Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1846-04-16

| This is the season Of happiness. Who can
feel morose and sad, when the warm breezes
and bright skies Of Spring are around and above
him.
The sun looketh forth from the halls of the
morning,
And hushes the clouds that begirt his career;
He welcomes the gladncss and glory, returning
To rest on the promise and hope of the year.
He fills with delight all the balm. breathing
flowers
He mounts to the zenith and laughs on the
wave;
And gilds the gay plains which the broad riv.
ers lave.
1t is the season Of loue. Its mild and genial
influences WOO the heart from its wonted stern.
ness and seltishness. to the cultivation of its
gentler virtues. The transition Of nature from
frowns to smiles, and from gloom to gaity, can
scarcely fail to have corresponding effect up.
on the mind. Moving in the ncwness and
freshness of renovated life, the lonely heart more
than ever feels its loneliness, and signs for the
presence ofs:me congenial spirit. to share with
it the delights and blessedness o! existence
Mans turbulent passions, his avarice, his fever
sh, restless anxiety for place and power, are
then il ever, at rest and his heart is open to,
and susceptible Of, the milder teachings of at.
lection. The music ofmurmurng streams. the
carol o fbir.ls and the "ceaseless, silent voice"
of opening buds and blossoms new blown, each
and all tend TO render Spring peculiarly the fit
ting season for love making.
The sweet.scented buds all around US are swell
ling;
There are songs in the strcams-there is
health in the gale,
sense of delight in each bosom is dwelling.
AS float the pure day-beams DER mountain
and vale.
The desolate reign Of old winter is broken
The verdure is fresh upon every tree;
or natures revi wal the charm, and a token
Oflovc, o thou Spirit OF Beauty, to thee!
II is the harvest-tinle Of poesy 1t has been
favorite theme OF the poets in oil ages Of the
world, and especially in our our time and coun-
try. What can be more beautiful than the fol
lowing from the pen Of Willis:
Take Of my violets. found them where
The liquid south stole DER them. on bank
That leaned to running water. There's 10 inc
A daintness about these early flowers
That touches me like poetry. They blow
With such simple loveliness. among
i The common herds of pasture. and breathe
Out their lives so nnobtrusvely, like hearts
Whose beatings are too gentle for the world
love to 60 in the caprici ous DAYS
OfApril. and hunt violeis. when the rain
Is in the blue cups trembling. and they nod
So gracefully 10 the kisses OF the wind.
II may be deemed too idle. but the Young
l. Read nature like the manuscript of Heaven,
And call the flowers its poetry.
But lest we should make our article too long
We will close with the annexed lines, from III.
pocticai pen Of our friend Of the Charter Oak
w. H. Burleigh, ESQ:
The sweet south wind. SO long
Sleeping in other climes, on seas,
Or dallying gaily with the grange trees
In the bright land Of song.
Wakes unto US. and laughinsly sweeps By,
? Like glad spirit OF the sunlit sky.
Continued songs arise
Y From universal natnre-birds and streams
Q MinglS their voices, and the glad earth seem
~ a second paradisel