The places where we had stopped or spent the night in our way up
the river, had already acquired a slight historical interest for
us; for many upward day's voyaging were unravelled in this rapid
downward passage. When one landed to stretch his limbs by
walking, he soon found himself falling behind his companion, and
was obliged to take advantage of the curves, and ford the brooks
and ravines in haste, to recover his ground. Already the banks
and the distant meadows wore a sober and deepened tinge, for the
September air had shorn them of their summer's pride.
"And what's a life? The flourishing array
Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay."
The air was really the "fine element" which the poets describe.
It had a finer and sharper grain, seen against the russet
pastures and meadows, than before, as if cleansed of the summer's
impurities.
Having passed the New Hampshire line and reached the Horseshoe
Interval in Tyngsborough, where there is a high and regular
second bank, we climbed up this in haste to get a nearer sight of
the autumnal flowers, asters, golden-rod, and yarrow, and
blue-curls (_Trichostema dichotoma_), humble roadside blossoms,
and, lingering still, the harebell and the _Rhexia Virginica_.
Pages:
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531