四周的山上有很多这样的石子，因此人们不能不在铁路经过的最靠近那湖的地方在两边筑起墙垣；而且湖岸愈是陡削的地方，石子愈是多；所以，不幸的是，这对于我不再有什么神秘了。我猜出了铺砌的人来了。如果这个湖名不是由当地一个叫萨福隆·瓦尔登的英国人的名字化出来的后，——那末，我想原来的名字可能是围而得湖。
① 指一种用迷信方法探寻水源等所用的叉式木杖。
湖对于我，是一口挖好的现成的井。一年有四个月水是冰冷的，正如它一年四季的水是纯净的；我想，这时候它就算不是乡镇上最好的水，至少比得上任何地方的水。在冬天里，暴露在空气中的水，总比那些保暖的泉水和井水来得更冷。从下午五点直到第二天，一八四六年三月六日正午，在我静坐的房间内，寒暑表温度时而是华氏六十五度，时而是七十度，一部分是因为太阳曾照在我的屋脊上，而从湖中汲取的水，放在这房子里，温度只四十二度，比起村中最冷的一口井里当场汲取的井水还低了一度。同一天内，沸泉温度是四十五度，那是经我测量的各种水中最最温暖的了，虽然到了夏天，它又是最最寒冷的水，那是指浮在上面的浅浅一层停滞的水并没有混杂在内。在夏天里，因为很深，所以也不同于一般暴露在阳光底下的水。它没有它们那么热。在最热的气候里，我时常汲一桶水，放在地窖里面。它夜间一冷却下来，就整天都冷，有时我也到附近一个泉水里去汲水。过了一个星期，水还像汲出来的当天一样好，并且没有抽水机的味道。谁要在夏天，到湖边去露营，只要在营帐的阴处，把一桶水埋下几英尺深，他就可以不用奢侈的藏冰了。
在瓦尔登湖中，捉到过梭鱼，有一条重七磅，且不去说那另外的一条，用非常的速度把一卷钓丝拉走了，渔夫因为没有看到它，估计它稳稳当当有八磅的重量，此外，还捉到过鲈鱼，鳘鱼，有些重两磅，还有银鱼，鳊鱼（学名Leueiscus Pulchellus），极少量的鲤鱼，两条鳗鱼，有一条有四磅重，——我对于鱼的重量写得这样详细，因为它们的价值一般是根据重量来决定的，至于鳗鱼，除了这两条我就没有听说过另外的，——此外，我还隐约记得一条五英寸长的小鱼，两侧是银色的，背脊却呈青色，性质上近于鲦鱼，我提起这条鱼，主要是为了把事实和寓言连接起来。总之是，这个湖里，鱼并不多。梭鱼也不很多，但它夸耀的是梭鱼。有一次我躺卧在冰上面，至少看到了三种不同的梭鱼，一种扁而长的，钢灰色，像一般从河里捉起来的一样；一种是金晃晃的，有绿色的闪光，在很深的深水中；最后一种金色的，形态跟上一种相近，但身体两侧有棕黑色或黑色斑点，中间还夹着一些淡淡的血红色斑点，很像鲑鱼。但学名reticulatus（网形）用不上，被称为guttatus（斑斓）才对。这些都是很结实的鱼，重量比外貌上看来要重得多。银鱼、鳘鱼，还有鲈鱼，所有在这个湖中的水族，确实都比一般的河流和多数的别的湖沼中的鱼类，来得更清洁，更漂亮，更结实，因为这里的湖水更纯洁，你可以很容易地把它们区别出来。也许有许多鱼学家可以用它们来培育出一些新品种。此外还有清洁的青蛙和乌龟，少数的淡菜；麝香鼠和貂鼠也留下过它们的足迹；偶尔还有从烂泥中钻出来旅行经过的甲鱼。有一次，当我在黎明中把我的船推离湖岸时，有一只夜里躲在船底下的大甲鱼给我惊拢得不安了。春秋两季，鸭和天鹅常来，白肚皮的燕子（学名Hirundo bicolor）在水波上掠过，还有些身有斑点的田凫（学名Totanus macularius）整个夏天摇摇摆摆地走在石头湖岸上。我有时还惊起了湖水上面、坐在白松枝头的一只鱼鹰；我却不知道有没有海鸥飞到这里来过，像它们曾飞到过美港去那样。至多每年还有一次潜水鸟要来。常到这里来的飞禽，已全部包罗在内了。
在宁静的气候中，坐在船上，你可以看到，东边的沙滩附近，水深八英尺或十英尺的地方，在湖的另一些地方，也可以看到的，有圆形的一堆堆东西，约一英尺高，直径约六英尺，堆的是比鸡蛋略小的一些圆石，而在这一堆堆圆石周围，全是黄沙。起初，你会觉得惊奇，是否那些印第安人故意在冰上堆积这些圆石，等到冰溶化了，它们就沉到了湖底；但是，就算这样吧，那形式还是太规则化了，而且有些圆石，显然又太新鲜。它们和河流中可以看见的很相似。但这里没有胭脂鱼或八目鳗，我不知道它是哪一些鱼建筑起来的。也许它是银鱼的巢。这样，水底更有了一种愉快的神秘感了。
湖岸极不规则，所以一点不单调。我闭目也能看见，西岸有深深的锯齿形的湾，北岸较开朗，而那美丽的，扇贝形的南岸，一个个岬角相互地交叠着，使人想起岬角之间一定还有人迹未到的小海湾。在群山之中，小湖中央，望着水边直立而起的那些山上的森林，这些森林不能再有更好的背景，也不能更美丽了，因为森林已经反映在湖水中，这不仅是形成了最美的前景，而且那弯弯曲曲的湖岸，恰又给它做了最自然又最愉悦的边界线。不像斧头砍伐出一个林中空地，或者露出了一片开垦了的田地的那种地方，这儿没有不美的或者不完整的感觉。树木都有充分的余地在水边扩展，每一棵树都向了这个方向伸出最强有力的桠枝。大自然编织了一幅很自然的织锦，眼睛可以从沿岸最低的矮树渐渐地望上去，望到最高的树。这里看不到多少人类的双手留下的痕迹。水洗湖岸，正如一千年前。
From the eastern end of the pond, July 2005, with the cabin site and the road to the left, the train tracks to the right, and the beach area in the distance, but not visible in this light — just before it started to rain. Photo by Richard Lenat.
一个湖是风景中最美、最有表情的姿容。它是大地的眼睛；望着它的人可以测出他自己的天性的深浅。湖所产生的湖边的树木是睫毛一样的镶边，而四周森林蓊郁的群山和山崖是它的浓密突出的眉毛。
站在湖东端的平坦的沙滩上，在一个平静的九月下午，薄雾使对岸的岸线看不甚清楚，那时我了解了所谓“玻璃似的湖面”这句话是什么意思了。当你倒转了头看湖，它像一条最精细的薄纱张挂在山谷之上，衬着远处的松林而发光，把大气的一层和另外的一层隔开了。你会觉得你可以从它下面走过去，走到对面的山上，而身体还是干的，你觉得掠过水面的燕子很可以停在水面上。是的，有时它们氽水到水平线之下，好像这是偶然的错误，继而恍然大悟。当你向西，望到湖对面去的时候，你不能不用两手来保护你的眼睛，一方面挡开本来的太阳光，同时又挡开映在水中的太阳光；如果，这时你能够在这两种太阳光之间，批判地考察湖面，它正应了那句话，所谓“波平如镜”了，其时只有一些掠水虫，隔开了同等距离，分散在全部的湖面，而由于它们在阳光里发出了最精美的想象得到的闪光来，或许，还会有一只鸭子在整理它自己的羽毛，或许，正如我已经说过的，一只燕子飞掠在水面上，低得碰到了水。还有可能，在远处，有一条鱼在空中画出了一个大约三四英尺的圆弧来，它跃起时一道闪光，降落入水，又一道闪光，有时，全部的圆弧展露了，银色的圆弧；但这里或那里，有时会漂着一枝蓟草，鱼向它一跃，水上便又激起水涡。这像是玻璃的溶液，已经冷却，但是还没有凝结，而其中连少数尘垢也还是纯洁而美丽的，像玻璃中的细眼。你还常常可以看到一片更平滑、更黝黑的水，好像有一张看不见的蜘蛛网把它同其余的隔开似的，成了水妖的栅栏，躺在湖面。从山顶下瞰，你可以看到，几乎到处都有跃起的鱼；在这样凝滑的平面上，没有一条梭鱼或银鱼在捕捉一个虫子时，不会破坏全湖的均势的。真是神奇，这简简单单的一件事，却可以这么精巧地显现，——这水族界的谋杀案会暴露出来——我站在远远的高处，看到了那水的扩大的圆涡，它们的直径有五六杆长。甚至你还可以看到水蝎（学名Gyrinus）不停地在平滑的水面滑了四分之一英里；它们微微地犁出了水上的皱纹来，分出两条界线，其间有着很明显的漪澜；而掠水虫在水面上滑来滑去却不留下显明的可见痕迹。在湖水激荡的时候，便看不到掠水虫和水蝎了，显然只在风平浪静的时候，它们才从它们的港埠出发，探险似地从湖岸的一面，用短距离的滑行，滑上前去，滑上前去，直到它们滑过全湖。这是何等愉快的事啊。秋天里，在这样一个晴朗的天气中，充分地享受了太阳的温暖，在这样的高处坐在一个树桩上，湖的全景尽收眼底，细看那圆圆的水涡，那些圆涡一刻不停地刻印在天空和树木的倒影中间的水面上，要不是有这些水涡，水面是看不到的。在这样广大的一片水面上，并没有一点儿扰动，就有一点儿，也立刻柔和地复归于平静而消失了，好像在水边装一瓶子水，那些颤栗的水波流回到岸边之后，立刻又平滑了。一条鱼跳跃起来，一个虫子掉落到湖上，都这样用圆涡，用美丽的线条来表达，仿佛那是泉源中的经常的喷涌，它的生命的轻柔的搏动，它的胸膛的呼吸起伏。那是欢乐的震抖，还是痛苦的颤栗，都无从分辨。湖的现象是何等的和平啊！人类的工作又像在春天里一样的发光了。是啊，每一树叶、桠枝、石子和蜘蛛网在下午茶时又在发光，跟它们在春天的早晨承露以后一样。每一支划桨的或每一只虫子的动作都能发出一道闪光来，而一声桨响，又能引出何等的甜蜜的回音来啊！
在这样的一天里，九月或十月，瓦尔登是森林的一面十全十美的明镜，它四面用石子镶边，我看它们是珍贵而稀世的。再没有什么像这一个躺卧在大地表面的湖沼这样美，这样纯洁，同时又这样大。秋水长天。它不需要一个篱笆。民族来了，去了，都不能玷污它。这一面明镜，石子敲不碎它，它的水银永远擦不掉，它的外表的装饰，大自然经常地在那里弥补；没有风暴，没有尘垢，能使它常新的表面黯淡无光；——这一面镜子，如果有任何不洁落在它面上，马上就沉淀，太阳的雾意的刷子常在拂拭它，——这是光的拭尘布，——呵气在上，也留不下形迹，成了云它就从水面飘浮到高高的空中，却又立刻把它反映在它的胸怀中了。
空中的精灵也都逃不过这一片大水。它经常地从上空接受新的生命和新的动作。湖是大地和天空之间的媒介物。在大地上，只有草木是摇摆如波浪的，可是水自身给风吹出了涟漪来。我可以从一线或一片闪光上，看到风从那里吹过去。我们能俯视水波，真是了不起。也许我们还应该像这样细细地俯视那天空的表面，看看是不是有一种更精细的精灵，在它上面扫过。
到了十月的后半个月，掠水虫和水蝎终于不再出现了，严霜已经来到；于是在十一月中，通常在一个好天气里，没有任何东西在水面上激起涟漪。十一月中的一个下午，已经一连降落了几天的雨终于停止了，天空还全部都是阴沉沉的，充满了雾，我发现湖水是出奇地平静，因此简直就看不出它的表面来了，虽然它不再反映出十月份的光辉色彩，它却反映出了四周小山的十一月的阴暗颜色。于是我尽可能地轻轻静静，泛舟湖上，而船尾激起的微弱水波还一直延伸到我的视野之外，湖上的倒影也就曲折不已了。可是，当我望望水面，我远远地看到这里那里有一种微光，仿佛一些躲过了严霜的掠水虫又在集合了，或许是湖的平面太平静了，因此水底有涌起的泉源不知不觉也能在水面觉察到。划桨到了那些地方，我才惊奇地发现我自己已给成亿万的小鲈鱼围住，都只五英寸长；绿水中有了华丽的铜色，它们在那里嬉戏着，经常地升到水面来，给水面一些小小水涡，有时还留一些小小水泡在上面。在这样透明的、似乎无底的、反映了云彩的水中，我好像坐了轻气球而漂浮在空中，鲈鱼的游泳又是多么像在盘旋、飞翔，仿佛它们成了一群飞鸟，就在我所处的高度下，或左或右地飞绕；它们的鳍，像帆一样，饱满地张挂着。在这个湖中有许多这样的水族，显然它们要改进一下，在冬天降下冰幕，遮去它们的天光之前的那个短暂的季节，有时候那被它们激荡的水波，好像有一阵微风吹过，或者像有一阵温和的小雨点落下。等到我漫不经心地接近它们；它们惊慌起来，突然尾巴横扫，激起水花，好像有人用一根毛刷般的树枝鞭挞了水波，立刻它们都躲到深水底下去了。后来，风吹得紧了，雾也浓重了，水波开始流动，鲈鱼跳跃得比以前更高，半条鱼身已跳出水面，一下子跳了起来，成百个黑点，都有三英寸长。有一年，一直到十二月五号，我还看到水面上有水涡，我以为马上就会下大雨了，空中弥漫着雾，我急忙忙地坐在划桨的座位上，划回家去：雨点已经越来越大了，但是我不觉得雨点打在我的面颊上，其时我以为我免不了要全身湿透。可是突然间水涡全部没有了，原来这都是鲈鱼搅出来的，我的桨声终于把它们吓退到深水中去；我看到它们成群结队地消隐！这天下午我全身一直是干燥的呢。
一个大约六十年前常来湖边的老头儿，每每在黑暗笼罩了周围森林的时候前来告诉我，在他那个时代，有时湖上很热闹，全是鸭子和别的水禽，上空还有许多老鹰在盘旋。他是到这里来钧鱼的，用的是他在岸上找到的一只古老的独木舟。这是两根白松，中间挖空，钉在一起造成的，两端都削成四方形。它很粗笨，可是用了很多年，才全部浸满了水，此后也许已沉到湖底去了。他不知道这是属于哪个人的；或可以说是属于湖所有的。他常常把山核桃树皮一条条地捆起来，做成锚索。另外一个老年人，一个陶器工人，在革命以前住在湖边的，有一次告诉过他，在湖底下有一只大铁箱，还曾经看到过。有时候，它会给水漂到岸上来，可是等你走近去的时候，它就又回到深水去，就此消失了。听到那有关独木舟的一段话，我感到很有趣味，这条独木舟代替了另外一条印第安的独木舟，材料还是一样，可是造得雅致得多。原先那大约是岸上的一棵树，后来，好像倒在湖中，在那儿漂荡了一世代之久，对这个湖来说，真是再适当不过的船舶。我记得我第一次凝望这一片湖水的深处时，隐约看到有很多大树干躺卧在湖底，若非大风把它们吹折的，便是经砍伐之后，停放在冰上，因为那时候木料的价格大便宜了，可是现在，这些树干大部分都已经消失了。
我第一次划船在瓦尔登湖上的时候，它四周完全给浓密而高大的松树和橡树围起，有些山凹中，葡萄藤爬过了湖边的树，形成一些凉亭，船只可以在下面通过。形成湖岸的那些山太峻削，山上的树木又太高，所以从西端望下来，这里像一个圆形剧场，水上可以演出些山林的舞台剧。我年纪轻一点的时候，就在那儿消磨了好些光阴，像和风一样地在湖上漂浮过，我先把船划到湖心，而后背靠在座位上，在一个夏天的上午，似梦非梦地醒着，直到船撞在沙滩上，惊动了我，我就欠起身来，看看命运已把我推送到哪一个岸边来了；那种日子里，懒惰是最诱惑人的事业，它的产量也是最丰富的。我这样偷闲地过了许多个上午。我宁愿把一日之计在于晨的最宝贵的光阴这样虚掷；因为我是富有的，虽然这话与金钱无关，我却富有阳光照耀的时辰以及夏令的日月，我挥霍着它们；
我并没有把它们更多地浪费在工场中，或教师的讲台上，这我也一点儿不后悔。可是，自从我离开这湖岸之后，砍伐木材的人竞大砍大伐起来了。从此要有许多年不可能在林间的甬道上徜佯了，不可能从这样的森林中偶见湖水了。我的缪斯女神①如果沉默了，她是情有可原的。森林已被砍伐，怎能希望鸣禽歌唱？
① 希腊神话中司文艺的女神。
现在，湖底的树干，古老的独木舟，黑魆魆的四周的林木，都没有了，村民本来是连这个湖在什么地方都不知道的，却不但没有跑到这湖上来游泳或喝水，反而想到用一根管子来把这些湖水引到村中去给他们洗碗洗碟子了。这是和恒河之水一样地圣洁的水！而他们却想转动一个开关，拔起一个塞子就利用瓦尔登的湖水了！这恶魔似的铁马，那裂破人耳的鼓膜的声音已经全乡镇都听得到了，它已经用肮脏的脚步使沸泉的水混浊了，正是它，它把瓦尔登岸上的树木吞噬了；这特洛伊木马②，腹中躲了一千个人，全是那些经商的希腊人想出来的！哪里去找呵，找这个国家的武士，摩尔大厅的摩尔人③，到名叫“深割”的最深创伤的地方去掷出复仇的投熗，刺人这傲慢瘟神的肋骨之间？
② 希腊人攻特洛伊城，久攻不下，全军撤退，只留下一只木马。特洛伊人将木马曳入城中，不知其中藏有将士。攻城大军又至，里应外合，特洛伊城被攻破。
③ 英国民谣中杀死一条龙的英雄，见汤麦斯·佩赛（1729- 1811）的《英国古诗源》（1765年版）。
然而，据我们知道的一些角色中，也许只有瓦尔登坚持得最久，最久地保持了它的纯洁。许多人都曾经被譬喻为瓦尔登湖，但只有少数几个人能受之无愧。虽然伐木的人已经把湖岸这一段和那一段的树木先后砍光了，爱尔兰人也已经在那儿建造了他们的陋室，铁路线已经侵入了它的边境，冰藏商人已经取过它一次冰，它本身却没有变化，还是我在青春时代所见的湖水；我反倒变了。它虽然有那么多的涟漪，却并没有一条永久性的皱纹。它永远年轻，我还可以站在那儿，看到一只飞燕但然扑下，从水面衔走一条小虫，正和从前一样。今儿晚上，这感情又来袭击我了，仿佛二十多年来我并没有几乎每天都和它在一起厮混过一样，——啊，这是瓦尔登，还是我许多年之前发现的那个林中湖泊；这儿，去年冬天被砍伐了一个森林，另一座林子已经跳跃了起来，在湖边依旧奢丽地生长；同样的思潮，跟那时候一样，又涌上来了；还是同样水露露的欢乐，内在的喜悦，创造者的喜悦，是的，这可能是我的喜悦。这湖当然是一个大勇者的作品，其中毫无一丝一毫的虚伪！他用他的手围起了这一泓湖水，在他的思想中，予以深化，予以澄清，并在他的遗嘱中，把它传给了康科德。我从它的水面上又看到了同样的倒影，我几乎要说了，瓦尔登，是你吗？
这不是我的梦， 用于装饰一行诗； 我不能更接近上帝和天堂 甚于我之生活在瓦尔登。 我是它的圆石岸， 瓢拂而过的风； 在我掌中的一握，是它的水，它的沙， 而它的最深邃僻隐处 高高躺在我的思想中。
火车从来不停下来欣赏湖光山色；然而我想那些司机，火夫，制动手和那些买了月票的旅客，常看到它，多少是会欣赏这些景色的。司机并没有在夜里忘掉它，或者说他的天性并没有忘掉它，白天他至少有一次瞥见这庄严、纯洁的景色。就算他看到的只有一瞥，这却已经可以洗净国务街和那引擎上的油腻了。有人建议过，这湖可以称为“神的一滴”。
我说过，是看不见它的来龙去脉的，但一面它与茀灵特湖远远地、间接地相连，茀灵特湖比较高，其中有一连串的小湖沼通过来，在另一面显然它又直接和康科德河相连，康科德河比较低，却也有一连串的小湖沼横在中间，在另一个地质学的年代中，它也许泛滥过，只要稍为挖掘一下，它还是可以流到这儿来的，但上帝禁止这种挖掘，如果说，湖这样含蓄而自尊，像隐士一样生活在森林之中已经这么久，因此得到了这样神奇的纯洁，假如茀灵特湖的比较不纯洁的湖水流到了它那里，假如它自己的甘洌的水波又流到了海洋里去，那谁会不抱怨呢？
茀灵特湖或称沙湖，在林肯区，是我们最大的湖或内海，它位于瓦尔登以东大约一英里的地方。它要大得多了，据说有一百九十六英亩，鱼类也更丰富，可是水比较浅，而且不十分纯洁。散步经过森林到那里去一次，常常是我的消遣。即使仅仅为了让风自由地扑到你的脸庞上来，即使仅仅为了一睹波浪，缅想着舟子的海洋生活，那也是值得的。秋天，刮风的日子，我去那里拣拾栗子，那时栗子掉在水里，又给波浪卷到我的脚边。有一次我爬行在芦苇丛生的岸边，新鲜的浪花飞溅到我脸上，我碰到了一只船的残骸，船舷都没有了，在灯心草丛中，几乎只剩一个平底的印象；但是它的模型却很显明地存在，似乎这是一个大的朽烂了的甲板垫木，连纹路都很清楚。这是海岸上人能想象到的给人最深刻印象的破船，其中也含有很好的教训。但这时，它只成了长满植物的模型和不显眼的湖岸了，菖蒲和灯心草都已生长在中间。我常常欣赏北岸湖底沙滩上的涟漪痕迹，湖底已经给水的压力压得很坚硬，或涉水者的脚能感觉到它的硬度了，而单行生长的灯心草，排成弯弯曲曲的行列，也和这痕迹符合，一行又一行，好像是波浪把它们种植的。在那里，我还发现了一些奇怪的球茎，数量相当多，显然是很精细的草或根，也许是谷精草根组成的，直径自半英寸到四英寸，是很完美的圆体。这些圆球在浅水的沙滩上随波滚动，有时就给冲到了岸上来。它们若不是紧密的草球，便是中心有着一包细沙的。起初，你会说这是波浪的运动所造成的，就像圆卵石；但是最小的半英寸的圆球，其质地也粗糙得跟大的那些一样，它们只在每年的一个季节内产生。我怀疑，对于一个已经形成的东西，这些波浪是破坏多于建设的。这些圆球，出水以后还可以把它们的形状保持一定的时期。
茀灵特的湖！我们的命名就这样子的贫困！在这个水天之中耕作，又强暴地糟蹋了湖岸的一个污秽愚昧的农夫，他有什么资格用他自己的姓名来称呼这一个湖呢？很可能是一个悭吝的人，他更爱一块大洋或一只光亮的角子的反光，从中他可以看到自己那无耻的厚脸；连野鸭飞来，他也认为它们是擅入者；他习惯于残忍贪婪地攫取东西，手指已经像弯曲的鹰爪，这个湖的命名不合我的意。我到那里去，决不是看这个茀灵特去，也决不是去听人家说起他；他从没有看见这个湖，从没有在里面游泳过，从没有爱过它，从没有保护过它，从没有说过它一个好字眼儿，也从没有因为上帝创造了它而感谢过上帝。这个湖还不如用在湖里游泳的那些鱼的名字，用常到这湖上来的飞禽或走兽的名字，用生长在湖岸上的野花的名字，或者用什么野人或野孩子的名字，他们的生命曾经和这个湖交织在一起的；而不要用他的名字，除了同他志趣相投的邻人和法律给他的契据以外，他对湖没有什么所有权，——他只想到金钱的价值；他的存在就诅咒了全部的湖岸，他竭尽了湖边的土地，大约还要竭泽而渔呢；他正在抱怨的只是这里不是生长英吉利干草或蔓越橘的牧场，——在他看来，这确实是无法补偿的，——他甚至为了湖底的污泥可以卖钱，宁愿淘干湖水。湖水又不能替他转动磨子，他不觉得欣赏风景是一种权利。我一点不敬重他的劳动，他的田园处处都标明了价格，他可以把风景，甚至可以把上帝都拿到市场上去拍卖，如果这些可以给予他一些利益；他到市场上去就是为了他那个上帝；在他的田园上，没有一样东西是自由地生长的，他的田里没有生长五谷，他的牧场上没有开花，他的果树上也没有结果，都只生长了金钱；他不爱他的水果的美，他认为非到他的水果变成了金钱时，那些水果才算成熟。让我来过那真正富有的贫困生活吧。越是贫困的农夫们，越能得到我的敬意与关切！居然是个模范农场！那里的田舍像粪坑上的菌子一样耸立着，人，马，牛，猪都有清洁的或不洁的房间，彼此相互地传染！人像畜生一样住在里面！一个大油渍，粪和奶酪的气味混在一起！在一个高度的文明底下，人的心和人的脑子变成了粪便似的肥料！仿佛你要在坟场上种上豆！这样便是所谓的模范农场！
不成，不成；如果最美的风景应以人名称呼，那就用最高贵、最有价值的人的名字吧。我们的湖至少应该用伊卡洛斯①海这样的真正的名字，在那里，“海上的涛声依然传颂着一次勇敢的尝试”呢。
① 希腊神话中，伊卡洛斯以蜡烛油脂制成翅膀，高飞入云，因距离太阳太近，油脂溶化，坠海而死。
鹅湖较小，在我去茀灵特湖的中途；美港，是康科德河的一个尾闾，面积有七十英亩，在西南面一英里之处；白湖，大约四十英亩面积，在美港过去一英里半之处。这便是我的湖区。这些，再加上康科德河，是我的湖区；日以继夜，年复一年，他们碾压着我送去的米粮。
自从樵夫、铁路和我自己玷辱了瓦尔登以后，所有这些湖中最动人的，即使不是最美丽的，要算白湖了，它是林中之珠宝；由于它太平凡了，也很可怜，那命名大约是来源于水的纯洁，或许由于沙粒的颜色。这些方面同其他方面一样，和瓦尔登湖相比，很像孪生兄弟，但略逊一筹。它们俩是这样地相似，你会说它俩一定是在地下接连的。同样的圆石的湖岸，水色亦同。正如在瓦尔登，在酷热的大伏天穿过森林望一些不是顶深的湖湾的时候那样，湖底的反映给水波一种雾蒙蒙的青蓝色，或者说海蓝色的色彩。许多年前，我常到那里去，一车车地运回沙子来制成沙纸，后来我还一直前去游玩。常去游玩的人就想称它为新绿湖。由于下面的情况，也许还可以称它为黄松湖。大约在十五年之前，你去那儿还可以看到一株苍松的华盖，这一种松树虽不是显赫的植物，但在附近这一带有人是称之为黄松的。这株松树伸出在湖的深水之上，离岸有几杆。所以，甚至有人说这个湖下沉过，这一棵松树还是以前在这地方的原始森林的残遗，这话远在一七九二年就有人说起，在马萨诸塞州历史学会藏书库中，有一个该州的公民写过一部《康科德镇志》，在那里面，作者谈到了瓦尔登和白湖之后，接着说，“在白湖之中，水位降低之后，可以看到一棵树，好像它原来就是生长在这里的，虽然它的根是在水面之下五十英尺之深处，这棵树的树顶早已折断，没有了，这折断的地方直径计十四英寸”。一八四九年春天我跟一个住在萨德伯里，最靠近这湖沼的人谈过一次话，他告诉我十年或十五年之前把这棵树拿走的正是他自己。据他所能记得的是，这树离湖岸十二至十五杆，那里的水有三、四十英尺深。这是冬天，上午他去取冰，决定下午由他的邻居来帮助，把这老黄松取去。他锯去了一长条冰，直锯到岸边，然后动用了牛来拖树，打算把它拔起，拖到冰上；可是还没有进行得很久，他惊异地发现，拔起的是相反的一头，那些残枝都是向下的，而小的一头却紧紧地抓住了沙的湖底。大的一端直径有一英尺，原来他希望得到一些可以锯开的木料，可是树干已经腐烂得只能当柴火，这是说如果要拿它当柴火的话。那时候，他家里还留着一点，在底部还有斧痕和啄木鸟啄过的痕迹。他以为这是湖岸上的一棵死树，后来给风吹到湖里，树顶浸满了水，底部还是干燥的，因此比较轻，倒入水中之后就颠倒过来了。他的八十岁的父亲都不记得这棵黄松是什么时候不见的。湖底还可以见到一些很大的木料，却因为水面的波动，它们看上去像一些婉蜒的巨大的水蛇。
这一个湖很少给船只玷污，因为其中很少吸引渔夫的生物。也没有需要污泥的白百合花，也没有一般的菖蒲，在那纯洁的水中，稀少地生长着蓝菖蒲（学名Irisversicolor），长在沿岸一圈的湖底的圆石上，而在六月中，蜂鸟飞来了，那蓝色的叶片和蓝色的花，特别是它们的反光，和那海蓝色的水波真是异常地和谐。
白湖和瓦尔登湖是大地表面上的两块巨大的水晶，它们是光耀的湖，如果它们是永远地冻结了的，而且又小巧玲珑，可以拿取的，也许它们已经给奴隶们拿了去，像宝石一样，点缀在国王的王冠上了；可是，它的液体也很广大，所以永远保留给我们和我们的子孙了，我们却抛弃了它们，去追求可希诺①大钻石了，它们真太纯洁，不能有市场价格，它们没被污染。它们比起我们的生命来，不知美了多少，比起我们的性格来，不知透明了多少！我们从不知道它们有什么瑕疵。和农家门前，鸭子游泳的池塘一比较，它们又不知秀丽了多少！清洁的野鸭到了这里来。在大自然界里，还没有一个人间居民能够欣赏她。鸟儿连同它们的羽毛和乐音，是和花朵谐和的，可是有哪个少年或少女，是同大自然的粗旷华丽的美协调的呢？大自然极其寂寞地繁茂着，远离着他们居住的乡镇。说甚天堂！你侮辱大地。
① 印度最大的钻石，是英国王冠上的珍饰。 |
