A SPRING NOTE-BOOK.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LV, Issue 13967, 28 September 1918, Page 1 (Supplement)

A SPRING NOTE-BOOK.

NATURE'S RENEWAL.

BY MAURICE HOST. I

The first day of Spring! Or, at any rate, • the first day since the turn of tho year . that has brought an opportunity to fully enjoy the sunshine of a calm, cloudless ! ' day. The only way to do that is to be : free for a time from all tasks, to lie upon • the grass and be bathed by the sunlight,!, until it seems to saturate mind and body, i { to quicken the blood and make the spirit |, sing. _ I The showers of yesterday had' disap- ' poared in tho warmth of to-day, leaving : the grass soft and springy. .No sylvan scene was here— newly-opened flowers . and burgeoning trees to gaze upon. Only a grassy plain and grey-green hills, an nzuro sky and song of birds. Only those eternal presences, but they were enough. For the grass and ground filled the air with faint perfume, the living breath of Mother Earth. The hills shouldered up into the sky, strong and bold against the blueblue so deep and clear that it i seemed as if it had never known a cloud or storm. And yet for months the sky j has rained upon us with drear persistence, I and pelted us with sleet and bitter gales. I Only a month ago the ground had been covered with inches of snow; now the delicious spirit of Spring encompassed everything. Of to-day it could be said, the rain is over and gone, and the time of the singing of birds is come. How the birds did sing! In speaking of Spring one seems forced to mention, the lark i it was tFie larks only that sang hereabouts. They monopolised Nature's programme. At first there was: an unseen songster right overhead, his I muaio dropping with perfect clearness, like the tinkling of tiny golden bells. He ceased suddenly, but from a little distance' floated another cascade of melody; and; so it continued, now near, now far away, I a ceaseless sound of joyous carols in praise of triumphant Spring. Then another sound pealed out to drown' the chorus for a few moments—the blare of trumpets. Fifty yards away was the edge of the big camp, with its monotonous miles of huts; but over them, too, was the song of Spring and the fathomless j blue of the sky. I

Another Picture. A September Sunday, a soft wind coming in from the sea, and the air transparent with "clear downshining after rain." A flock of woolly clouds travelled slowly across tho blue, while ragged shadows chased across tho valley and climbed along the hills. " Come," said I to Goldilocks, " let us take a walk and see the Springtime!" Goldilocks was more than willing, even though she understood little more than the word walk." She is always ready for a toddle, and her chubby two-year-old legs can eagerly cover a mile or two. So we set off. The trim gardens bordering the footpaths told of Spring with their multifarious blossoms ana the

clematis-stars that embroidered the verandahs ; but our goal lay beyond the village streets. Soon the close ranks of houses

were left behind, and broad paddocks stretched away on cither side. Every moment was full of delight to Goldilocks. Now she would lift her face and sniff deeply at the sweet-smelling breeze; then an opening in the hedgerow would take her attention, and a loud shout of " Baa!" proclaimed that she had discovered the sheep and lambs that grazed beyond. She laughed with glee when an adventurous little fellow cam," near, staring with gentle eyes, its ears extended like wings; but soon scampering away to the flock, rousing a number of other lambs to a game of leaping and skipping as if for sheer joy in life. Next the daisies that starred the roadside grass caught her eye, and she must needs possess a posy. What fun to have bo many, flowers for her own!—one after | another,' and still "more" and " more," until the tiny fists were full. The grass J seemed as much dotted as before with the circles of pink and white; but Goldilocks j bubbled over with pleasure and pride at the extent of her treasure! ! Soon we came to a little stream that meandered through the fields* between old' willows that stretched away out of sight like a mist of pale green. Along the banks spread tangled masses of watercress, their deep green sparkling with countless 'dewdrops that clung to the myriad waterfed leaves. And the stream itself, how clear and pure it seemed, as if filtered by passing through the closely-woven nets of stems that were entangled in its course. A range of hills rose nearby, with shining sheets of gorse-gold flung about their flanks, glowing all the brighter in con-' trast with the clumps of sombre bush that fringod the summit. From there the, eye roved upwards, to tho moving picture of blue and White, with seagulls wheeling lazily, and bird-songs ringing from tho infinite. After a while some horses strayed down to the stream, to munch the lush cress; and then a thrush sang cheerily from a tree near the bridge, awaking Goldilocks from her absorbed! contemplation of the animals. . . . And this was Springtime!—the earth's glad outpouring of colour and music; the mystery of renewal from hidden sources of'life and beauty; and, in harmony with these, the ecstacy in tho heart of a little child. Spring, the Conqueror. A war-time poet has written of spring as a conquering army overwhelming the earth with its forceß. This idea was developed in a pretty fancy written some years ago in one of Holbrook Jackson's essayß: — "This maiden Spring, who makes tho, world green again, is not only coy and I whimsical; she is brave and warlike, a joari of Arc, if you will, battling against tyrannical winter, is the name of the only true faith, which is life. " Mirk how her legions advance. First come the fair ranks of the snowdrops, an advance guard of light infantry pushing 1 strong, delicate lances through the frostbound earth. Then follow company after company of hardy troops, crocus, jonquil and daffodil, marching in gallant array; then the solid ranks of the veteran grassblades, flanked by tho gleaming swords of the iris; whilst overhead glance tho green arrows of tho leech and the assegais of the chestnut.

" All the little warblers and finches pipe their jolly marching ditties, or blow their bugles in the hedgerows; the rooks shout their advice from their watch-towers in the elm-trees; and the starling with infinite virtuosity repeats everything he hears in exaggerated terms, like an enterprising war correspondent. "And. as the legions of the Amazon add victory unto victory, the music swells in mightiness, augmented after each triumph by the string orchestras of the insect world, until tho last citadel is taken, when the movement changes and the great war-song dreams itself away in a hymn of praise." The war makes no difference to J Nature's transformations; her mighty, mysterious processes proceed unceasingly in spite of human quarrels. Gerald Massey sang: This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above; And if we did our duty, it might be full of lovo. From the triumph of Spring, this annual resurrection of life and joy, one can read any lesson one pleases, according to the illumination of one's own heart. A young English poet of to-day, Gilbert Thomas, has told how he thought that God, in punishment of the world's sin, would stay His gifts, and that no Spring in glory would appear; yet on a blue morning— As I went Along the rustling lanes, the birds made cheer, Such as before had never charmed my ear. ... So sweet it was I fled! I could not face The scource of God's forgiveness! " I could bear. Amid the world's rod guilt and black despair, Thy wrath," I cried, " but not Thy mercy, Lord! 0, spare me from the year's unfolding grace, For every flower is a two-edged sword." J