146 TB^E ASSOCIATIONS OF FLOM^ERS 
says Gray, “ Gvhile rocking winds are piping loud/’ that 
pause, as the gust is recollecting itself and rising upon 
the ear in a shrill, plaintive note, like the swell of an 
Eolian harp— I do assure you, there is nothing in the 
world so like the voice of a spirit.’’ This idea was not 
peculiar to the poetical mind of Gray. Almost everyone 
who has stood listening to the cadences of the wind, as 
they died away, then again swelled in full peal, has 
fancied this resemblance. Even the inspired writers were 
reminded by this element of an invisible presence, when 
they speak of the Almighty as “ making the clouds His 
chariot, and walking upon the wings of the wind;” or 
as “riding upon the whirhvind and the storm, while the 
clouds are the dust of His feet.” 
The sublime poetry of Holy Writ is so full of imagery 
derived from nature, that we can scarcely look abroad 
over the face of the earth without being reminded of some 
of its comparisons. The fowl of the air, the lamb of the 
fold, the corn ready for the sickle, the flower of the field, 
the morning cloud, the early dew, the green pastures, the 
still waters — bring all to the religious mind some emblem 
of beauty, some subject of contemplation. When the 
ancient people were filled with dread, Isaiah says of them 
and their monarch, “ His heart was moved, and the heart 
of his people, as the trees of the wood are moved by the 
wind.” The sound of the roiling leaf, so often rustling- 
in the autumn forest, was to chase the wicked ; and they 
were, in their instability, declared to be as the chaff, 
which the wind driveth away. 
But it is time to turn to the woodland flowers, which, 
though not so numerous as during the height of summer, 
or the rich days of autumn, are already trembling in youth 
and beauty under the trees and bushes. 
Towards the end of March the wood anemone (Ane- 
mone nemorosa) begins to display its snowy buds and 
beautifully-formed leaves. But it will not be in full glory 
till April, when there will not be a spot in all tire wood 
but it will be seen, contrasting itself with the deep blue 
of the wild hyacinth, and looking up with the primrose 
between the withered leaves which yet cor-er the wood- 
path, Sometimes a delicate lilac tinge colours its petals, 
like a blush on a maiden’s cheek, and sometimes the wood 
anemone is coloured like the rosebud. 
