Sounds

expectssomebythenexttrainofprimequality.ItisadvertisedintheCuttingsvilleTimes. Whilethesethingsgoupotherthingscomedown.Warnedbythewhizzingsound,Ilookupfrommybookandseesometallpine,hewnonfarnorthernhills,whichhaswingeditswayovertheGreenMountainsandtheConnecticut,shotlikeanarrowthroughthetownshipwithintenminutes,andscarceanothereyebeholdsitgoing “tobethemast Ofsomegreatammiral.” Andhark!herecomesthecattle-trainbearingthecattleofathousandhills,sheepcots,stables,andcow-yardsintheair,droverswiththeirsticks,andshepherdboysinthemidstoftheirflocks,allbutthemountainpastures,whirledalonglikeleavesblownfromthemountainsbytheSeptembergales.Theairisfilledwiththebleatingofcalvesandsheep,andthehustlingofoxen,asifapastoralvalleyweregoingby.Whentheoldbell-wetherattheheadrattleshisbell,themountainsdoindeedskiplikeramsandthelittlehillslikelambs.Acar-loadofdrovers,too,inthemidst,onalevelwiththeirdrovesnow,theirvocationgone,butstillclingingtotheiruselesssticksastheirbadgeofoffice.Buttheirdogs,wherearethey?Itisastampedetothemtheyarequitethrownouttheyhavelostthescent.MethinksIhearthembarkingbehindthePeterboro’Hills,orpantingupthewesternslopeoftheGreenMountains.Theywillnotbeinatthedeath.Theirvocation,too,isgone.Theirfidelityandsagacityarebelowparnow.Theywillslinkbacktotheirkennelsindisgrace,orperchancerunwildandstrikealeaguewiththewolfandthefox.Soisyourpastorallifewhirledpastandaway.Butthebellrings,andImustgetoffthetrackandletthecarsgoby— What’stherailroadtome? Inevergotosee Whereitends. Itfillsafewhollows, Andmakesbanksfortheswallows, Itsetsthesanda-blowing, Andtheblackberriesa-growing, butIcrossitlikeacart-pathinthewoods.Iwillnothavemyeyesputoutandmyearsspoiledbyitssmokeandsteamandhissing. Nowthatthecarsaregonebyandalltherestlessworldwiththem,andthefishesinthepondnolongerfeeltheirrumbling,Iammorealonethanever.Fortherestofthelongafternoon,perhaps,mymeditationsareinterruptedonlybythefaintrattleofacarriageorteamalongthedistanthighway. Sometimes,onSundays,Iheardthebells,theLincoln,Acton,Bedford,orConcordbell,whenthewindwasfavorable,afaint,sweet,and,asitwere,naturalmelody,worthimportingintothewilderness.Atasufficientdistanceoverthewoodsthissoundacquiresacertainvibratoryhum,asifthepineneedlesinthehorizonwerethestringsofaharpwhichitswept.Allsoundheardatthegreatestpossibledistanceproducesoneandthesameeffect,avibrationoftheuniversallyre,justastheinterveningatmospheremakesadistantridgeofearthinterestingtooureyesbytheazuretintitimpartstoit.Therecametomeinthiscaseamelodywhichtheairhadstrained,andwhichhadconversedwitheveryleafandneedleofthewood,thatportionofthesoundwhichtheelementshadtakenupandmodulatedandechoedfromvaletovale.Theechois,tosomeextent,anoriginalsound,andthereinisthemagicandcharmofit.Itisnotmerelyarepetitionofwhatwasworthrepeatinginthebell,butpartlythevoiceofthewoodthesametrivialwordsandnotessungbyawood-nymph. Atevening,thedistantlowingofsomecowinthehorizonbeyondthewoodssoundedsweetandmelodious,andatfirstIwouldmistakeitforthevoicesofcertainminstrelsbywhomIwassometimesserenaded,whomightbestrayingoverhillanddalebutsoonIwasnotunpleasantlydisappointedwhenitwasprolongedintothecheapandnaturalmusicofthecow.Idonotmeantobesatirical,buttoexpressmyappreciationofthoseyouths’singing,whenIstatethatIperceivedclearlythatitwasakintothemusicofthecow,andtheywereatlengthonearticulationofNature. Regularlyathalfpastseven,inonepartofthesummer,aftertheeveningtrainhadgoneby,thewhippoorwillschantedtheirvespersforhalfanhour,sittingonastumpbymydoor,orupontheridgepoleofthehouse.Theywouldbegintosingalmostwithasmuchprecisionasaclock,withinfiveminutesofaparticulartime,referredtothesettingofthesun,everyevening.Ihadarareopportunitytobecomeacquaintedwiththeirhabits.SometimesIheardfourorfiveatonceindifferentpartsofthewood,byaccidentoneabarbehindanother,andsonearmethatIdistinguishednotonlythecluckaftereachnote,butoftenthatsingularbuzzingsoundlikeaflyinaspider’sweb,onlyproportionallylouder.Sometimesonewouldcircleroundandroundmeinthewoodsafewfeetdistantasiftetheredbyastring,whenprobablyIwasnearitseggs.Theysangatintervalsthroughoutthenight,andwereagainasmusicalaseverjustbeforeandaboutdawn. Whenotherbirdsarestillthescreechowlstakeupthestrain,likemourningwomentheirancientu-lu-lu.TheirdismalscreamistrulyBenJonsonian.Wisemidnighthags!Itisnohonestandblunttu-whittu-whoofthepoets,but,withoutjesting,amostsolemngraveyardditty,themutualconsolationsofsuicideloversrememberingthepangsandthedelightsofsupernalloveintheinfernalgroves.YetIlovetoheartheirwailing,theirdolefulresponses,trilledalongthewood-sideremindingmesometimesofmusicandsingingbirdsasifitwerethedarkandtearfulsideofmusic,theregretsandsighsthatwouldfainbesung.Theyarethespirits,thelowspiritsandmelancholyforebodings,offallensoulsthatonceinhumanshapenight-walkedtheearthanddidthedeedsofdarkness,nowexpiatingtheirsinswiththeirwailinghymnsorthrenodiesinthesceneryoftheirtransgressions.Theygivemeanewsenseofthevarietyandcapacityofthatnaturewhichisourcommondwelling.Oh-o-o-o-othatIneverhadbeenbor-r-r-r-n!sighsoneonthissideofthepond,andcircleswiththerestlessnessofdespairtosomenewperchonthegrayoaks.Then—thatIneverhadbeenbor-r-r-r-n!echoesanotheronthefarthersidewithtremuloussincerity,and—<