
S p r In G
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 2127, "word_count": 394, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9380000233650208], "ccnet_perplexity": [957.7000122070312], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
We know not who is the author of the
following, but it is exquisitely beautiful:


In all climates Spring is beautiful. In
the South it is intoxicating, and sets poet
beside himself. The birds begin to sing:
they utter 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 Ma
,ure, whose vast theatre is again opened,
though the doors have been SO long bolted
with icicles, and scenery hung with snow
and lrost-like cobwebs. This is the pre-
lude which announces the rising of the
broad green curtain. Already the grass
shoots forth. The waters leap with thrill
ing 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 is Spring
time What a joy in being and moving!
Men are at work in the 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 snow flakes, and ere long
our door neighbors will be completely hid
den from us by the dense foliage. The


flowers open their soft blue eyes. Chill


dren are let loose in the fields and garden.


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- out the yel-


low leaves to see if the school boy loves
them, and blow the down from the leaf
less stalk to find out if their mothers want
them at home. And at night so cloudless
and so still Not voice of living thing,
not whisper Of leaf or waving bough,
not breath of wind, not sound upon
the earth or In the air And overhead
bends the blue sky, dewy and soft, and ra-
diant with innumerable stars, like 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 rain, but clouds that melt and fall
in showers. One does not wish to sleep,
but hes awake to hear the pleasant sound
Of the dropping rain"