The Council Bluffs nonpareil. [volume] (Council Bluffs [Iowa]) 1857-1867, 1859-05-14
SPRING BIRDS AND SPRING THouGnT~

SPRING BIRDS AND SPRING THOUGHTS:
1t is the precept Of certain beautiful
philosophy that all things in the natural
world are emblems Of the ideas and emotions
Of TIE soul. While the mere aspec, Of ma
ture delights the disciples of this philosophy,
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 language more pure and heavenly
than the East ever dreamed, and even the
nox!ous weeds are eloquent Of Him who per-
mits evil that love may exist. The pensive
trees lifting their great arms in voiceless ORR
sons are not mute to them; the little wind
that shakes the waterlily, and the storms
that
--'by their spurs pluck up
Tie pine and CEDAR"
breathe alike to each heart their kindred to
Its own gentle affections and uubriu!ri pas
siOns.
1t IS by earnest study that the many arrive
at the comprehension of these things but
the poet, who 10 wilson sh"n oil the lo... uvL,
knows them by intuition. He lives in this
emblematic world, and uses words according
to their interior meaning. The children are
play, and his own child like heart uspoiled
by success, and unwarped by failure, goes
out in loving greeting to them, and he cries
I. them
Your thoughts are singing swallows
Where tue brooks of morning. run"
What heed of teachings to him on whcse
heart all august, and beautiful and eternal
truths are written? What nerd Of books to
tell him that the certify symbols 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 We're haunted by innumera-
bic bees, that made an instant's drowsy mu-
sic IN the ear rs you passed the lilac was
unsheathing its sharp but tender leaves and
the rose-1rees were hiding their purple limbs
in vivid verdure. All the air was full of the
songs of birds. The robin had not vet end
ed his matin =; the black birds aliehted upon
the tallest trees, and chirruped, and made
merry in the black bird fashion: and the
blue bird flew from bough to bough, and
swcled his little throat with incessant lays
OF love, none of them more than eight svlla-
bles long, and seemingly all of the same
purport. ALAS ! that there is no learning to
translate~the songs of birds, and give US in
English verse their sweet plants and dainty
madrigals!
The air was fresh and mild. the morning
sun shone with that golden light that it used
to have long ago. and it was pleasant to put
the poets words to the music of ones own
fancies, and to chaunt with Silent song the
beautiful lines
"Your thoughts are singing swallows
Where The brooks Of morning run
After while the swallows will be build
ing rud-ncsts, and then comes cares and
grief. As yet, b" vever, they are free to
career and sing in the spring time of the
soul, and the beautiful childhood of the wear.
DO you see how the notion possesses one p
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 tying about the mead
ows of June, when they should be brief
songed blue birds, exuIting in the April
sun.
When the long absent birds return. and
fill the desolate places with their 10y Of life,
there are few hearts in which the jthoughts
do not carol back to them. In the heart of
youth, the thoughts of hope are bl;the and
IN the heart of age, the thoughts Of memory
make music, and lift it upon their bright
wings and bring it again to the brooks Of
morning, where no autumn leaves crimson
the silver water, and the sun shines forever
through careSsins boughs that stoop to clasp
aid kiss the dancing ripplcs.
Longfel!ow, in his "knvanagh." calls the
awakenlng Of the earth from her long win
ter dream or tlost and snow. the miracle Of
spring. 1t the same sense. all the chances
OF nature are miracles: the passing dav and
coming night, the wonder of light, the mar
vel OF darkness, and the succession Of the
seasons IN their order. But most in this
time of soften!ng air. green growing grass.
unfolding leaves, and singing birds, the hand
of the miracle worker is visible. 1t iswon-
derful to see the hard bou.hs, that but now
looked grim and lifelcsS rs the members Of
a skeleton, clothing themselves in tender
foliage: and the fields that Yesterday were
gray-yc!low, and saddeued with the tears of
February, now vividly bright with quick
verdurc.
1t is not alone in nature this world old, =,
evcr-new miracle Is wrought. Now. too.
the immortal seems to have its snrinc, and
puts on its Apri! robes, and opens its leaves
to the warmth Of the sun which typiies the
divine love IN h'av n; and the good and
pure truthful thoughts, ;hat were hid awav
in the dark clefts. or may be, some autumn
long ago, took fight for SUMMER climes, ap-
pear once more, flying back like the spring
birds, to their old abodes, where they sang
Of vore.
The birds and tie thoughts again. You
cannot keep them apart. They are just alike.
Only the birds perish, and the thoughts live
always. Alas that our tho@ghts should not
sing always, even when the fcrvid August
drinks dry the brooks of morning, or de-
cembcr stays their running with links of ice.
- Ohio State Journal.