# The Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906)/Volume 7/Chapter 8

Layout 2
VIII
1845-1847
(ÆT. 27-30)
[The small and much mutilated journal which begins here appears to belong to the Walden period (1845-47), but the entries are undated.]
THE HERO
What doth he ask? Some worthy task, Never to run Till that be done, That never done Under the sun. Here to begin All things to win By his endeavor Forever and ever. Happy and well On this ground to dwell, This soil subdue, Plant, and renew. By might and main Health and strength gain, So to give nerve ​To his slenderness; Yet some mighty pain He would sustain, So to preserve His tenderness. Not be deceived, Of suff'ring bereaved, Not lose his life By living too well, Nor escape strife In his lonely cell, And so find out heaven By not knowing hell. Strength like the rock To withstand any shock, Yet some Aaron's rod, Some smiting by God, Occasion to gain To shed human tears And to entertain Still demonic fears. Not once for all, forever, blest, Still to be cheered out of the west; Not from his heart to banish all sighs; Still be encouraged by the sunrise; Forever to love and to love and to love, Within him, around him, beneath him, above. To love is to know, is to feel, is to be; At once 't is his birth and his destiny. Having sold all, Something would get, ​Furnish his stall With better yet,— For earthly pleasures Celestial pains, Heavenly losses For earthly gains. Still to begin—unheard-of sin A fallen angel—a risen man Never returns to where he began. Some childlike labor Here to perform, Some baby-house To keep out the storm, And make the sun laugh While he doth warm, And the moon cry To think of her youth, The months gone by, And wintering truth.
How long to morning? Can any tell? How long since the warning On our ears fell? The bridegroom cometh Know we not well? Are we not ready, Our packet made, Our hearts steady, Last words said? Must we still eat ​The bread we have spurned? Must we rekindle The faggots we've burned? Must we go out By the poor man's gate? Die by degrees, Not by new fate? Is there no road This way, my friend? Is there no road Without any end? Have you not seen In ancient times Pilgrims go by here Toward other climes, With shining faces Youthful and strong Mounting this hill With speech and with song? Oh, my good sir, I know not the ways; Little my knowledge, Though many my days. When I have slumbered, I have heard sounds As travellers passing Over my grounds. 'T was a sweet music Wafted them by; I could not tell If far off or nigh. ​Unless I dreamed it, This was of yore, But I never told it To mortal before; Never remembered But in my dreams What to me waking A miracle seems. If you will give of your pulse or your grain, We will rekindle those flames again. Here will we tarry, still without doubt, Till a miracle putteth that fire out.
At midnight's hour I raised my head. The owls were seeking for their bread; The foxes barked, impatient still At their wan [?] fate they bear so ill. I thought me of eternities delayed And of commands but half obeyed. The night wind rustled through the glade, As if a force of men there staid; The word was whispered through the ranks, And every hero seized his lance. The word was whispered through the ranks, Advance!
I seek the present time, No other clime, Life in to-day,— Not to sail another way,— To Paris or to Rome, Or farther still from home. That man, whoe'er he is, Lives but a moral death Whose life is not coeval With his breath. My feet forever stand On Concord fields, And I must live the life Which their soil yields. What are deeds done Away from home? What the best essay On the Ruins of Rome? The love of the new, The unfathomed blue, The wind in the wood, All future good, The sunlit tree, The small chickadee, The dusty highways, What Scripture says, This pleasant weather, And all else together, The river's meander, All things, in short, Forbid me to wander ​In deed or in thought. In cold or in drouth, Not seek the sunny South, But make my whole tour In the sunny present hour.
For here if thou fail, Where can'st thou prevail? If you love not Your own land most, You'll find nothing lovely On a distant coast. If you love not The latest sunset, What is there in pictures Or old gems set? If no man should travel Till he had the means, There'd be little travelling For kings or for queens. The means, what are they? They are the wherewithal Great expenses to pay, Life got, and some to spare, Great works on hand, And freedom from care, Plenty of time well spent To use, Clothes paid for and no rent In your shoes, Something to eat ​And something to burn, And above all no need to return. Then they who come back, Say, have they not failed, Wherever they've ridden, Or steamed it, or sailed?
All your grass hay'd, All your debts paid, All your wills made; Then you might as well have stay'd, For are you not dead, Only not buried?
The way unto "to-day," The railroad to "here," They never 'll grade that way Nor shorten it, I fear. There are plenty of depots All the world o'er, But not a single station At a man's door. If he would get near To the secret of things, He'll not have to hear When the engine bell rings.
Exaggeration! was ever any virtue attributed to a man without exaggeration? was ever any vice, without infinite exaggeration? Do we not exaggerate ourselves to ourselves, or do we often recognize ourselves for the ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/502 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/503 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/504 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/505 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/506 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/507 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/508 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/509 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/510 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/511 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/512 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/513 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/514 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/515 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/516 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/517 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/518 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/519 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/520 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/521 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/522 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/523 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/524 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/525 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/526 ​Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v7.djvu/527