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Thoreau, Henry David, 1817-1862

"A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers"

When we are in health
all sounds fife and drum for us; we hear the notes of music in
the air, or catch its echoes dying away when we awake in the
dawn. Marching is when the pulse of the hero beats in unison
with the pulse of Nature, and he steps to the measure of the
universe; then there is true courage and invincible strength.
Plutarch says that "Plato thinks the gods never gave men music,
the science of melody and harmony, for mere delectation or to
tickle the ear; but that the discordant parts of the circulations
and beauteous fabric of the soul, and that of it that roves about
the body, and many times, for want of tune and air, breaks forth
into many extravagances and excesses, might be sweetly recalled
and artfully wound up to their former consent and agreement."
Music is the sound of the universal laws promulgated. It is the
only assured tone. There are in it such strains as far surpass
any man's faith in the loftiness of his destiny. Things are to
be learned which it will be worth the while to learn. Formerly I
heard these
^Rumors from an Aeolian Harp^.


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