University of Virginia Library

1. BOOK THE SECOND.

1. CHAPTER I.
SPRING.

It was a sweet carol, which the Rhodian children
sang of old in Spring, bearing in their hands,
from door to door, a swallow, as herald of the
season;

A pretty carol, too, is that, which the Hungarian
boys, on the islands of the Danube, sing to the
returning stork in Spring;

But what child has a heart to sing in this capricious
clime of ours, where Spring comes sailing in
from the sea, with wet and heavy cloud-sails, and
the misty pennon of the East-wind nailed to the
mast! Yet even here, and in the stormy month
of March even, there are bright, warm mornings,
when we open our windows to inhale the balmy
air. The pigeons fly to and fro, and we hear the
whirring sound of wings. Old flies crawl out of
the cracks, to sun themselves; and think it is summer.
They die in their conceit; and so do our
hearts within us, when the cold sea-breath comes
from the eastern sea; and again,

The red-flowering maple is first in blossom, its
beautiful purple flowers unfolding a fortnight before
the leaves. The moose-wood follows, with
rose-colored buds and leaves; and the dog-wood,
robed in the white of its own pure blossoms. Then

comes the sudden rain-storm; and the birds fly to
and fro, and shriek. Where do they hide themselves
in such storms? at what firesides dry their
feathery cloaks? At the fireside of the great,
hospitable sun, to-morrow, not before;—they
must sit in wet garments until then.

In all climates Spring is beautiful. In the South
it is intoxicating, and sets a poet beside himself.
The birds begin to sing;—they utter a few rapturous
notes, and then wait for an answer in the silent
woods. Those green-coated musicians, the frogs,
make holiday in the neighbouring marshes. They,
too, belong to the orchestra of Nature; whose vast
theatre is again opened, though the doors have been
so long bolted with icicles, and the scenery hung
with snow and frost, like cobwebs. This is the
prelude, which announces the rising of the broad
green curtain. Already the grass shoots forth.
The waters leap with thrilling pulse through the
veins of the earth; the sap through the veins of the
plants and trees; and the blood through the veins
of man. What a thrill of delight in spring-time!

What a joy in being and moving! Men are at
work in gardens; and in the air there is an odor of
the fresh earth. The leaf-buds begin to swell
and blush. The white blossoms of the cherry
hang upon the boughs like snow-flakes; and
ere long our next-door neighbours will be completely
hidden from us by the dense green foliage.
The May-flowers open their soft blue eyes. Children
are let loose in the fields and gardens. They
hold butter-cups under each others' chins, to see
if they love butter. And the little girls adorn
themselves with chains and curls of dandelions;
pull out the yellow leaves to see if the schoolboy
loves them, and blow the down from the leafless
stalk, to find out if their mothers want them at
home.

And at night so cloudless and so still! Not a
voice of living thing,—not a whisper of leaf or
waving bough,—not a breath of wind,—not a
sound upon the earth nor in the air! And overhead
bends the blue sky, dewy and soft, and radiant
with innumerable stars, like the inverted bell

of some blue flower, sprinkled with golden dust,
and breathing fragrance. Or if the heavens are
overcast, it is no wild storm of wind and rain; but
clouds that melt and fall in showers. One does
not wish to sleep; but lies awake to hear the
pleasant sound of the dropping rain.

It was thus the Spring began in Heidelberg.