THE AXE of the wood-cutter, the measured thud of a single threshing-flail, the crowing of chanticleer in the barn-yard, (with invariable responses from other barn-yards,) and the lowing of cattlebut most of all, or near, the windthrough the high tree-tops, or through low bushes, having ones face and hands so gently, this balmy-bright noon, the coolest for a long time, (Sept. 2)I will not call it sighing, for to me it is always a firm, sane, cheery expression, though a monotone, giving many varieties, or swift or slow, or dense or delicate. The wind in the patch of pine woods off therehow sibilant. Or at sea, I can imagine it this moment, tossing the waves, with spirts of foam flying far, and the free whistle, and the scent of the saltand that vast paradox somehow with all its action and restlessness conveying a sense of eternal rest.
Other adjuncts.But the sun and moon here and these times. As never more wonderful by day, the gorgeous orb imperial, so vast, so ardently, lovingly hotso never a more glorious moon of nights, especially the last three or four. The great planets tooMars never before so flaming bright, so flashing-large, with slight yellow tinge, (the astronomers sayis it true?nearer to us than any time the past century)and well up, lord Jupiter, (a little while since close by the moon)and in the west, after the sun sinks, voluptuous Venus, now languid and shorn of her beams, as if from some divine excess.