BIRDS mV NATURE. 



ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY. 



Vol. XV. FEBRUARY, 1904. No. 2 



AMONG THE TREES, 



Oh ye who love to overhang the springs, 



And stand by running waters ; ye whose boughs 



Make beautiful the rocks o'er which they play, 



Who pile with foliage the great hills, and rear 



A paradise upon the lonely plain, 



Trees of the forest, and the open field ! 



Have ye no sense of being? Does the air, 



The pure air, which I breathe with gladness, pass 



In gushes o'er your delicate lungs, your leaves. 



All unen joyed? When on your winter's sleep 



The sun shines warm, have ye no dreams of spring ? 



And when the glorious spring-time comes at last. 



Have ye no joy of all your bursting buds. 



And fragrant blooms, and melody of birds 



To which your young leaves shiver ? Do ye strive 



And wrestle with the wind, yet know it not ? 



Feel ye no glory in your strength when he. 



The exhausted blusterer, flies beyond the hills. 



And leaves you stronger yet? Or have ye not 



A sense of loss when he has stripped your leaves. 



Yet tender, and has splintered your fair boughs ? 



Does the loud bolt that smites you from the cloud 



And rends you, fall unfelt? Do there not run 



Strange shudderings through your fibers when the axe 



Is raised against you, and the shining blade 



Deals blow on blow, until, with all their boughs, 



Your summits waver and ye fall to earth ? 



Know ye no sadness when the hurricane 



Has swept the wood and snapped its sturdy stems 



Asunder, or has wrenched, from out the soil, 



The mightiest with their circles of strong roots. 



And piled the ruin all along his path? 



— William Cullen Bryant^ "Among the Trees. 



