PROMISE 87 



enter into the portals of their being ; they sympathise 

 with the nature hid in me. For their guardian spirits 

 they have dear, sunny hamadryads, that were born 

 with them, and that with them will die. I watch the 

 feeble giant mourning his last wreath of bloom and 

 waiting next winter's knife to make an end ; I see 

 the pride of a glad sapling for the first time crowned 

 with garlands of flowers ; their joys and sorrows are 

 not hid from me any more. 



At this moment there wandered through the 

 orchard a girl a girl with grey eyes and red lips 

 and budding shape. Her sun-bonnet was pale as 

 the petals that clustered above it ; her light form 

 scarcely bruised the grass as she tripped among the 

 trees, and the sun flashed upon her white apron. 

 This young daughter of the Spring approached me 

 where I sat, and bade me welcome, and laughed 

 pleasantly to see me awaken as from the deepest 

 abstractions at her voice. Her laugh was dulcet, 

 and so low that it mingled musically with the hum 

 of the bees above us. 



" Braave blooth," she said ; " I do love this time o' 

 the year best, for 'tis all life an' no death all promise 

 of good apples come the Autumn." 



Thus was the thought of promise in her mind also. 

 A caterpillar on a glimmering thread swayed between 

 us ; I saw death in his strange shape, and knew of the 

 battle under every leaf, the greedy unborn legions 

 waiting to burst forth that they might devour the 

 foliage, burrow in the fruit and gain their purpose 



