The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1891-04-15
One May Day.

OF all the festive days of my girl
hood, l recall none with greater pleas
ure, or sweeter memories, than those
of the first days of May. Ever after
the first, soft, grey little pussies climbed
up on the willows, we waited for May
Day with eager impotence, and greeted
it with hilarious joy, for then nothing
but extremely bad weather kept us
from the woods, when we were almost
sure of finding spring beauties and
hepatacas, of deliciously fresh and
woodsy fragrance. If Mother Nature
had been sunny and genial, we found
trilliums, and dogtooth violets, with
lovely spotted green leaves, and pos
sibly Dutchmari's breeches " were
hung out and were greeted with
screams of delight. "Spring's darling"
as Amanda B. Harris calls the arbutus,
grew too far away for our childish feet
to reach, but the parties of young peo-
pie who belonged to an older set and
were able to reach them were privi-
legged set indeed and subjects of our
envy. All mel l never thought they
could carry hearts tormented with bit
terness and jealousies that even the
beauty and fragrance of trailing ar
butus could not cast out.
May-day instincts-of being out of
doors-do not always leave us with our
youth, thank heaven, and as May 1,
1890, was as lovely day as ever dropped
from the skies, gladly accepted the
invitation of friend to visit that
noted " city of the dead" and garden
of flowers, known as Mt. Auburn ceme-
terry, in Cambridge, Mass. Of course
we sought and found Longfellow's
grave. II was not conspicuous in any
way. The stone is plain in style
and in keeping with the unosten-
tatious life of the grand old poet. On
the side next the path is inscribed in
large letters, " Longfellow." On the
opposite side, Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow. Born 9th February 1907.
Died oath March 1882" At the head
OF the grave is ingeniously inscribed a
Latin monogram, the words Re1, Lea
DuT, and LuT, the letter being used
only once, in the center, the other two
letters in the four words branching out
from it. From the very heart of his
grave we picked few blades of grass,
devoutly believing they had received
nourishment from the great poet him
self.
Not far from his grave was that of
Rebecca Lowell, sister of another of
our loved poets, James Russell Lowell,
whom the headstone tells us was an
unselfish, self-sacrifcing friend"
On another stone near by was this:
" The torch is out; rest here and stray
no farther" We rested long here in
the dreamy sunshine, enjoying the
scene before us, which was indeed
vision of beauty There were beds of
English daisies in deep reds and deli
cate pinks, and polyanthus in all
shades, from yellowish red to straw
color. Yellow and white English prim-
roses and pansies in such royal colors
smiled upon you everywhere. 1t was
early for poisoning shrubs, except
the forsythia, which puts forth its nu-
merous yellow flowers before the leaves
come out.
Mt. Auburn is not the home of the
dead only, for gray squirrels, sleek and
fat, were running over grass and snip
ping flowers now and then with
freedom we coveted, stopping mo-
ment to gaze at us and then off again,
chasing each other up the trees, and
jumping from limb to limb with all the
alertness of their wild-woods country
bred relations. On the many ponds,
were ducks and geese sailing about in
the clear water, and here, too, the
frogs peeped and chanted in drowsy,
contented tranquility, and over all, the
warm, dreamy My sunshine fell like
a Denedlctlon or peace. A perfect
type of Longfellow's "Day of Sun
shine " this May day was:
"Oh gift of God o perfect day:
whereon shall no man work, but play,
Wherein it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to bel
Through every fiber OF my brain,
Through every nerve, through every vein,
1 feel the electric thrill, the touch
OF life, that seems almost too much"
For bracing up the nerves, purifying
the blood and curing sick headache and