The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1903-08-29
Stand fast, rootl Bear well, topl

''Stand fast, root Bear well, topI
Pray God send us good bowling crop
Every twig, apples big;
Every bow. apples enow J.
This was called. ''wassailing the trees,
and was thought by some authorities to be
a survival of the heather sacrifices to
Pomona Herrick says:
'Wassal the trees and they will beare
You many plum and many a peare,
For more or less fruits they will bring
As you so give them wassailing.
Our American poets have been marvel
ously inspired by this common home fruit.
Bryant has immortalized it in his "Plant-
ing of the Apple Tree. Holland in
"Bitter Sweet tells of the great stores of
fruit in the cellar of the old farmhouse
Whittier paints vivid picture that we all
remember
And for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug Of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row.
End Oh, what pathos in this old sketch:
The old brown homestead stood apart,
From the wayside dust aoof,
The orchard trees could almost cast
Their fruitage on its roof.
The apple trees so near it grew
That, when asleep I've lain
In the lonesome night, could hear their leaves
As they tapped against the pane.
An unknown poet sings of
"The haunting dreams of sweet summer,
dead
Echoes of songs I cannot hear today,
Visions of orchards crowned with bridal bloom
Where apple blossoms scent the air of May.
Who can forget the pathetic story of
poor Marie Bashkirtsef, frail, decadent
child Of wild ancestry, how she longed to
paint an apple orchard in full bloom, to
leave behind as token that genius had
been on earth. She tells how they car
ried her to the spot, and she worked with
all her might, but she was weak, and cas-
liz tired 50 that long before she could copy
them the apple blossoms faded away, and
there was nothing left but the unfinished
picture, sad type of her own soon coming
decay and death But best and brightest
Of all apple memories is Orchard Lands
of Long Ago by James WhiteOmb Riley:
"Oh Memory alight and sing
Where rosy -bellied pippins cling,
AMI golden rlssets CLINT ANA CLEAN
A. in the old Arabian dream
The fruit of that enchanted tree
That glad Aladdin robbed for me
And drowsy winds awake, and fan
Nv heart as when it overran,
heart as ripe as the apples grow
Ia orchard lands Of long ago.
An apple orchard in the winter season
is a lonely scene The last echoes Of
Harvest Home have died away and
left silence unbroken save by few soh-
tary birds.
Not many weeks ago the orchard was a
glorious picture of red and gold and green
now sad brown shadow fingers in the
fallen leaves.
\ few months of silence and loneliness
and decay, when 10, transformation !
The buds swell and open, the flush of
new birth steals gently over the gray cheek
Of winter death.
Aud then we see anew the mystery Of
the Resurrection, the Easter of the apple
tree Myriads of rosy blossoms cover the
limbs, until the whole orchard lies hidden
beneath a veil of beauty. Who can ever
forget the sight of an apple orchard in full
bloom? Memories Of childhood and happy
DAYS and heart-free mirth linger about the
spot. | see \ dark-eyed mother gayly
lifting her baby boy TO watch the father
plant a June apple tree in honor of its
birth
And again. see the dark eyed mother
As she hes with folded hands beneath
wreaths Of apple blossoms plucked from
that same tree to deck her last quiet rest
ing place.
That heart must be callous one that
does not feel thrill when touched by such
memories. The fragrance of an apple bios
som will sometimes bring back scenes of
other DAYS, when life seemed one long
play -time-memories as pure and sweet as
the blossoms that come every spring, year
after year. in the old orchard.
Into our lives may come the autumn,
nay, the black winter of old age, but while
God gives Us great stores of the kindly
fruit we may keep forever within our
hearts the fresh bloom Of May, the blue
skies of June, and the glorious golden
memories Of life harvest time.