温馨提示：本站仅提供公开网络链接索引服务，不存储、不篡改任何第三方内容，所有内容版权归原作者所有
AI智能索引来源：http://www.wehd.com/373/939.html
点击访问原文链接

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882). When the Swallows Come. David J. Brewer, et al., eds. 1900. The World's Best Essays

进入原网站 导航首页
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882). When the Swallows Come. David J. Brewer, et al., eds. 1900. The World's Best Essays Dictionary Biographies Literary Criticism Welcome Terms of Service ⧏ Previous Next ⧐ Contents Bibliographic Record David J. Brewer, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Essays.  1900. When the Swallows Come
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882) From “Hyperion.”

IT was a sweet carol, which the Rhodian children sang of old in spring, bearing in their hands, from door to door, a swallow, as herald of the season:—  “The swallow is come! The swallow is come! O fair are the seasons, and light   Are the days that she brings,   With her dusky wings, And her bosom snowy white.”

1   A pretty carol, too, is that, which the Hungarian boys, on the islands of the Danube, sing to the returning stork in spring:—  “Stork! stork! poor stork! Why is thy foot so bloody? A Turkish boy hath torn it; Hungarian boy will heal it, With fiddle, fife, and drum.”

2   But what child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of ours, where spring comes sailing in from the sea, with wet and heavy cloud-sails, and the misty pennon of the east wind nailed to the mast! Yet even here, and in the stormy month of March even, there are bright warm mornings, when we open our windows to inhale the balmy air. The pigeons fly to and fro, and we hear the whirring sound of wings. Old flies crawl out of the cracks, to sun themselves; and think it is summer. They die in their conceit; and so do our hearts within us, when the cold sea breath comes from the eastern sea; and again,—  “The driving hail Upon the window beats with icy flail.”

3   The red-flowering maple is first in blossom, its beautiful purple flowers unfolding a fortnight before the leaves. The moosewood follows, with rose-colored buds and leaves; and the dogwood, robed in the white of its own pure blossoms. Then comes the sudden rain storm; and the birds fly to and fro, and shriek. Where do they hide themselves in such storms? At what firesides dry their feathery cloaks? At the fireside of the great, hospitable sun, to-morrow, not before,—they must sit in wet garments until then.

4   In all climates spring is beautiful. In the south it is intoxicating, and sets a poet beside himself. The birds begin to sing;—they utter a few rapturous notes, and then wait for an answer in the silent woods. Those green-coated musicians, the frogs, make holiday in the neighboring marshes. They, too, belong to the orchestra of nature; whose vast theatre is again opened, though the doors have been so long bolted with icicles, and the scenery hung with snow and frost, like cobwebs. This is the prelude, which announces the rising of the broad green curtain. Already the grass shoots forth. The waters leap with thrilling pulse through the veins of the earth; the sap through the veins of the plants and trees; and the blood through the veins of man. What a thrill of delight in springtime! What a joy in being and moving! Men are at work in gardens; and in the air there is an odor of the fresh earth. The leaf buds begin to swell and blush. The white blossoms of the cherry hang upon the boughs like snowflakes, and ere long our next-door neighbors will be completely hidden from us by the dense green foliage. The May flowers open their soft blue eyes. Children are let loose in the fields and gardens. They hold buttercups under each others’ chins, to see if they love butter. And the little girls adorn themselves with chains and curls of dandelions; pull out the yellow leaves to see if the schoolboy loves them, and blow the down from the leafless stalk, to find out if their mothers want them at home.

5   And at night so cloudless and so still! Not a voice of living thing,—not a whisper of leaf or waving bough,—not a breath of wind,—not a sound upon the earth nor in the air! And overhead bends the blue sky, dewy and soft, and radiant with innumerable stars, like the inverted bell of some blue flower, sprinkled with golden dust, and breathing fragrance. Or if the heavens are overcast, it is no wild storm of wind and rain; but clouds that melt and fall in showers. One does not wish to sleep, but lies awake to hear the pleasant sound of the dropping rain.

6 © 2024 WEHD.com

智能索引记录