The
Snake-Head, _Chelone Glabra_, Grew Close To The Shore, While A
Kind Of Coreopsis, Turning Its Brazen Face To The Sun, Full And
Rank, And A Tall Dull Red Flower, _Eupatorium Purpureum_, Or
Trumpet-Weed, Formed The Rear Rank Of The Fluvial Array.
The
bright blue flowers of the soap-wort gentian were sprinkled here
and there in the adjacent meadows, like
Flowers which Proserpine
had dropped, and still farther in the fields or higher on the
bank were seen the purple Gerardia, the Virginian rhexia, and
drooping neottia or ladies'-tresses; while from the more distant
waysides which we occasionally passed, and banks where the sun
had lodged, was reflected still a dull yellow beam from the ranks
of tansy, now past its prime. In short, Nature seemed to have
adorned herself for our departure with a profusion of fringes and
curls, mingled with the bright tints of flowers, reflected in the
water. But we missed the white water-lily, which is the queen of
river flowers, its reign being over for this season. He makes
his voyage too late, perhaps, by a true water clock who delays so
long. Many of this species inhabit our Concord water. I have
passed down the river before sunrise on a summer morning between
fields of lilies still shut in sleep; and when, at length, the
flakes of sunlight from over the bank fell on the surface of the
water, whole fields of white blossoms seemed to flash open before
me, as I floated along, like the unfolding of a banner, so
sensible is this flower to the influence of the sun's rays.
As we were floating through the last of these familiar meadows,
we observed the large and conspicuous flowers of the hibiscus,
covering the dwarf willows, and mingled with the leaves of the
grape, and wished that we could inform one of our friends behind
of the locality of this somewhat rare and inaccessible flower
before it was too late to pluck it; but we were just gliding out
of sight of the village spire before it occurred to us that the
farmer in the adjacent meadow would go to church on the morrow,
and would carry this news for us; and so by the Monday, while we
should be floating on the Merrimack, our friend would be reaching
to pluck this blossom on the bank of the Concord.
After a pause at Ball's Hill, the St. Ann's of Concord voyageurs,
not to say any prayer for the success of our voyage, but to
gather the few berries which were still left on the hills,
hanging by very slender threads, we weighed anchor again, and
were soon out of sight of our native village. The land seemed to
grow fairer as we withdrew from it. Far away to the southwest
lay the quiet village, left alone under its elms and buttonwoods
in mid afternoon; and the hills, notwithstanding their blue,
ethereal faces, seemed to cast a saddened eye on their old
playfellows; but, turning short to the north, we bade adieu to
their familiar outlines, and addressed ourselves to new scenes
and adventures. Naught was familiar but the heavens, from under
whose roof the voyageur never passes; but with their countenance,
and the acquaintance we had with river and wood, we trusted to
fare well under any circumstances.
From this point, the river runs perfectly straight for a mile or
more to Carlisle Bridge, which consists of twenty wooden piers,
and when we looked back over it, its surface was reduced to a
line's breadth, and appeared like a cobweb gleaming in the sun.
Here and there might be seen a pole sticking up, to mark the
place where some fisherman had enjoyed unusual luck, and in
return had consecrated his rod to the deities who preside over
these shallows. It was full twice as broad as before, deep and
tranquil, with a muddy bottom, and bordered with willows, beyond
which spread broad lagoons covered with pads, bulrushes, and
flags.
Late in the afternoon we passed a man on the shore fishing with a
long birch pole, its silvery bark left on, and a dog at his side,
rowing so near as to agitate his cork with our oars, and drive
away luck for a season; and when we had rowed a mile as straight
as an arrow, with our faces turned towards him, and the bubbles
in our wake still visible on the tranquil surface, there stood
the fisher still with his dog, like statues under the other side
of the heavens, the only objects to relieve the eye in the
extended meadow; and there would he stand abiding his luck, till
he took his way home through the fields at evening with his
fish. Thus, by one bait or another, Nature allures inhabitants
into all her recesses. This man was the last of our townsmen
whom we saw, and we silently through him bade adieu to our
friends.
The characteristics and pursuits of various ages and races of men
are always existing in epitome in every neighborhood. The
pleasures of my earliest youth have become the inheritance of
other men. This man is still a fisher, and belongs to an era in
which I myself have lived. Perchance he is not confounded by many
knowledges, and has not sought out many inventions, but how to
take many fishes before the sun sets, with his slender birchen
pole and flaxen line, that is invention enough for him. It is
good even to be a fisherman in summer and in winter. Some men are
judges these August days, sitting on benches, even till the court
rises; they sit judging there honorably, between the seasons and
between meals, leading a civil politic life, arbitrating in the
case of Spaulding _versus_ Cummings, it may be, from highest noon
till the red vesper sinks into the west. The fisherman,
meanwhile, stands in three feet of water, under the same summer's
sun, arbitrating in other cases between muckworm and shiner, amid
the fragrance of water-lilies, mint, and pontederia, leading his
life many rods from the dry land, within a pole's length of where
the larger fishes swim.
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