Page:Sketch of Connecticut, Forty Years Since.djvu/240

 trees their blossoms, birds filled their retreats with harmony, or soaring high, poured louder tones of transport, until it seemed that every thicket, and every wave of air uttered the strain, "Thou makest the outgoings of the morning, and of the evening to rejoice."

The abode of old Zachary and Martha felt the influence of this enlivening season. Already their aromatic herbs yielded a pure essence to the busy inhabitants of the hives, and their cow cropped with delight the juicy food of her little pasture. A rose-bush near their door displayed its swelling buds, and the woodbine protruded its young tendrils, to reach the window of the invalid. But within the walls, was Age which knew no spring, and Youth, fading like a blasted flower; night that could know no dawning, and a morn that must never ascend to noon. The day had closed over the inhabitants of that peaceful habitation. The old warriour, and his wife were seated in the room appropriated to their mysterious guest. Reclining in a chair, which the ingenuity of Zachary had so constructed as to answer the purposes of both seat and couch, and wrapped in a loose dress of light calico, she watched the rising of the full, round, silver moon, like one who loves its beams, yet feels that he must soon bid it a returnless farewell. The bright, brown locks of that beautiful being, twined in braids around a head of perfect symmetry, and falling in profuse curls over her brow, formed a strong contrast to the snow of her cheek, and seemed to deepen the hue of her soft, blue eye. But the snows of her cheek