soul-exaltation;—"The profane never hear music, the holy ever hear it. It is God's voice, the divine breath audible."
Emerson and other friends often refer to Thoreau's delicate skill upon the flute; from it he would evoke melodies otherwise unknown. There seemed an aptness in Thoreau's love for the flute,—the symbol of classic times and the legends of Pan. Here was a new god of woods and fields. With exquisite sympathy Miss Alcott wove this thought into her elegy of Thoreau, written amid night watches in the hospital of the battle-fields. She refers to the strange incident told by the family, that, after Thoreau's death, a passing breeze over his flute, as it hung upon the wall, brought forth a plaintive note, as if a message from its master;—
"Then from the flute, untouched by hands,
There came a low, harmonious breath;
For such as he there is no death;—
Above man's aims his nature rose.
The wisdom of a just content
Made one small spot a continent,
And turned to poetry life's prose.
"To him no vain regrets belong
Whose soul, that finer instrument,
Gave to the world no poor lament,
But woodnotes ever sweet and strong.
O lonely friend! he still will be
A potent presence though unseen,—
Steadfast, sagacious, and serene;
Seek not for him—he is with thee!"
