The Cecil Whig., 1853-05-14
For The Cecil H'hig.
Scenes Here and There.
No. l..
THE SPA SPRING.

there are few lUvelier spots in al this coun-
try than the wild banks of the stream into
which the Spa" hows-banks which, even at
tins day OF utility, retain their wild simplicity
and aie rich IN the uncullIvated, unadorned
charms OF woodland scenery. No churlIsh pl0w-
share has ever marred the velvet Of the old
messy green-sward, or disturbed the tall fern
that waves It's graceful plumes in every shelter
ed dingle-no axe has ever raZcd the gnarled
and knotty bark ollhe huge trees, time honored
lmncmorla! Tilans which, scattered ..hc,e and
there" in isolated grandeur, lift 1Lcir lightning
riven heads far alott, above the dark green
foliage which surrounds them; strange living
monuments of byeeone gencrations-mute
teachers oi mans mu,ability and vanity arc these
oakS-sefe and blasted. Ages these monarchs
have stood; generation after generation has
passed away, yet there they have lived in all
their sublnIty and grandeur unaltered but not
unscalhcd. Beneath their shadow the Indian
hunter has lain himself down to rest, secure
and safe with no canopy but their follage--no
covering but his hunin g-oarmenl- under their
WIde-Sprcadng bou2hS the pilgrims from an
other land. weary, way-worn. rested from their
tIrcsomc journey. BY them the heroes of
''darIi and bloody hour passed in their march
to victory, freedom and glory. Perchance lhev
stood long before the "chil lren OF the SUM- Wis
tied the western world; we know that they
stood in these chidrens' day of darkness and
there they stand now, old indeed, but still erect
as IN their prlme-and there they shall stand
years, long years after the grass has grown
green over the bones Of us and our children,
who muraIize a moment before we go hence.
For not an American hand, warmed by an Amer
lean heart would desecrate one bough of those
hoary patrarchs,
"Who like the race of giants sp e,d
Their thrifty arms along the indenled mead"
There are few !ovelier spots than the nooh
wherein the ''Spa' bubbcs-where the clus-
lellng lilies bloom, and the cGlantne brealhcs
its perfumes. Here no sign of human habia-
tlon meets your eye ''but one wilderness woods
and 'an ocean of verdure.' Embowered mid
the veriant iyy-shadcd by the overhang ing
rock and the thick inter woven branches of trees
you feel at once the loneliness and loveliness of
solitude, and the genius loci of the place in
spires tho heart with a feeling akin to love.
The streamIct, leaving its course and wan
derlng through vcrdant slopes and myriads of
flowers. flows gently by. The rude bridge,
formed of the unpruned boughs of the forest
stands below in a ''deep and quiet valley and
the brook flowing through it, winds in and
out through the green meadows that fringe its
is lost in the heart Of this sylvan solitude. That
rivulel that little hlIock are as it were barriers
OF a thousand years. HGre we are amid the
artificial wants and luXurles of Unitarian age
and the rvulet flows on. Here we arere ten
centuries ago in a dark and benlghed age with
no comforts and but little knowledge, and the
rivule;, flows there as joyously, as tree as ever.
While all has changed all passed away and
came anew, there is no vestage Of improvement
here. The squirrel rasp ps his acorn on the same
limb. The green wood-pecker sends forth the
same wild laugh as he fits from oak to oak,
and the sun pours the same rich light on the
green messy sward that it did centuries ago.
The same dew-drops CLEAN in the grass, and
the same carols echoe in the boushs that did in
ancient time, all is unchanged, all is grandeur
imnuIabla, memorable.
| am no romancer, or dreamer, rot when
gaze on the relics Of antiquity con-
template the works Of byeeoae ages my soul Is
filled with a holier power, and a new born light
springs up in my heart, shedding It's rays through
out my frame, and ascends with grateful in
cense TO the Creator of the Universe who asl-
Toned all thIn9S-whO holdeh the waters IN his
hand, who is the bright and the morning star,
tue "A pha and the Omega" OF nature.
Such are my waking dreams, such are my
living romances. The Spa-Spring is an CASTS
in this desert waste Of improvement aud utility
"a well.spring of life truly, unto the poetic
soul, and furnishes fitting theme for a pen
more powerful than that Of the author ofs.IIere
and There'''