Footprints on the Sea-Shore (From "Twice Told Tales")Hawthorne, Nathaniel
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Footprints on the Sea-Shore (From "Twice Told Tales")
Hawthorne, Nathaniel
Historical fiction, American; New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
Dinner being over, I throw myself at length upon the sand, and,
basking in the sunshine, let my mind disport itself at will. The
walls of this my hermitage have no tongue to tell my follies, though I
sometimes fancy that they have ears to hear them, and a soul to
sympathize. There is a magic in this spot. Dreams haunt its
precincts, and flit around me in broad sunlight, nor require that
sleep shall blindfold me to real objects, ere these be visible. Here
can I frame a story of two lovers, and make their shadows live before
me, and be mirrored in the tranquil water, as they tread along the
sand, leaving no footprints. Here, should I will it, I can summon up
a single shade, and be myself her lover. Yes, dreamer,--but your
lonely heart will be the colder for such fancies. Sometimes, too, the
Past comes back, and finds me here, and in her train come faces which
were gladsome, when I knew them, yet seem not gladsome now. Would
that my hiding-place were lonelier, so that the past might not find
me! Get ye all gone, old friends, and let me listen to the murmur of
the sea,--a melancholy voice, but less sad than yours. Of what
mysteries is it telling? Of sunken ships, and whereabouts they lie?
Of islands afar and undiscovered, whose tawny children are unconscious
of other islands and of continents, and deem the stars of heaven their
nearest neighbors? Nothing of all this. What then? Has it talked for
so many ages, and meant nothing all the while--No; for those ages find
utterance in the sea's unchanging voice, and warn the listener to
withdraw his interest from mortal vicissitudes, and let the infinite
idea of eternity pervade his soul. This is wisdom; and, therefore,
will I spend the next half-hour in shaping little boats of drift-wood,
and launching them on voyages across the cove, with the feather of a
sea-gull for a sail. If the voice of ages tell me true, this is as
wise an occupation as to build ships of five hundred tons, and launch
them forth upon the main, bound to "far Cathay." Yet, how would the
merchant sneer at me!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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