What strange object is this which I behold, incongruous in its staring
whiteness of fresh paint and black lettering, its straightness of lines
and abrupt irregularity amid the soft tints and graceful curves of this
sylvan scene? As I live, a trespass sign!
Thou inanimate yet most impertinent thing, dumb yet commanding me with
most imperative words to depart hence, how dost thou dare forbid my
entrance upon what has so long been my own, even as it is the birds' and
beasts' and fishes', not by lease or title deed, but of natural right?
Hither from time immemorial have they come at will and so departed at no
man's behest, as have I since the happy days when a barefoot boy I cast
my worm-baited hook among the crystal foam bells, or bearing the heavy
burden of my grandsire's rusty flint-lock, I stalked the wily grouse in
the diurnal twilight of these thickets.
Here was I thrilled by the capture of my first trout; here exulted over
the downfall of my first woodcock; here, grown to man's estate, I
learned to cast the fly; here beheld my first dog draw on his game, and
here, year after year, till my locks have grown gray, have I come, sharp
set with months of longing, to live again for a little while the
carefree days of youth.
Never have I been bidden to depart but by storm or nightfall or satiety,
until now thou confrontest me with thy impudent mandate, thou, thou
contemptible, but yet not to be despised nor unheeded parallelogram of
painted deal, with thy legal phrases and impending penalties; thou, the
silent yet terribly impressive representative of men whose purses are
longer than mine!
What is their right to this stream, these woods, compared with mine?
Theirs is only gained by purchase, confirmed by scrawled parchment,
signed and sealed; mine a birthright, as always I hoped it might be of
my sons and my sons' sons. What to the usurpers of our rights are these
woods and waters but a place for the killing of game and fish? They do
not love, as a man the roof-tree where-under he was born, these arches
and low aisles of the woods; they do not know as I do every silver loop
of the brook, every tree whose quivering reflection throbs across its
eddies; its voice is only babble to their ears, the song of the pines
tells them no story of bygone years.
Of all comers here, I who expected most kindly welcome am most
inhospitably treated. All my old familiars, the birds, the beasts, and
the fishes, may fly over thee, walk beneath thee, swim around thee, but
to me thou art a wall that I may not pass.
I despise thee and spit upon thee, thou most impudent intruder, thou
insolent sentinel, thou odious monument of selfishness, but I dare not
lay hands upon thee and cast thee down and trample thee in the dust of
the earth as thou shouldst of right be entreated. To rid myself of thy
hateful sight, I can only turn my back upon thee and depart with sorrow
and anger in my heart.
Mayst thou keep nothing but disappointment for the greedy wretches who
set thee here.