LXI.

WHERE SUMMER BIDES.

A WINTER DAYDREAM.

BY ROBERT BURNS WILSON.'

"What cheer what cheer ?"

It was the hardy redbird's ringing cry,
Sweet, and so clear;

"What cheer—what cheer ?"

Again that questioning sounded in my ear, "What cheer-what cheer?"

My heart could not reply;

For to my mind the chilly world was drear,
And all about me fell

The light-winged snowflakes, and that bird and I
Were all that lived within the wintry dell
Where I had wandered, why, I cannot tell.

The once-green banks were sear;

The well-remembered brook was frozen dry;

And all the summer's leaves were crisp and dead.
I stood, and leaned my head

Against a lichened beech' that grew hard by,

And in my heart a tear

Rose with a sigh,

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While still the redbird called. "What cheer-what 20

cheer?"

"What cheer—what cheer?"

A vision seemed to spread before my eyes;
A sudden springtime waked the sleeping year.
The sun shone clear;

The balmy air came softly from the skies.
The spicewood, bending near,

Began to bud-to bloom. The silent stream
Awaked, low-murmuring, from its winter dream.
Along the banks green grass began to grow;
The violets sprang

Among the dead leaves, and the falling snow
Was turned to clusters of anemones.

A rapturous glow

Warmed all the ground, and loud the glad birds sang. A vernal fragrance stole among the trees,

While to and fro,

From flower to flower, swift flew the journeying bees. Amid the mossy rocks

The saxifrage peeped forth, and near, below,

The purple phlox

Stirred with the breeze; and high up, on the brink,
Gleamed, like a scarlet star, the mountain pink.

"What cheer-what cheer?"

There was not need to ask, nor for reply;
Its echo now made answer to the cry.

With bud-infolding spear

The young May apple pierced the sod, and spread
Her silken canopy. The dogwood's bough

Grew heavy with white blooms; and bravely now
May wove her wonders; and, all overhead,

A million tints of green

Burst from the interlacing twigs. Soft fringe
Hung on the sugar trees. A rosy tinge

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Crept on the rugged oaks; and many a cup
Of newest, golden sheen

The giant tulip tree's high hands held up;
And, all between,

Were labyrinthine3 lacings of the vine,

With buds translucent in the sun.

Was all too fair;

The scene

The snowy hawthorn and the eglantine

Tricked out the blithe enchantments clustered there
With joys too keen;

For beauty brings some strange, unnamed despair
In-mingling with fierce rapture, all divine,

Which gods alone may bear.

"What cheer-what cheer?"

A thousand voices now made mock at care;
So dear, so dear,

Those oft-repeated notes! They filled the air
With overflowing mirth,

Those lavish songsters—generous as the earth :
So rich, so bountiful, they need not spare.

The lark called from the flowering slope. The thrush
Held all the dell entranced. From bush to bush

The warbling bluebird flew. The oriole,

Like some enchanted soul,

Amid the emerald leafage went and came,
A voiceful fire, a song clad in bright flame.
And on the hill

The chat, the nuthatch, and the jay are still,
The robin too refrains,

While from some towering branch

The mockbird pours his rippling avalanche
Of intermingling strains,

And floods the fields of sunshine with his clear,
Inimitable song;

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And yet the redbird was not silent long,

But cried, "What cheer-what cheer?"

"What cheer what cheer?"

Like some past grief recalled, that cry I hear,
With splendid strides swift Summer makes advance,
And spreads her blazing glories far and near.
Magnificent, luxuriant arrogance

That knows no peer!

Unmatched, unrivalled Summer! Whose mere mirth
And laughter makes quick conquest of the earth.
Joy's dream fulfilled, Rose of the rounded year,
Triumphant Summer, Life's bud blooms in thee!
The later days may wane,

And blight may fall upon the Autumn grain;
The timid Spring may see

Her hopes made vain

By lingering frosts, or by the chilling rain;
But thou art perfect; sorrow finds not thee!
The blooming iris nodded on the brae;
The languid air was heavy with the scent
Of teeming fields; the sleepy birds grew still;
The white clouds went,

Slow-drifting, past the tree-tops on the hill;
The slumbering sunlight lay

Along the woodland's breast; and in a dream
The listening branches bent

Above the stream,

Which sang, low-voiced, in drowsy, sweet content.
The dapple shadows crept

With noiseless feet that marked the passing day,

When, so it fell,

The vision wavered, and a chill wind swept
The changing picture of the Summer dell,
And in a moment all had passed away,

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The snowflakes wandered through the branches gray; Ice hushed the stream once more; the banks were

sear;

The faded, drifting leaves were dead and dry;
The winter weeds were grouped in clusters drear;
But, shrill and clear,

The redbird whistled from the copse near by,
"What cheer—what cheer?"

"What cheer-what cheer?"

A pleasing fancy nestles in my heart,

Where now I hear,

Among the cheerless trees, that questioning cry.
From earth the Summer never doth depart:
Within the silent dell she bides,

Unseen; amid the lacing twigs she hides,
And waits the waking of the sleeping year.
So with that fancy do I please my mind,
To think-albeit snow lieth on the hill,

And though the wind

Be cold, though joyless are the fields, and chill
The wintry woodland ways-

Yet somewhere, unseen, haply hiding near,
Sweet Summer stays.

O loved one dear,

Not comfortless would seem these feeble rays,

Not thus would fade these dreams of happy days,

Could I but find thee here;

Not silent then were I!

How easily my heart could make reply,

When I should hear

From yon gray slope, as now, that ringing cry,

"What cheer-what cheer?"

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