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164
Glaucus; Or, The Wonders of the Shore
·
Charles Kingsley
16
“Call
spirits
from
the
vasty
deep,”
who
will
not
“Come
when
you
do
call
for
them.”
What
to
do,
then?
You
are
sitting,
perhaps,
in
your
coracle,
upon
some
mountain
tarn,
waiting
for
a
wind,
and
waiting
in
vain.
“Keine
luft
an
keine
seite,
Todes-stille
fürchterlich;”
as
Göthe
has
it—
“Und
der
schiffer
sieht
bekümmert
Glatte
fläche
rings
umher.”
You
paddle
to
the
shore
on
the
side
whence
the
wind
ought
to
come,
if
it
had
any
spirit
in
it;
tie
the
coracle
to
a
stone,
light
your
cigar,
lie
down
on
your
back
upon
the
grass,
grumble,
and
finally
fall
asleep.
In
the
meanwhile,
probably,
the
breeze
has
come
on,
and
there
has
been
half-an-hour’s
lively
fishing
curl;
and
you
wake
just
in
time
to
see
the
last
ripple
of
it
sneaking
off
at
the
other
side
of
the
lake,
leaving
all
as
dead-calm
as
before.
Now
how
much
better,
instead
of
falling
asleep,
to
have
walked
quietly
round
the
lake
side,
and
asked
of
your
own
brains
and
of
Nature
the
question,
“How
did
this
lake
come
here?
What
does
it
mean?”
It
is
a
hole
in
the
earth.
True,
but
how
was
the
hole
made?
There
must
have
been
huge
forces
at
work
to
form
such
a
chasm.
Probably
the
mountain
was
actually
opened
from
within
by
an
earthquake;
and
when
the
strata
fell
together
again,
the
portion
at
either
end
of
the
chasm,
being
perhaps
crushed
together
with
greater
force,
remained
higher
than
the
centre,
and
so
the
water
lodged
between
them.
Perhaps
it
was
formed
thus.
You
will
at
least
agree
that
its
formation
must
have
been
a
grand
sight
enough,
and
one
during
which
a
spectator
would
have
had
some
difficulty
in
keeping
his
footing.
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