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1An old man who used to frequent this pond nearly sixty years ago, when it was dark with surrounding forests, tells me
2that in those days he sometimes saw it all alive with ducks and other water fowl, and that there were many eagles about
3it. 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
4dug out and pinned together, and was cut off square at the ends. It was very clumsy, but lasted a great many years
5before it became water-logged and perhaps sank to the bottom. He did not know whose it was; it belonged to the pond. He
6used to make a cable for his anchor of strips of hickory bark tied together. An old man, a potter, who lived by the pond
7before the Revolution, told him once that there was an iron chest at the bottom, and that he had seen it. Sometimes it
8would come floating up to the shore; but when you went toward it, it would go back into deep water and disappear. I was
9pleased to hear of the old log canoe, which took the place of an Indian one of the same material but more graceful
10construction, which perchance had first been a tree on the bank, and then, as it were, fell into the water, to float
11there for a generation, the most proper vessel for the lake. I remember that when I first looked into these depths there
12were many large trunks to be seen indistinctly lying on the bottom, which had either been blown over formerly, or left
13on the ice at the last cutting, when wood was cheaper; but now they have mostly disappeared. When I first paddled a boat
14on Walden, it was completely surrounded by thick and lofty pine and oak woods, and in some of its coves grape vines had
15run over the trees next the water and formed bowers under which a boat could pass. The hills which form its shores are
16so steep, and the woods on them were then so high, that, as you looked down from the west end, it had the appearance of
17an amphitheatre for some kind of sylvan spectacle. I have spent many an hour, when I was younger, floating over its
18surface as the zephyr willed, having paddled my boat to the middle, and lying on my back across the seats, in a summer
19forenoon, dreaming awake, until I was aroused by the boat touching the sand, and I arose to see what shore my fates had
20impelled me to; days when idleness was the most attractive and productive industry. Many a forenoon have I stolen away,
21preferring to spend thus the most valued part of the day; for I was rich, if not in money, in sunny hours and summer
22days, and spent them lavishly; nor do I regret that I did not waste more of them in the workshop or the teacher's desk.
23But since I left those shores the woodchoppers have still further laid them waste, and now for many a year there will be
24no more rambling through the aisles of the wood, with occasional vistas through which you see the water. My Muse may be
25excused if she is silent henceforth. How can you expect the birds to sing when their groves are cut down? Now the trunks
26of trees on the bottom, and the old log canoe, and the dark surrounding woods, are gone, and the villagers, who scarcely
27know where it lies, instead of going to the pond to bathe or drink, are thinking to bring its water, which should be as
28sacred as the Ganges at least, to the village in a pipe, to wash their dishes with!--to earn their Walden by the turning
29of a cock or drawing of a plug! That devilish Iron Horse, whose ear-rending neigh is heard throughout the town, has
30muddied the Boiling Spring with his foot, and he it is that has browsed off all the woods on Walden shore, that Trojan
31horse, with a thousand men in his belly, introduced by mercenary Greeks! Where is the country's champion, the Moore of
32Moore Hill, to meet him at the Deep Cut and thrust an avenging lance between the ribs of the bloated pest? Nevertheless,
33of all the characters I have known, perhaps Walden wears best, and best preserves its purity. Many men have been likened
34to it, but few deserve that honor. Though the woodchoppers have laid bare first this shore and then that, and the Irish
35have built their sties by it, and the railroad has infringed on its border, and the ice-men have skimmed it once, it is
36itself unchanged, the same water which my youthful eyes fell on; all the change is in me. It has not acquired one
37permanent wrinkle after all its ripples. It is perennially young, and I may stand and see a swallow dip apparently to
38pick an insect from its surface as of yore. It struck me again tonight, as if I had not seen it almost daily for more
39than twenty years,--Why, here is Walden, the same woodland lake that I discovered so many years ago; where a forest was
40cut down last winter another is springing up by its shore as lustily as ever; the same thought is welling up to its
41surface 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
42the work of a brave man surely, in whom there was no guile! He rounded this water with his hand, deepened and clarified
43it in his thought, and in his will bequeathed it to Concord. I see by its face that it is visited by the same
44reflection; and I can almost say, Walden, is it you? It is no dream of mine, To ornament a line; I cannot come nearer to
45God 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
46hand Are its water and its sand, And its deepest resort Lies high in my thought. The cars never pause to look at it; yet
47I fancy that the engineers and firemen and brakemen, and those passengers who have a season ticket and see it often, are
48better men for the sight. The engineer does not forget at night, or his nature does not, that he has beheld this vision
49of serenity and purity once at least during the day. Though seen but once, it helps to wash out State-street and the
50engine's soot. One proposes that it be called "God's Drop." I have said that Walden has no visible inlet nor outlet, but
51it is on the one hand distantly and indirectly related to Flint's Pond, which is more elevated, by a chain of small
52ponds coming from that quarter, and on the other directly and manifestly to Concord River, which is lower, by a similar
53chain of ponds through which in some other geological period it may have flowed, and by a little digging, which God
54forbid, it can be made to flow thither again. If by living thus reserved and austere, like a hermit in the woods, so
55long, it has acquired such wonderful purity, who would not regret that the comparatively impure waters of Flint's Pond
56should be mingled with it, or itself should ever go to waste its sweetness in the ocean wave?
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