256 OUR NATIONAL PARKS 



In the spring, after all the avalanches are 

 down and the snow is melting fast, it is glorious 

 to hear the streams sing out on the mountains. 

 Every fountain swelling, countless rills hurry 

 together to the rivers at the call of the sun, — 

 beginning to run and sing soon after sunrise, in- 

 creasing until toward sundown, then gradually 

 failing through the cold frosty hours of the 

 night. Thus the volume of the upper rivers, 

 even in flood time, is nearly doubled during the 

 day, rising and falling as regularly as the tides 

 of the sea. At the height of flood, in the warm- 

 est June weather, they seem fairly to shout for 

 joy, and clash their upleaping waters together 

 like clapping of hands ; racing down the canons 

 with white manes flying in glorious exuberance 

 of strength, compelling huge sleeping boulders 

 to wake up and join in the dance and song to 

 swell their chorus. 



Then the plants also are in flood ; the hidden 

 sap singing into leaf and flower, responding as 

 faithfully to the call of the sun as the streams 

 from the snow, gathering along the outspread 

 roots like rills in their channels on the moun- 

 tains, rushing up the stems of herb and tree, 

 swirling in their myriad cells like streams in pot- 

 holes, spreading along the branches and break- 

 ing into foamy bloom, while fragrance, like a 

 finer music, rises and flows with the winds. 



About the same may be said of the spring 



