"ACTION!" said the Stream. "I lay still in my mountain-cradle for a
long while. It is very silent up there. Occasionally the shadow of an
eagle swept across me with a wild cry; but generally, from morning till
night, I knew no change save the shadows of my rocky cradle, which
went round steadily with the sun, and the shadows of the clouds, which
glided across me, without my ever knowing whence or whither. But the
rocks and clouds are very silent. The singing-birds did not venture so
high; and the insects had nothing to tempt them near me, because no
honied flower-bells bent over me there—nothing but little mosses and
gray lichens, and these, though very lovely, are quiet creatures, and
make no stir.
"I used to find it monotonous sometimes, and longed to have power to
wake the hills; and I should have found it more so, had I not felt I
was growing, and should flow forth to bless the fields by and by. Every
drop that fell into my rocky basin I welcomed. And, at last, the spring
rains came, and all my rocks sent me down little rills on every side,
and the snows melted into my cup; and, at last, I rose beyond the rim
of my dwelling, and was free.
"Then I danced down over the hills, and sang as I went, till all
the lonely places were glad with my voice; and I tinkled over the
stones like bells, and crept among my cresses like fairy flutes, and
dashed over the rocks and plunged into the pools with all my endless
harmonies. ACTION makes me musical," said the Stream.