Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1880-05-13
A sprine Dsy...A New England IdyI.

A Spring Day...A New England Idyl.
Up, friendl leave your law case, your
sermon, your accounts, and come out for
an hour into this delicious day. bracing
as winter and sweet as spring. The new
life of the year is stirring in the trees
whose tops begin to redden, and in the
brown pastures where watcbful eyes can
| already see the green. The joy Of the
season is singing in a million bluebirds'
and robins throats, the cocks crow gaily,
| the cav of the big black crow Tapping
overhead with ragged wing has CHEEKY
tone. All living creatures feel the Jingle
and throb Of the great tide of life that
| sweeps in with the returning sun. See
yonder two dogs, how they frolic, how
| they crouch and wheel and charge and
roll each other over and pretend to bite.
"Pure mongrels," both of them, and as
happy as If they were the most aristocratic
Irish settlers! See near by the tree full of
| flowers that have lasted the winter
through. That is tulip-tree, holding
up its thousand delicate ghostly cups. Its
grand trunk rises strai ght and uHbroken
full thirty feet, then branches in symme-
try, and holds up as if to catch the sun
lets.n And here is an oak that has not
yet let go its grip on last years dead
leaves. How sharply the snow ratified on
them! as if clashing on the iron which
naturalists say the sturdy tree holds in
its blood. Whoever sees these last oak
leaves fall? And who knows where this
dry, dead grass vanishes when the green
blades fill all its room? Look at the
horse-chestnut; already its buds are
shiny. 1t must wait a good while before
their "leetle hands unfold. Softer n a
boys be at three days DID," OF course
it is Lowell who says that-the laureate,
some of us think him, of this blessed old
Yankee land. Who else has sung of its
heroes as he has done in the Commence
ration Ode; what other can match the
rustic flavor of The Courtin'; and who is
in closer sympathy with all the ins and
outs of nature in her New England dress?
Truly can he say of himself that he
." loves her IS though she was a woman"
Sharp whistles the wind to-day, but it
is the breath of life that it breathes into
us. 1t comes down from yonder hills
where the snow is shining vet Grandly
on the horizon lies Mount Tom, like q
crouching lion, guardian over the fair
valley. Where the mountain line breaks,
between him and his twin sentinel, Hol-
yoke, we know that the broad Connecti-
cut sweeps past observation-disclosures
came that queer old name? The glori-
Gus riyer-what an unfailing Joy it is to
the eye as it curves and winds on its leis-
urely, steadfast course to the sea. There
at our feet is another river, little brook
flowing in clear stream over the road
side sand, born of the last shower and
living till the sun drinks it up. And be-
side It are half a dozen happy boys, pad
ding with their bare feet, making mud
dams, scraping new channels and short
cuts for the stream. Have you forgotten
what fun that was when you were boyp
And here we come to that gem of
scenery, Mill river, between Blake's
woods and Ames hill. How black is its
still water, how smooth as a steel mirror;
what perfect pictures it gives back of its
woody and snow-touched banks. The
woods above are solemn as that grandest
work of man, an old-world cathedral,
and free as only the Lords own works
are free with the music of the wind in the
great pine tops; the tender, infinite sky
revealing itself through their tracery;
the columnar trunks swaying now like
a ships masts. How at evening the
setting sun glows between their black
shafts; how ethereal the light that then
fills the spaces of the wood: how the stars
look down through the branches in the
living stiffness of the night. A few steps,
and below up in the hollow lies the city;
all its cOmmonplaceness charmed away,
the vulgar noises of the streets blended in
a low mlirmur. Not one human life moves
in those streets. commonplace and vulgar
though il may seem, but has its own charm
and beauty, if we could find the right view
point, or if our sight went deep enough.
Now we turn toward the Wilbraham
hills, over which all day long the sun
and clouds paint marvellous pictures.
Across plowed field darts i'm swift zigzag
a CLEAN of blue; then perched on fence
rails sends thrilling song. The blue
bird is the true voice of early spring, as
is the bobolink of later spring. Bob |
olinks and apple-blossoms come together |
in the prodigal time of May. Our North |
ern spring is the most arrant of coquettes |
the most delicious in allurement, the !
swiftest in retreat. One day she seems /
to pour her whole heart out to us, and we |
think she is ours once and for all; next |
day she pelts us with sleet; bullets, freezes
nay. she is gone. and we never
shall see her again; it is the sourest |
shrew in the whole sisterhood of the |
wear that has come in her stead! But |
the true lover thinks not so. He knows |
her woman's heart--coying it little, !
holding back her treasure till she sees If |
her worshiper be faithful-top pour it out
all unstinted at the last, when Mays per-
feet bridal day shall usher in the full and |
fruitful marriage blessing of the year.
Springfield Mass. Republican.