The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1869-09-03
Sounds of Trees.
pr HENRY WAND pxrcurn.

shall have comely form rs q WHOLE
that II cast dense shade in the sultry
days Of summer, and that perhaps it yield
nut or fruit-and finally that when 1t
gives up its life to the inevitable ax. Its
PROSTATE trunk shall furnish good timber
Besides these uses Of bodily comfort and
-of economy, tree, like q rich-hearted
person. has q hundred nameless ways
which we hardly stop to analyze. but
which, II they were suddenly taken away,
we should miss.
The murmuring Of trees is profoundly
affecting to n sensitive spirit. In some
moods Of Imagination, one cannot help
feeling that trees have low song, or
conversation of leaves. They whisper,
or speak or cry out, and even roar. No
one knows this last quality 50 well rs
those who have been in old Oak-forests in
a storm with violent wind. A dense for
est opposes such resistance to the free
passage of the mir. that the sound Is much
dcadened. But in q yark or oak opening,
where spaces arc left for the motion OF tho
air, and amopg opcn-branched trees,
storm moves with such power and mnjes-
ty. that not even the battles Of thunder
clouds are more sublime, and under GER
tain circumstances 1t becomes terrific. At
the beginning Of tempest, the trees sway
and toss rs If seeking to escape; as the
violence increases, the branches bounce
back, the leaves, turning their white I'M
dcrsides to the light, fairly scream. The
huge boughs creak and strain like q ship
in storm. Now and then some branches
which have grown across each other, are
drawn back and forth, rs If demons were
scr,ping Internal baSs-viols. Occasionally
branch breaks with wild crash, or
some infrm tree, caught unawares In n
huge puff of tho storm, goes down with
crashing as 1t falls, and with thunder
stroke when It reaches the ground. i
would 60 further to hear storm-concert in
an old forest than any music that man ever
made. No one who Is familiar with for
est sounds but is sure, when he hears Bee
thovens music, that much of 1t was in
,pircd by the sounds Of winds among
trees.
There are milder joys, however. in tree
converse. Only this morning l awakened
to hear 1t rain. That steady plash of
drops which northeast wind brings on,
is not easily mistaken; / flatter myself
that my ear is too well trained to all the
ordinary sounds Of nature to be easily de-
ceivcd! rise and throw back the blinds,
when 10! not drop is falling. 1t is the
wind in my maple trees. had thought
of that. and listened with the most dis
eliminating attention, and was sure 1t was
rain!
Twice in our lives we lived In houses
built on the edge of the original forests.
These had been thinned out and recesses
opened up. 1t happened in both cases
that an ash and hickory had been left,
which shot up, without side branches to a
great height. The trunks were supple
and tough. Whenever the winds moved
gently. these long and 1.-the trees moved
with singular grace and beauty. As there
was no pcrceptible wind along the ground
their movements seemed voluntary. And
vet there was in It that kind of irrcsolu-
ton which one sees in slecp-walking. But
rs soon rs the breath became breeze, the
wide circles through which these rooted
gymnasts moved was wonderful. They
seemed going forth in every direction and
vet surely and quickly springing back TO
position again. And in every motion,
such was their elasticity, they manifested
the utmost grace. The signing of winds
in pine forest has no parallel sound. cx-
cept upon the sea-shorc. or all sounds
of leaves, it Is the sweetest and saddest, to
certain moods of summer leisure.
The pine sings, like the poet, with no
every day voice, but in u tone apart from
all common sounds. 1t has the power to
change the associations, and to quicken
the poetic sensibility, rs no other singing
tree can do. Every one should have this
old harper, like seer or n priest among
trees. about his dwelling. Under an old
pine would naturally be found the young
maiden whose new lover is far across the
seas. In the sounds that would descend,
she could not fail to hear the voices of the
sea- the roar of winds, the plash of
waves running in upon the shore. The
young mother. whose first-born had re-
turned to God who gave 1t, would. at twi-
light. 90 TO the pines; for to her ear the
whole air must needs seem full of spirit
voices. They would sing to her thoughts
In Just such sad strains rs soothc sorrow.
Nor would II be strange II. In the rise
and fall of these sylvan syllablcs, she
should imagine that she heard her babe
again, calling to her from the mir.
Every country place should have that
very coquette among the trees, the aspen.
1t seems never to sleep, Its twinkling
fingers are playing in the air at some arch
fantasy almost without pause. If you sit
at a window with book, 1t will wink and