II
In the spring the rivers--now broad, free and mighty--overflowed
their banks. Heavy waves broke up the face of the waters, which sent
forth a deep, hoarse, subdued murmur, as restless and disquieting as
the season itself. The snow thawed. The pine-trees showed resinous
lights, and exhaled a strong, pungent odour.
In the day-time the sky was a broad expanse of blue; at dusk it had a
soft murky hue and a melancholy attraction. In the heart of the
woods, now that winter was over, the first deed of the beasts was
being accomplished--birth. Eider-ducks, swans, and geese were crying
noisily on the river.
At dusk the sky became greenish and murky, merging into a vast tent
of deepest blue studded with a myriad of shining golden stars. Then
the eider-ducks and swans grew silent and went to roost for the
night, and the soft warm air was thrilled by the whines of bear-cubs
and the cries of land-rails. It was then that the maidens assembled
on the slope to sing of Lada and to dance their ancient dances, while
strapping youths came forth from their winter dwellings in the woods
and listened.
The slope down to the river was steep; below was the rustling sound
of water among the reeds. Everything was wrapt in stillness, yet
everywhere the throb and flow of life could be heard. The maidens sat
huddled together on the top of the slope, where the granite and slate
were covered with scanty moss and yellow grass.
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