List the different sound the narrator heard in the night of chapter 11 someone literature
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Summary
The narrator begins this chapter by cautioning the reader against an over-reliance on literature as a means to transcendence. While it does offer an avenue to truth, literature is the expression of an author's experience of reality and should not be used as a substitute for reality itself. We should immediately experience the richness of life at first hand if we desire spiritual elevation; thus we see the great significance of the narrator's admission that "I did not read books the first summer; I hoed beans."
The narrator is telling us that he directly experienced nature at the pond, and he felt ecstatic as he sat in the doorway of his hut, enjoying the beauty of a summer morning "while the birds sang around or flitted noiseless through the house." He succinctly depicts his happy state thus: "I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune." He was unperturbed by the thought that his spiritually sleeping townsmen would, no doubt, criticize his situation as one of sheer idleness; they, however, did not know the delights that they were missing.
The narrator's reverence is interrupted by the rattle of railroad cars and a locomotive's shrill whistle. He attempts to retain his state of reverence by contemplating upon the railroad's value to man and the admirable sense of American enterprise and industry that it represents. But the longer he considers it, the more irritated he becomes, and his ecstasy departs. He realizes that the whistle announces the demise of the pastoral, agrarian way of life — the life he enjoys most — and the rise of industrial America, with its factories, sweatshops, crowded urban centers, and assembly lines. The easy, natural, poetic life, as typified by his idyllic life at Walden, is being displaced; he recognizes the railroad as a kind of enemy. The narrator declares that he will avoid it: "I will not have my eyes put out and my ears spoiled by its smoke, and steam, and hissing."
Once the train passes, the narrator's ecstasy returns. Listening to the bells of distant towns, to the lowing of cows in a pasture beyond the woods, and the songs of whippoorwills, his sense of wholeness and fulfillment grows as his day moves into evening. But, with the night, a new type of sound is heard, the "most solemn graveyard ditty" of owls. To the narrator, this is the "dark and tearful side of music." He interprets the owls' notes to reflect "the stark twilight and unsatisfied thoughts which all have," but he is not depressed.
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