I rejoice that there are owls.  Let them do the idiotic and maniacal hooting for men.  It is a sound admirably suited to swamps and twilight woods which no day illustrates， suggesting a vast and undeveloped nature which men have not recognized.  They represent the stark twilight and unsatisfied thoughts which all have.  All day the sun has shone on the surface of some savage swamp， where the single spruce stands hung with usnea lichens， and small hawks circulate above， and the chickadee lisps amid the evergreens， and the partridge and rabbit skulk beneath； but now a more dismal and fitting day dawns， and a different race of creatures awakes to express the meaning of Nature there.

　　Late in the evening I heard the distant rumbling of wagons over bridges ―― a sound heard farther than almost any other at night ――the baying of dogs， and sometimes again the lowing of some disconsolate cow in a distant barn-yard.  In the mean-while all the shore rang with the trump of bullfrogs， the sturdy spirits of ancient wine-bibbers and wassailers， still unrepentant， trying to sing a catch in their Stygian lake ―― if the Walden nymphs will pardon the comparison， for though there are almost no weeds， there are frogs there ―― who would fain keep up the hilarious rules of their old festal tables， though their voices have waxed hoarse and solemnly grave， mocking at mirth， and the wine has lost its flavor，and become only liquor to distend their paunches， and sweet intoxication never comes to drown the memory of the past， but mere saturation and waterloggedness and distention.  The most aldermanic，with his chin upon a heart-leaf， which serves for a napkin to his drooling chaps， under this northern shore quaffs a deep draught of the once scorned water， and passes round the cup with the ejaculation tr-r-r-oonk， tr-r-r――oonk， tr-r-r-oonk！ and straightway comes over the water from some distant cove the same password repeated， where the next in seniority and girth has gulped down to his mark； and when this observance has made the circuit of the shores， then ejaculates the master of ceremonies， with satisfaction，tr-r-r-oonk！ and each in his turn repeats the same down to the least distended， leakiest， and flabbiest paunched， that there be no mistake； and then the howl goes round again and again， until the sun disperses the morning mist， and only the patriarch is not under the pond， but vainly bellowing troonk from time to time， and pausing for a reply.

　　I am not sure that I ever heard the sound of cock-crowing from my clearing， and I thought that it might be worth the while to keep a cockerel for his music merely， as a singing bird.  The note of this once wild Indian pheasant is certainly the most remarkable of any bird's， and if they could be naturalized without being domesticated， it would soon become the most famous sound in our woods， surpassing the clangor of the goose and the hooting of the owl； and then imagine the cackling of the hens to fill the pauses when their lords' clarions rested！  No wonder that man added this bird to his tame stock ―― to say nothing of the eggs and drumsticks. To walk in a winter morning in a wood where these birds abounded，their native woods， and hear the wild cockerels crow on the trees，clear and shrill for miles over the resounding earth， drowning the feebler notes of other birds ―― think of it！  It would put nations on the alert.  Who would not be early to rise， and rise earlier and earlier every successive day of his life， till he became unspeakably healthy， wealthy， and wise？  This foreign bird's note is celebrated by the poets of all countries along with the notes of their native songsters.  All climates agree with brave Chanticleer.  He is more indigenous even than the natives.  His health is ever good， his lungs are sound， his spirits never flag.  Even the sailor on the Atlantic and Pacific is awakened by his voice； but its shrill sound never roused me from my slumbers.  I kept neither dog， cat， cow，pig， nor hens， so that you would have said there was a deficiency of domestic sounds； neither the churn， nor the spinning-wheel， nor even the singing of the kettle， nor the hissing of the urn， nor children crying， to comfort one.  An old-fashioned man would have lost his senses or died of ennui before this.  Not even rats in the wall， for they were starved out， or rather were never baited in ―― only squirrels on the roof and under the floor， a whip-poor-will on the ridge-pole， a blue jay screaming beneath the window， a hare or woodchuck under the house， a screech owl or a cat owl behind it， a flock of wild geese or a laughing loon on the pond， and a fox to bark in the night.  Not even a lark or an oriole， those mild plantation birds， ever visited my clearing.  No cockerels to crow nor hens to cackle in the yard.  No yard！ but unfenced nature reaching up to your very sills.  A young forest growing up under your meadows， and wild sumachs and blackberry vines breaking through into your cellar； sturdy pitch pines rubbing and creaking against the shingles for want of room， their roots reaching quite under the house.  Instead of a scuttle or a blind blown off in the gale ―― a pine tree snapped off or torn up by the roots behind your house for fuel.  Instead of no path to the front-yard gate in the Great Snow―― no gate ―― no front-yard ―― and no path to the civilized world.

　　我覺得有貓頭鷹是可喜的。讓它們為人類作白癡似的狂人嚎叫。這種聲音最適宜于白晝都照耀不到的沼澤與陰沉沉的森林，使人想起人類還沒有發現的一個廣大而未開化的天性。它可以代表絕對愚妄的晦暗與人人都有的不得滿足的思想。整天，太陽曾照在一些荒野的沼澤表面，孤零零的針樅上長著地衣，小小的鷹在上空盤旋，而黑頭山雀在常春藤中躡嚅而言，松雞、兔子則在下面躲藏著；可是現在一個更陰郁、更合適的白晝來臨了，就有另外一批生物風云際會地醒來，表示了那里的大自然的意義。

　　夜深后，我聽到了遠處車輛過橋，――這聲音在夜里聽起來最遠不過――還有犬吠聲，有時又聽到遠遠的牛棚中有一條不安靜的牛在叫。同時，湖濱震蕩著青蛙叫聲，古代的醉鬼和宴飲者的頑固的精靈，依然不知悔過，要在他們那像冥河似的湖上唱輪唱歌，請瓦爾登湖的水妖原諒我作這樣的譬喻，因為湖上雖沒有蘆葦，青蛙卻是很多的，――它們還樂于遵循它們那古老宴席上那種囂鬧的規律，雖然它們的喉嚨已經沙啞了，而且莊重起來了，它們在嘲笑歡樂，酒也失去了香味，只變成了用來灌飽它們肚子的料酒，而醺醺然的醉意再也不來淹沒它們過去的回憶，它們只覺得喝飽了，肚子里水很沉重，只覺得發脹。當最高頭兒的青蛙，下巴放在一張心形的葉子上，好像在垂涎的嘴巴下面掛了食巾，在北岸下喝了一口以前輕視的水酒，把酒杯傳遞過去，同時發出了托爾――爾――爾――龍克，托爾――爾――爾――龍克，托爾――爾――爾――龍克！的聲音，立刻，從遠處的水上，這口令被重復了，這是另一只青蛙，官階稍低，凸起肚子，喝下了它那一口酒后發出來的，而當酒令沿湖巡行了一周，司酒令的青蛙滿意地喊了一聲托爾――爾――爾――龍克，每一只都依次傳遞給最沒喝飽的、漏水最多的和肚子最癟的青蛙，一切都沒有錯；于是酒杯又一遍遍地傳遞，直到太陽把朝霧驅散，這時就只有可敬的老青蛙還沒有跳到湖底下去，它還不時地徒然喊出托爾龍克來，停歇著等口音。

　　我不清楚在林中空地上，我聽過金雞報曉沒有，我覺得養一只小公雞很有道理，只是把它當作鳴禽看待，為了聽它的音樂公雞從前是印第安野雞，它的音樂確是所有禽幗之中最了不起的，如果能不把它們變為家禽而加以馴化的話，它的音樂可以立刻成為我們的森林中最著名的音樂，勝過鵝的叫聲，貓頭鷹的嚎哭；然后，你再想想老母雞，在她們的夫君停下了號角聲之后，她們的噪聒填滿了停頓的時刻！難怪人類要把這一種鳥編入家禽中間去――更不用說雞蛋和雞腿來了。在冬天的黎明，散步在這一種禽鳥很多的林中，在它們的老林里，聽野公雞在樹上啼叫出嘹亮而尖銳的聲音，數里之外都能聽到，大地為之震蕩，一切鳥雀的微弱的聲音都給壓倒――你想想看！這可以使全國警戒起來，誰不會起得更早，一天天地更早，直到他健康、富足、聰明到了無法形容的程度呢？全世界詩人在贊美一些本國鳴禽的歌聲的同時，都贊美過這種外國鳥的樂音。任何氣候都適宜于勇武金雞的生長，他比本上的禽鳥更土。它永遠健康，肺臟永遠茁壯，它的精神從未衰退過。甚至大西洋、太平洋上的水手都是一聽到它的聲音就起身，可是它的啼叫從沒有把我從沉睡中喚醒過。狗、貓、牛、豬、母雞這些我都沒有喂養，也許你要說我缺少家畜的聲音；可是我這里也沒有攪拌奶油的聲音，紡車的聲音，沸水的歌聲，咖啡壺的咝咝聲，孩子的哭聲等等來安慰我，老式人會因此發瘋或煩悶致死的。連墻里的耗子也沒有，它們都餓死了，也許根本沒有引來過，――只有松鼠在屋頂上，地板下，以及梁上的夜鷹，窗下一只藍色的慳鳥，尖叫著，屋下一只兔子或者一只土撥鼠，屋后一只叫梟或者貓頭鷹，湖上一群野鵝，或一只嘩笑的潛水鳥，還有入夜吠叫的狐貍。甚至云雀或黃鸝都沒有，這些柔和的候鳥從未訪問過我的林居。天井里沒有雄雞啼叫也沒有母雞噪聒。根本沒有天井！大自然一直延伸到你的窗口。就在你的窗下，生長了小樹林，一直長到你的窗楣上。野黃櫨樹和黑莓的藤爬進了你的地窖；挺拔的蒼松靠著又擠著木屋，因為地位不夠，它們的根糾纏在屋子底下。不是疾鳳刮去窗簾，而是你為了要燃料，折下屋后的松枝，或拔出樹根！大雪中既沒有路通到前庭的門，――沒有門，――沒有前庭，――更沒有路通往文明世界！

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