Meigs County telegraph. [volume] (Pomeroy [Ohio]) 1848-1859, 1859-05-24
Spring Birds and Spring
Thoughts.

world are emblems Of the ideas and emo
tions of the soul While the mere aspect
of nature delights the disciples of this phi
losophy, they read divine beauty and
significance in every feature. TO them
truly the stones preach. and the running
brooks are full of precious lore. Each
smallest flower has for them a language
more pure and heavenly than the East
ever dreamed, and even the nexious weeds
are eloquent of Him who permits evil that
love may exist. The pensive trees lifting
their great arms in yoiceless orisons are
not mute to them; the little wind that
shakes the water-lily, and the storms that
;c-,"by their spur. pluck up
The pine aud CEDAR"
breath alike to each heart their kindred to
its own gentle affections and unbridled
passions.
1t is by earnest study that the many
arrive at the comprehension of these
things; but the poet, who is wiser than all
The learned, knows them by intuition. : He
lives in this emblem world, and uses
words according to their interior meaning.
The children are at play, and his own
child-like heart unspoiled by success, and
unwarped by failure, goes out in loving
greeting to them, and he cries to them
''Your houg hts are singing swallows
Where the brooks of morning ram"
What need Of teachings to him on
whose heart all august, and beautiful and
eternal truths are written ? What need
of books to tell him that the earthly sym
b5ls of thoughts were birds?
1t made the morning walk pleasanter to
think of this. The grass was growing
green in all the yards; the soft naples with
their crimson flowers were haunted by
innumerable bees, that made an instant's
drowsy music in the ear as you passed;
the lilac was unsheathing its sharp but
tender leaves; and the rosetrees were
hiding their purple limbs in vivid verdure.
All the air was full OF the songs of birds.
The robin had not yet ended his matin;
the black birds alighted upon the tallest
trees, and chirruped, and made merry
in the black bird fashion; and the blue
bird flew from bough to bough, and
swelleG his little throat with incessant
lays of love, none Of them more than eight
sylfables long. and seemingly all of the
same purport. (Alas that there is no
learning to translate the song of birds,
and give us in English verse their sweet
plants and dainty madrigals') }
The air was fresh and mild, the morn.
ing sun shone with that golden light that
it used to have long ago; and it was pleas
ant to put the poets words to the music
of ones own farcies, and to chant with
- .GSiIou, c,nn1' the baontil,l 1inaS
''Your thoughts are singing swallows
Where the brooks of morning ruu.''
After a while the swallows will be
building mud-nests, and then comes care
and grief AS yet, however, they are free
to career and sing in the spring time of
the soul, and the beautiful childhood of
the year. Do you see how the notion
possesses one? 1t is hard to separate the
birds and the thoughts when you once
have them together; and ones own ideas
become garrulous bob-o-links and would
be flying about the meadows of June,
when they should be r'ef-songed blue
birds, exulling in the April sun.
When the long absent birds return, and
fiji the desoate places with their JOY of
life, there are lew hearts in which the
thoughts do not carol back to them In
the heart of youth, The thoughts of hope
are blithe; and in the heart Of age, the
thoughts of memory make music, and lift
it upon their bright wings and bring it
aga,n to the brooks Of morning, where no
autumn leaves crimson the silver water,
and the sun ines forever through caress-
ing boughs that stood to clasp and kiss
the dancing rpples.
Longfellow, in his "Kavanagh," calls
the awakening of the earth from her long
winter dream of frost and snow, the mira
Gle of spring. In the same sense, all the
changes of nature are miracles; the pass
ing day and coming night, the wonder Of
light, the marvel of darkness, and the
succession of the seasons in their order
But most in this time Of softenng air,
yreen-growing grass, unfolding leaves,
and singing birds, the hand of the miracle
worker is visible. 1t is wonderful to see
he hard bcughs, that but n)w looked
grim and lifeless as the members of a
skeleton, clothing themselves i'll tender
foliage; and the fields that yesterday were
gray yellow, and saddened with the tears
If February, now vividly bright with
quick verdure.
1t is not alone in nature that this world
old, ever-new miracle Is wrought. Now,
90, the Immortal seems to have its spring,
and puts on its April robes, and opens its
leaves to the warmth of the sun which
iypifes the divine love in heaven; and the
good and pure thoughts, that were hid
away in the dark clelts, or may be, some
autumn long ago, took flight for SUMMER
elimes. appear once more, flying back like
The spring birds. to their old abode, where
hey sang of yore.
The birds and the thoughts againl You
cannot keep them apart. They are just
alike. Only the thoughts live always
Alasl that our thoughts should not sing
always, even when the fervid August
drinks dry the brooks OF morning. Or De-
cember stays their running with links of
ice.-O. S. journal. I
R-HsTf any raapla -, tba ,yor11 aya,