TO go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society. I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody is with me. But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and what he touches. One might think the atmosphere was made transparent with this design, to give man, in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual presence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, how great they are! If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.
To find solitude, a person must withdraw from their room as much as from society. I am not alone when I read and write, even when no one is with me. But if someone wants to be alone, let them look at the stars. The light from those heavenly worlds will separate them from everything they can touch. One might think the atmosphere was made transparent for this purpose. Through the heavenly bodies, people could always feel the presence of something awe-inspiring. How magnificent the stars look from city streets! If they appeared only one night in a thousand years, how people would believe and worship! For generations, they would preserve the memory of the city of God they had seen. Yet every night these messengers of beauty appear. They light the universe with a smile that reminds us of something greater.
The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are inaccessible; but all natural objects make a kindred impression, when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never wears a mean appearance. Neither does the wisest man extort her secret, and lose his curiosity by finding out all her perfection. Nature never became a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, the mountains, reflected the wisdom of his best hour, as much as they had delighted the simplicity of his childhood.
The stars inspire a certain awe because, though always present, they are beyond our reach. But all natural things create a similar feeling when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never looks ordinary or unworthy. Even the wisest person cannot force nature to reveal her secrets and lose his curiosity by discovering all her perfection. Nature has never become a mere toy to a wise mind. The flowers, animals, and mountains reflected the wisdom of his finest moments. They did so as fully as they had delighted him in the simplicity of childhood.
When we speak of nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most poetical sense in the mind. We mean the integrity of impression made by manifold natural objects. It is this which distinguishes the stick of timber of the wood-cutter, from the tree of the poet. The charming landscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title.
When we speak of nature this way, we have a clear but deeply poetic meaning in mind. We mean the unified impression made by many different natural objects. This distinguishes the woodcutter’s piece of timber from the poet’s tree. The beautiful landscape I saw this morning is certainly made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that one, and Manning the woods beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. The horizon holds something that belongs only to someone whose eye can bring all its parts together, the poet. This is the best part of these men’s farms. Yet their deeds give them no ownership of it.
To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do not see the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the heart of the child. The lover of nature is he whose inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood. His intercourse with heaven and earth, becomes part of his daily food. In the presence of nature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows. Nature says,—he is my creature, and maugre all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me. Not the sun or the summer alone, but every hour and season yields its tribute of delight; for every hour and change corresponds to and authorizes a different state of the mind, from breathless noon to grimmest midnight. Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life,—no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground,—my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space,—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God. The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be acquaintances,—master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance. I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty. In the wilderness, I find something more dear and connate than in streets or villages. In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature.
To speak honestly, few adults can truly see nature. Most people do not see the sun. At least, they see it only superficially. The sun lights only the adult’s eyes, but it shines into the child’s eyes and heart. The lover of nature still has inner and outer senses that work in true harmony. Such a person has kept the spirit of childhood into adulthood. Their connection with heaven and earth becomes part of their daily nourishment. In nature’s presence, a wild delight runs through them, despite real sorrows. Nature says, “This is my creature, and despite all his needless griefs, he will be happy with me.” Not just the sun or summer, but every hour and season offers its share of delight. Every hour and change matches and makes room for a different state of mind, from breathless noon to darkest midnight. Nature is a setting equally suited to comedy and mourning. When we are healthy, the air is a tonic of incredible power. Once, I crossed an open common through puddles of melting snow, at twilight, under a cloudy sky. I had no special good fortune in mind, yet I felt perfectly exhilarated. I am so glad that I am almost afraid. In the woods, too, a person sheds their years as a snake sheds its skin. At any age, they are always a child. In the woods, youth lasts forever. In these forests planted by God, dignity and holiness reign, and an endless festival is prepared. The guest cannot imagine growing tired of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can happen to me in life that nature cannot heal. No disgrace, no disaster, provided I still have my sight. I stand on the bare ground, my head bathed in the joyful air and lifted into infinite space. All petty self-importance vanishes. I become a transparent eye. I am nothing. I see everything. The currents of the Universal Being flow through me. I am a part or particle of God. Even my closest friend’s name then sounds foreign and arbitrary. Being brothers or acquaintances, master or servant, becomes trivial and distracting. I am a lover of boundless and immortal beauty. In the wilderness, I find something dearer and more deeply related to me than anything in streets or villages. In the peaceful landscape, especially along the distant horizon, we see something as beautiful as our own nature.
The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right.
The greatest delight the fields and woods offer is the hint of a hidden connection between people and plants. I am not alone or unnoticed. They nod to me, and I nod to them. The branches waving in the storm feel both new and familiar to me. They surprise me, yet I recognize them. Their effect is like a higher thought or a better feeling coming over me. It comes when I thought I was already thinking clearly or doing what was right.
Yet it is certain that the power to produce this delight, does not reside in nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both. It is necessary to use these pleasures with great temperance. For, nature is not always tricked in holiday attire, but the same scene which yesterday breathed perfume and glittered as for the frolic of the nymphs, is overspread with melancholy today. Nature always wears the colors of the spirit. To a man laboring under calamity, the heat of his own fire hath sadness in it. Then, there is a kind of contempt of the landscape felt by him who has just lost by death a dear friend. The sky is less grand as it shuts down over less worth in the population.
Yet this much is certain. The power to create this delight lies not in nature, but in us, or in a harmony between the two. We must enjoy these pleasures in moderation. Nature is not always dressed for a celebration. Yesterday, a scene filled the air with fragrance and sparkled as if nymphs were playing there. Today, that same scene is covered in sadness. Nature always wears the colors of our mood. To someone suffering a disaster, even the warmth of their own fire holds sadness. Someone whose dear friend has just died feels a kind of contempt for the landscape. The sky seems less grand when it closes over a world whose people now hold less worth.