Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, 1852-03-25
From Dream Life, by Ike Marvel.
~ n ~

Dawn of Spring.
| love TO trace the break of Spring step by
step; love even those long rains storms that
sap the icy fortresses of the lingering Winter
that melt the SHOWS upon the hills, and swell
the mountains brooks; that make the pools
heave up their CLASSY cerements of ice and hur-
ry down the crashing fragments into the wastes
of ocean.
love the gentle thaws that you can trace day
by day, by the stained snow banks shrinking
from the grass and by the gentle drip of the
cottage caves. love to search out the sunny
slopes by the southern wall, where the reflect
ed sun does double duty on the earth, and
where the fral anemone or the faint blush of
the arbutus, in the midst of the bleak March
of heaven in a field of graves Later comes
those soft smoky days, when the patches of
winter grain show green under the shelter of
leafless woods, and the last snow-drfts re-
duced to shrunken skeletons of ice, lie upon
the slope of northern hills, leaking away their
life.
Then, the grass at your door grows into the
color of your sprouting grain, and the buds up
on the lilacs swell and burst The peaches
bloom upon the wall, and the plums wear bod
dices Of white. The sparkling oriole picks
strings for his hammock on the sycamore and
the sparrows twit in pairs. The old elms throw
down their dingy flowers, and color their spray
with green; and the brooks where you throw
your worm or minnow, float down whole fleets
of the crimson blossoms of the maple. Final
y, the oaks step into the opening quadrile of
spring, with grayish tufts of modest verdure,
which, by and by, will be long and glossy
leaves. The dogwood pitches his broad,
white tent, in the edge Of the forest; the dan
deions lie along the hilocks, like stars in a
sky Of green and the wild cherry growing in
all the hedge-rows, without other culture than
Gods, lift up TO him, thankfully, its tremu-
Ious white fingers.
Amid all this comes the rich rains Of spring.
The affections of a boy grow up with tears to
water them; and the year blooms with flow-
ers. But the clouds hover over an April sky
limidly-like shadows upon innocence. The
showers come gently, and drop dnintly to the
earlh-wth now and then glimpse of SUM-
light to make the drops bright-like SO ma
ny tears ofjoy.
The rain of winter is cold, and it comes in
bitter scuds that blind you; but the rain Of
April steals upon you coyly, half reluctantly,
yet lovingly-like the steps of bride TO
the altar.
1t does not gather like The storm clouds of
Winter, grey and heavy along the horizon,
and creep with subtle and insensibIe ap-
proaches (ike age) to the very zenith; but
there are a score of white-winged swimmers
afloat, that your eye has chased as you lay
farigued with the delicious languor of an
April sun nor have you noticed that little
bevy of those floating clouds had grouped to-
gether in sombre company. But present.
ly, you see across the fields, the dark grey
streaks stretching like lines of mists, from the
green bosom of the valley to that spot of sky
where the company Of clouds is lettering =
and with an easy shifting of the helm the
fleet Of swimmers come drifting over you,
and drop their burden into the dancing pools,
and make the flowers gls,en, and the caves
drip with their crystal bounty.
The cattle linger still, cropping the new
come grass and childhood laughs joyously
at the warm rain; or under the cottage roof,
catehes with eager ear, the patter Of its fall.