The storm-tones died away, and turning toward the
east, I beheld the countless hosts of the forests hushed and tranquil,
towering above one another on the slopes of the hills like a devout
audience. The setting sun filled them with amber light, and seemed to
say, while they listened, "My peace I give unto you."
As I gazed on the impressive scene, all the so-called ruin of the storm
was forgotten; and never before did these noble woods appear so fresh,
so joyous, so immortal.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 64: From "The Mountains of California," copyright 1894.
Printed here by permission of the Century Company.]
WALDEN POND[65]
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
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.
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.
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