It was Grainne Oge, the Gallic Helen, and daughter of
Cormac, the king of Ireland, who won the chieftain, 'being fleetest
of foot and longest of wind.'
We almost forgot our discomforts in this enthralling story, and
slept on each other's nice clean shoulders a little, just before the
dawn. And such a dawn! Such infinite softness of air, such dew-
drenched verdure! It is a backward spring, they say, but to me the
woods are even lovelier than in their summer wealth of foliage, when
one can hardly distinguish the beauty of the single tree from that
of its neighbours, since the colours are blended in one universal
green. Now we see the feathery tassels of the beech bursting out of
their brown husks, the russet hues of the young oak leaves, and the
countless emerald gleams that 'break from the ruby-budded lime.'
The greenest trees are the larch, the horse-chestnut, and the
sycamore, three naturalised citizens who apparently still keep to
their native fashions, and put out their foliage as they used to do
in their own homes. The young alders and the hawthorn hedges are
greening, but it will be a fortnight before we can realise the
beauty of that snow-white bloom, with its bitter-sweet fragrance.
The cuckoo-flower came this year before instead of after the bird,
they tell us, showing that even Nature, in these days of anarchy and
misrule, is capable of taking liberties with her own laws. There is
a fragrance of freshly turned earth in the air, and the rooks are
streaming out from the elms by the little church, and resting for a
bit in a group of plume-like yews.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71