Laudator Temporis Acti

Daniel Ricketson, quoted in F.B. Sanborn, Henry D. Thoreau (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1883), p. 268:

One afternoon, when my wife was playing an air upon the piano,—"Highland Laddie," perhaps,—Thoreau became very hilarious, sang "Tom Bowline," and finally entered upon an improvised dance. Not being able to stand what appeared to me at the time the somewhat ludicrous appearance of our Walden hermit, I retreated to my "shanty," a short distance from my house; while my older and more humor-loving friend Alcott remained and saw it through, much to his amusement. It left a pleasant memory, which I recorded in some humble lines that afterwards appeared in my "Autumn Sheaf."

Daniel Ricketson, "The Improvised Dance," in The Autumn Sheaf: A Collection of Miscellaneous Poems (New Bedford: By the Author, 1869), p. 198:

Like the Indian dance of old,
  Far within the forest shade,
Showing forth the spirit bold,
  That no foeman e'er dismayed,—

Like the dancing of the Hours,
  Tripping on with merry feet,
Triumphing o'er earthly powers,
  Yet with footsteps all must greet,—

Like the Fauns and Satyrs too,
  Nimbly leaping in the grove,
Now unseen, and then in view,
  As amid the trees they move,—

Like the leaves by whirlwind tossed,
  In some forest's valley wide,
Scattered by the Autumn frost,
  Whirling madly side by side,—

Thus, and still mysterious more,
  Our philosopher did prance,
Skipping on our parlor floor
  In his wild improvised dance.

Henry S. Salt, Life of Henry David Thoreau (London: Walter Scott, 1896), p. 77:

On the occasion of one of his visits to Mr. Ricketson at "Brooklawn," New Bedford, Thoreau surprised the company by an unexpected outburst of hilarity, under which impulse he sang "Tom Bowling," and finally entered upon an improvised dance. Mr. Ricketson, "not being able to stand what appeared at the time the somewhat ludicrous appearance of our Walden hermit," retreated to his shanty, a short distance from his house, whilst the more "humour-loving" Alcott remained to see the entertainment. Thoreau afterwards told his sister Sophia that in the excitement of this dance he had made a point of treading on the toes of the guileless Alcott.

F.B. Sanborn, Recollections of Seventy Years, vol. 2 (Boston: Richard G. Badger, 1909), p. 397:

As Mrs. R. struck up a lively Scotch air ("The Campbells are Comin'"), Thoreau felt moved to try a dance, and did so,—keeping time to the music perfectly, but executing some steps more like Indian dances than the usual ballroom figures. Anna was so amused at the sight, which she saw through the window, that she ran and called her father and Channing, who came and looked on,—Alcott sitting on the sofa, meanwhile, and watching the dance. Thoreau continued the performance for five or ten minutes; it was earnest and spontaneous, but not particularly graceful.

Edward Waldo Emerson, Thoreau as Remembered by a Young Friend (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1917), p. 146:

Mrs. Ricketson, playing at her piano, struck into "The Campbells are Coming." Thoreau put down his book and began to dance—a sylvan dance, as of a faun among rocks and bushes in a sort of labyrinthine fashion, now leaping over obstacles, then advancing with stately strides, returning in curves, then coming back in leaps. Alcott, coming in, stood thunderstruck to see "Thoreau acting his feelings in motion" as he called it. Alcott did not have that kind of feelings.