Heralds of the Spring. 35 



autumn leaves, still glorious in their ruin, where, not 

 yet hidden in the green tide that ere long will rise 

 among the trees, lie broken boughs torn away by the 

 winds of winter from the great roof overhead, and 

 now wrapped about by the soft grey-green of delicate 

 lichens, like rare growths of coral, whose exquisite 

 touch renders the fallen monarch of the forest still 

 more beautiful in death. 



Now a sudden gleam of sunshine, breaking through 

 the clouds that bar the saffron sky, brightens the grass 

 that skirts the wood. Now it lingers on the stems 

 of the great oaks that but a moment since stood 

 cold, and bare, and sullen. It leaves them glowing 

 with its soft caress, catches a hundred points of 

 scattered light on polished beech-bark and on shining 

 ivy-leaf, and transfigures all the woodland with its 

 glory. 



And then, in the corner at the foot of the slope 

 where the wild branches of the clustering elms make 

 ever a half-twilight under the brightest noon ; where 

 wandering sprays of briar and tangled trails of wood- 

 bine canopy the way the chief of singers answers to 

 the call. 



High up in the branches of the beech, that among 

 the ranks of elm-trees stands alone, its dry leaves 

 reddening all the woodland round, the thrush is 

 sitting, a mere dark speck against the glowing west. 

 But from his swelling throat there falls such a flood 

 of music, stealing up the slope, reaching far among 



3—2 



