walking- 第5部分

thrown　out　in　digging　the　cellar。　Why　not　put　my　house；　my

parlor；　behind　this　plot；　instead　of　behind　that　meager

assemblage　of　curiosities；　that　poor　apology　for　a　Nature　and

Art；　which　I　call　my　front　yard？　It　is　an　effort　to　clear　up　and

make　a　decent　appearance　when　the　carpenter　and　mason　have

departed；　though　done　as　much　for　the　passer…by　as　the　dweller

within。　The　most　tasteful　front…yard　fence　was　never　an　agreeable

object　of　study　to　me；　the　most　elaborate　ornaments；　acorn　tops；

or　what　not；　soon　wearied　and　disgusted　me。　Bring　your　sills　up

to　the　very　edge　of　the　swamp；　then　（though　it　may　not　be　the

best　place　for　a　dry　cellar）；　so　that　there　be　no　access　on　that

side　to　citizens。　Front　yards　are　not　made　to　walk　in；　but；　at

most；　through；　and　you　could　go　in　the　back　way。



Yes；　though　you　may　think　me　perverse；　if　it　were　proposed　to　me

to　dwell　in　the　neighborhood　of　the　most　beautiful　garden　that

ever　human　art　contrived；　or　else　of　a　Dismal　Swamp；　I　should

certainly　decide　for　the　swamp。　How　vain；　then；　have　been　all

your　labors；　citizens；　for　me！



My　spirits　infallibly　rise　in　proportion　to　the　outward

dreariness。　Give　me　the　ocean；　the　desert；　or　the　wilderness！　In

the　desert；　pure　air　and　solitude　compensate　for　want　of　moisture

and　fertility。　The　traveler　Burton　says　of　it〃Your　MORALE

improves；　you　become　frank　and　cordial；　hospitable　and

single…minded。。。。　In　the　desert；　spirituous　liquors　excite　only

disgust。　There　is　a　keen　enjoyment　in　a　mere　animal　existence。〃

They　who　have　been　traveling　long　on　the　steppes　of　Tartary　say；

〃On　re…entering　cultivated　lands；　the　agitation；　perplexity；　and

turmoil　of　civilization　oppressed　and　suffocated　us；　the　air

seemed　to　fail　us；　and　we　felt　every　moment　as　if　about　to　die　of

asphyxia。〃　When　I　would　recreate　myself；　I　seek　the　darkest　woods

the　thickest　and　most　interminable　and；　to　the　citizen；　most

dismal；　swamp。　I　enter　a　swamp　as　a　sacred　place；　a　sanctum

sanctorum。　There　is　the　strength；　the　marrow；　of　Nature。　The

wildwood　covers　the　virgin　mould；and　the　same　soil　is　good　for

men　and　for　trees。　A　man's　health　requires　as　many　acres　of

meadow　to　his　prospect　as　his　farm　does　loads　of　muck。　There　are

the　strong　meats　on　which　he　feeds。　A　town　is　saved；　not　more　by

the　righteous　men　in　it　than　by　the　woods　and　swamps　that

surround　it。　A　township　where　one　primitive　forest　waves　above

while　another　primitive　forest　rots　belowsuch　a　town　is　fitted

to　raise　not　only　corn　and　potatoes；　but　poets　and　philosophers

for　the　coming　ages。　In　such　a　soil　grew　Homer　and　Confucius　and

the　rest；　and　out　of　such　a　wilderness　comes　the　Reformer　eating

locusts　and　wild　honey。



To　preserve　wild　animals　implies　generally　the　creation　of　a

forest　for　them　to　dwell　in　or　resort　to。　So　it　is　with　man。　A

hundred　years　ago　they　sold　bark　in　our　streets　peeled　from　our

own　woods。　In　the　very　aspect　of　those　primitive　and　rugged　trees

there　was；　methinks；　a　tanning　principle　which　hardened　and

consolidated　the　fibers　of　men's　thoughts。　Ah！　already　I　shudder

for　these　comparatively　degenerate　days　of　my　native　village；

when　you　cannot　collect　a　load　of　bark　of　good　thickness；　and　we

no　longer　produce　tar　and　turpentine。



The　civilized　nationsGreece；　Rome；　Englandhave　been　sustained

by　the　primitive　forests　which　anciently　rotted　where　they　stand。

They　survive　as　long　as　the　soil　is　not　exhausted。　Alas　for　human

culture！　little　is　to　be　expected　of　a　nation；　when　the　vegetable

mould　is　exhausted；　and　it　is　compelled　to　make　manure　of　the

bones　of　its　fathers。　There　the　poet　sustains　himself　merely　by

his　own　superfluous　fat；　and　the　philosopher　comes　down　on　his

marrow…bones。



It　is　said　to　be　the　task　of　the　American　〃to　work　the　virgin

soil；〃　and　that　〃agriculture　here　already　assumes　proportions

unknown　everywhere　else。〃　I　think　that　the　farmer　displaces　the

Indian　even　because　he　redeems　the　meadow；　and　so　makes　himself

stronger　and　in　some　respects　more　natural。　I　was　surveying　for　a

man　the　other　day　a　single　straight　line　one　hundred　and

thirty…two　rods　long；　through　a　swamp　at　whose　entrance　might

have　been　written　the　words　which　Dante　read　over　the　entrance　to

the　infernal　regions；〃Leave　all　hope；　ye　that　enter〃that　is；

of　ever　getting　out　again；　where　at　one　time　I　saw　my　employer

actually　up　to　his　neck　and　swimming　for　his　life　in　his

property；　though　it　was　still　winter。　He　had　another　similar

swamp　which　I　could　not　survey　at　all；　because　it　was　completely

under　water；　and　nevertheless；　with　regard　to　a　third　swamp；

which　I　did　SURVEY　from　a　distance；　he　remarked　to　me；　true　to

his　instincts；　that　he　would　not　part　with　it　for　any

consideration；　on　account　of　the　mud　which　it　contained。　And　that

man　intends　to　put　a　girdling　ditch　round　the　whole　in　the　course

of　forty　months；　and　so　redeem　it　by　the　magic　of　his　spade。　I

refer　to　him　only　as　the　type　of　a　class。



The　weapons　with　which　we　have　gained　our　most　important

victories；　which　should　be　handed　down　as　heirlooms　from　father

to　son；　are　not　the　sword　and　the　lance；　but　the　bushwhack；　the

turf…cutter；　the　spade；　and　the　bog　hoe；　rusted　with　the　blood　of

many　a　meadow；　and　begrimed　with　the　dust　of　many　a　hard…fought

field。　The　very　winds　blew　the　Indian's　cornfield　into　the

meadow；　and　pointed　out　the　way　which　he　had　not　the　skill　to

follow。　He　had　no　better　implement　with　which　to　intrench　himself

in　the　land　than　a　clam…shell。　But　the　farmer　is　armed　with　plow

and　spade。



In　literature　it　is　only　the　wild　that　attracts　us。　Dullness　is

but　another　name　for　tameness。　It　is　the　uncivilized　free　and

wild　thinking　in　Hamlet　and　the　Iliad；　in　all　the　scriptures　and

mythologies；　not　learned　in　the　schools；　that　delights　us。　As　the

wild　duck　is　more　swift　and　beautiful　than　the　tame；　so　is　the

wildthe　mallardthought；　which　'mid　falling　dews　wings　its　way

above　the　fens。　A　truly　good　book　is　something　as　natural；　and　as

unexpectedly　and　unaccountably　fair　and　perfect；　as　a　wild…flower

discovered　on　the　prairies　of　the　West　or　in　the　jungles　of　the

East。　Genius　is　a　light　which　makes　the　darkness　visible；　like

the　lightning's　flash；　which　perchance　shatters　the　temple　of

knowledge　itselfand　not　a　taper　lighted　at　the　hearthstone　of

the　race；　which　pales　before　the　light　of　common　day。



English　literature；　from　the　days　of　the　minstrels　to　the　Lake

PoetsChaucer　and　Spenser　and　Milton；　and　even　Shakespeare；

includedbreathes　no　quite　fresh　and；　in　this　sense；　wild

strain。　It　is　an　essentially　tame　and　civilized　literature；

reflecting　Greece　and　Rome。　Her　wilderness　is　a　green　wood；　her

wild　man　a　Robin　Hood。　There　is　plenty　of　genial　love　of　Nature；

but　not　so　much　of　Nature　herself。　Her　chronicles　inform　us　when

her　wild　animals；　but　not　when　the　wild　man　in　her；　became

extinct。



The　science　of　Humboldt　is　one　thing；　poetry　is　another　thing。

The　poet　today；　notwithstanding　all　the　discoveries　of　science；

and　the　accumulated　learning　of　mankind；　enjoys　no　advantage　over

Homer。



Where　is　the　literature　which　gives　expression　to　Nature？　He

would　be　a　poet　who　could　impress　the　winds　and　streams　into　his

service；　to　speak　for　him；　who　nailed　words　to　their　primitive

senses；　as　farmers　drive　down　stakes　in　the　spring；　which　the

frost　has　heaved；　who　derived　his　words　as　often　as　he　used

themtransplanted　them　to　his　page　with　earth　adhering　to　their

roots；　whose　words　were　so　true　and　fresh　and　natural　that　they

would　appear　to　expand　like　the　buds　at　the　approach　of　spring；

though　they　lay　half　smothered　between　two　musty　leaves　in　a

libraryaye；　to　bloom　and　bear　fruit　there；　after　their　kind；

annually；　for　the　faithful　reader；　in　sympathy　with　surrounding

Nature。



I　do　not　know　of　any　poetry　to　quote　which　adequately　expresses

this　yearning　for　the　Wild。　Approached　from　this　side；　the　best

poetry　is　tame。　I　do　not　know　where　to　find　in　any　literature；

ancient　or　modern；　any　account　which　contents　me　of　that　Nature

with　which　even　I　am　acquainted。　You　will　perceive　that　I　demand

something　which　no　Augustan　nor　Elizabethan　age；　which　no

culture；　in　short；　can　give。　Mythology　comes　nearer　to　it　than

anything。　How　much　more　fertile　a　Nature；　at　least；　has　Grecian

mythology　its　root　in　than　English　literature！　Mythology　is　the

crop　which　the　Old　World　bore　before　its　soil　was　exhausted；

before　the　fancy　and　imagination　were　affected　with　blight；　and

which　it　still　bears；　wherever　its　pristine　vigor　is　unabated。

All　other　literatures　endure　only　as　the　elms　which　overshadow

our　houses；　but　this　is　like　the　great　dragon…tree　of　the　Western

Isles；　as　old　as　mankind；　and；　whether　that　does　or　not；　will

endure　as　long；　for　the　decay　of　other　literatures　makes　the　soil

in　which　it　thrives。



The　West　is　preparing　to　add　its　fables　to　those　of　the　East。　The

valleys　of　the　Ganges；　the　Ni