July 22d, 1878.LIVING down in the country again. A wonderful conjunction of all that goes to make those sometime miracle-hours after sunsetso near and yet so far. Perfect, or nearly perfect days, I notice, are not so very uncommon; but the combinations that make perfect nights are few, even in a life time. We have one of those perfections to-night. Sunset left things pretty clear; the larger stars were visible soon as the shades allowd. A while after 8, three or four great black clouds suddenly rose, seemingly from different points, and sweeping with broad swirls of wind but no thunder, underspread the orbs from view everywhere, and indicated a violent heat-storm. But without storm, clouds, blackness and all, sped and vanishd as suddenly as they had risen; and from a little after 9 till 11 the atmosphere and the whole show above were in that state of exceptional clearness and glory just alluded to. In the northwest turned the Great Dipper with its pointers round the Cynosure. A little south of east the constellation of the Scorpion was fully up, with red Antares glowing in its neck; while dominating, majestic Jupiter swam, an hour and a half risen, in the east(no moon till after 11.) A large part of the sky seemd just laid in great splashes of phosphorus. You could look deeper in, farther through, than usual; the orbs thick as heads of wheat in a field. Not that there was any special brilliancy eithernothing near as sharp as I have seen of keen winter nights, but a curious general luminousness throughout to sight, sense, and soul. The latter had much to do with it. (I am convinced there are hours of Nature, especially of the atmosphere, mornings and evenings, addressd to the soul. Night transcends, for that purpose, what the proudest day can do.) Now, indeed, if never before, the heavens declared the glory of God. It was to the full the sky of the Bible, of Arabia, of the prophets, and of the oldest poems. There, in abstraction and stillness, (I had gone off by myself to absorb the scene, to have the spell unbroken,) the copiousness, the removedness, vitality, loose-clear-crowdedness, of that stellar concave spreading overhead, softly absorbd into me, rising so free, interminably high, stretching east, west, north, southand I, though but a point in the centre below, embodying all.
As if for the first time, indeed, creation noiselessly sank into and through me its placid and untellable lesson, beyondO, so infinitely beyond!anything from art, books, sermons, or from science, old or new. The spirits hourreligions hourthe visible suggestion of God in space and timenow once definitely indicated, if never again. The untold pointed atthe heavens all paved with it. The Milky Way, as if some superhuman symphony, some ode of universal vagueness, disdaining syllable and sounda flashing glance of Deity, addressd to the soul. All silentlythe indescribable night and starsfar off and silently.
THE DAWN.July 23.This morning, between one and two hours before sunrise, a spectacle wrought on the same background, yet of quite different beauty and meaning. The moon well up in the heavens, and past her half, is shining brightlythe air and sky of that cynical-clear, Minerva-like quality, virgin coolnot the weight of sentiment or mystery, or passions ecstasy indefinablenot the religious sense, the varied All, distilld and sublimated into one, of the night just described. Every star now clear-cut, showing for just what it is, there in the colorless ether. The character of the heralded morning, ineffably sweet and fresh and limpid, but for the esthetic sense alone, and for purity without sentiment. I have itemized the nightbut dare I attempt the cloudless dawn? (What subtle tie is this between ones soul and the break of day? Alike, and yet no two nights or morning shows ever exactly alike.) Preceded by an immense star, almost unearthly in its effusion of white splendor, with two or three long unequal spoke-rays of diamond radiance, shedding down through the fresh morning air belowan hour of this, and then the sunrise.
THE EAST.What a subject for a poem! Indeed, where else a more pregnant, more splendid one? Where one more idealistic-real, more subtle, more sensuous-delicate? The East, answering all lands, all ages, peoples; touching all senses, here, immediate, nowand yet so indescribably far offsuch retrospect! The Eastlong-stretchingso losing itselfthe orient, the gardens of Asia, the womb of history and songforth-issuing all those strange, dim cavalcades
Florid with blood, pensive, rapt with musings, hot with passion,
Sultry with perfume, with ample and flowing garments,
With sunburnt visage, intense soul and glittering eyes.
Sept. 17.Another presentationsame themejust before sunrise again, (a favorite hour with me.) The clear gray sky, a faint glow in the dull liver-color of the east, the cool fresh odor and the moisturethe cattle and horses off there grazing in the fieldsthe star Venus again, two hours high. For sounds, the chirping of crickets in the grass, the clarion of chanticleer, and the distant cawing of an early crow. Quietly over the dense fringe of cedars and pines rises that dazzling, red, transparent disk of flame, and the low sheets of white vapor roll and roll into dissolution.
THE MOON.May 18.I went to bed early last night, but found myself waked shortly after 12, and, turning awhile sleepless and mentally feverish, I rose, dressd myself, sallied forth and walkd down the lane. The full moon, some three or four hours upa sprinkle of light and less-light clouds just lazily movingJupiter an hour high in the east, and here and there throughout the heavens a random star appearing and disappearing. So, beautifully veild and variedthe air, with that early-summer perfume, not at all damp or rawat times Luna languidly emerging in richest brightness for minutes, and then partially envelopd again. Far off a whip-poor-will plied his notes incessantly. It was that silent time between 1 and 3.
The rare nocturnal scene, how soon it soothd and pacified me! Is there not something about the moon, some relation or reminder, which no poem or literature has yet caught? (In very old and primitive ballads I have come across lines or asides that suggest it.) After a while the clouds mostly cleard, and as the moon swam on, she carried, shimmering and shifting, delicate color-effects of pellucid green and tawny vapor. Let me conclude this part with an extract, (some writer in the Tribune, May 16, 1878:)
No one ever gets tired of the moon. Goddess that she is by dower of her eternal beauty, she is a true woman by her tactknows the charm of being seldom seen, of coming by surprise and staying but a little while; never wears the same dress two nights running, nor all night the same way; commends herself to the matter-of-fact people by her usefulness, and makes her uselessness adored by poets, artists, and all lovers in all lands; lends herself to every symbolism and to every emblem; is Dianas bow and Venuss mirror and Marys throne; is a sickle, a scarf, an eyebrow, his face or her face, as lookd at by her or by him; is the madmans hell, the poets heaven, the babys toy, the philosophers study; and while her admirers follow her footsteps, and hang on her lovely looks, she knows how to keep her womans secrether other sideunguessd and unguessable.
Furthermore.February 19, 1880.Just before 10 P. M. cold and entirely clear again, the show overhead, bearing southwest, of wonderful and crowded magnificence. The moon in her third quarterthe clusters of the Hyades and Pleiades, with the planet Mars betweenin full crossing sprawl in the sky the great Egyptian X, (Sirius, Procyon, and the main stars in the constellations of the Ship, the Dove, and of Orion;) just north of east Bootes, and in his knee Arcturus, an hour high, mounting the heaven, ambitiously large and sparkling, as if he meant to challenge with Sirius the stellar supremacy.