CHAPTER VII
BERKSHIRE HILLS
I know where wild things lurk and linger
In groves as gray and grand as Time;
I know where God has written poems
Too strong for words or rhyme.
- Maurice Thompson.
To one who has lived in a level country how full of joyful
experience is a winding mountain road!
None of our journeys will be remembered with keener delight than
the days spent in sauntering along the Mohawk trail. What
incomparable trout streams, what vast primeval forests, how
charming the peaceful valleys, what trails leading to the tops
of wooded hills or fern-clad cool retreats of the forest! What a
life the Indians must have had here, moving from place to place
enjoying new homes and new scenery! Here the fierce child of
Nature lived amidst the grandest temples of God's building,
where the song of the hermit thrush as old as these fragrant
aisles, still rings like a newly-strung lute; while the wind
among the myriad keyed pines thrums a whispering accompaniment
and the yellow and white birch fill the place with incense.
Many mourn because they have no money to purchase a noble work
of art, or pay a visit to the Vatican or the Louvre. But here in
their own beloved America God has an open gallery, filled with
pictures fairer than the grandest dream of any landscape artist,
which wear no trace of age and no fire can destroy.
