Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1879-10-01
For the Vermont watchma
Legend OF the MOss-rOse.

Skirting the dusty highway and stretch
ing far back from its noisy hustle, under
meath the eastern sky, stood lordly forest
Strong in the strength of its towering and
sturdy trees beautiful with the clinging
vines of ivy aud trumpet-flower, aud rich in
the glistening verdure, its equal is not now
seen. The branches were so intertwined
and the foliage so dense that underneath the
overarching blue seemed spread lesser
canopy of green. Here was the especial
home of the birds, and sweet were the morn
ing and evening madrigals of the tiny
warblers. One single, singing brook fresh
ened all with its cooling touch, and as it
gurgled over the stones again and again did
it seem to say, to the sea, TO the sea :"
while in gentlest tones from the leafy grottos
came the reply, "by-and.by, by-and.by."
Closely carpeted was all the ground with
the softest of mosses-moss which nestled
lovingly around the base of each stately
monarch and then crept away down to the
very edge OF the pearly water. Such beauty
and restgiving lovelness were not passed
unheedingly by. Little children from the
near villages wandered fearlessly down the
long arcades, or strove in vain TO imprison
the Pickering sunlight. The charm of poetry
or romance was here increased, while, in this
very center of all that could satisfy ear or
eye, the heart of the weariest thinker was
conscious that the burden he bore lost some
what of its weight, perhaps hoated away on
the perfume-laden air to the bosom of the
sailing, heecy clouds. Men wondered at
the size of the overarching trees, and in the
clear water the children laughed at the image
of their own dimpled faces. Maidens car
ried away clusters of the scarlet beauty
mingled with the glossy leaves of the ivy.
But all too unnoticed was the little lowly
moss. Sometimes, as deep in the velvety
richness sank the dusty feet, the shy com
forter longed for some word of appreciation,
though never complaint was heard. If
tear-drops did glisten on the tufted turf
when some new exclamation of surprise es-
capped the passing visitor, still failing, as
ever, to look down, the brook never guessed
their cause. Days glided by how many
know not. Twas midsummer, and over
forest and village spread the bluest of blue
skies. Almost sitting seemed the air to the
flushed cheek of weary traveller. With sad
but patient face and bowed head he passes
from the village streets, and the wondering
people whisper: "'Tis none other than the
Christ of Nazareth" Seeking rest from the
eager questioners, he delays not in his course
of Olivet. Travelstained and almost faint
ing with physical WEAKNESS, the cool shades
of the forest WOO him to their embrace.
With dusty sandals removed, ia the soft
moss near the brook he presses his burning
feet. Sweet is the soothing caress returned,
and anon the same messy turf pillows his
throbbing head. Cheerily the birds sing on,
but even their joyous carol is unheeded.
Twilight fingers in the sky. One by one
the sounds in earth and air are hushed, but
not till innumerable stars welcome each
other does the slumberer awaken. Greatly
refreshed, and conscious only of the stiffness
and the loving touch of the velvety moss, he
resumes his journey The morning dawns
as other mornings have dawned; but 10
wherever has pressed the foot of the Son OF
Man hangs pendent lovely bud. As the
breeze lifts the dropping flowers, deepin each
calyx glistens diamond drop of dew. | do
not know, perhaps the trees bent down with
wondering looks and it may be that the
brook kissed more eagerly the rosy petals.
At any rate the moss bloomed on and IN
our homes to-day is repeated this lovely
legend, while from our garden beds each
summer waits the lesson it would teach.