Part 2
Jewel for the month: Sapphire. Frees from enchantment.
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If it thunders on All Fool's day It brings good crops of grain and hay.
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The first thunder of the year awakes All the frogs and all the snakes.
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MS. 250 YEARS OLD.
The first Monday in April Cain was born, and Abel was slain. The second Monday in August Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed. The thirty-first of December Judas was born, who betrayed Christ. These are dangerous days to begin any business, fall sick, or undertake any journey.
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A wet Good Friday and Easter day Brings plenty of grass, but little good hay.
_Leicester._
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Parsley sown on Good Friday bears a heavier crop than that sown on any other day.
Parsley seed goes nine times to the Devil before coming up. It only comes up partially because the Devil takes his tithe of it.
_Old country sayings._
Oh! faint, delicious, spring-tide violet, Thin odour, like a key. Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let A thought of sorrow free.
_W. Story._
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What affections the violet wakes! What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, Can the wild water-lily restore! What landscapes I read in the primroses looks, And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, In the vetches that tangled their shore.
_Campbell._
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Descend sweet April from yon watery bow, And, liberal, strew the ground with budding flowers, With leafless crocus, leaf-veiled violet, Auricula with powdered cup, primrose That loves to lurk below the hawthorn shade.
_Graham._
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Spring is strong and virtuous, Broad--sowing, cheerful, plenteous, Quickening underneath the mould Grains beyond the price of gold. So deep and large her bounties are, That one broad, long midsummer day Shall to the planet overpay The ravage of a year of war.
_Emerson._
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In wild moor or sterile heath, Bright with the golden furze, beneath O'erhanging bush or shelving stone, The little stonechat dwells alone, Or near his brother of the whin; Among the foremost to begin His pretty love-songs tinkling sound, And rest low seated on the ground; Not heedless of the winding pass, That leads him through the secret grass.
_Bishop Chant._
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The lark sung loud; the music at his heart Had called him early; upward straight he went, And bore in nature's quire the merriest part.
_C. Turner._
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HOW VIOLETS CAME BLEW.
Love on a day (wise poets tell) Some time in wrangling spent, Whether the Violets sho'd excell, Or she, in sweetest scent. But Venus having lost the day, Poore Girles, she fell on you, And beat ye so (as some dare say), Her blowes did make ye blew.
_Herrick._
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April fourteenth, first cuckoo day.
_Sussex._
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In former times Shropshire labourers used to give up work for the rest of the day when they heard the first note of the cuckoo.
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There is an old superstition that where one hears the cuckoo first there one will spend most of the year.
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Use maketh maistry, this hath been said alway; But all is not alway as all men do say. In April, the koocoo can sing her song by rote, In June of tune she cannot sing a note: At first koocoo, koocoo, sing still can she do; At last kooke, kooke, kooke, six kookes to one coo.
_John Heywood, 1587._
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ODE TO THE CUCKOO.
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of Spring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat And woods thy welcome sing.
What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year?
_Michael Bruce._
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"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" The first we've heard! "Cuckoo! cuckoo!" God bless the bird Scarce time to take his breath, And now "Cuckoo!" he saith. Cuckoo! cuckoo! three cheers! And let the welkin ring! He has not folded wing Since last he saw Algiers.
_T. E. Brown._
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April fifteenth, first swallow day.
_Sussex._
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He comes! He comes! who loves to bear Soft sunny hours and seasons fair; The swallow hither comes to rest His sable wing and snowy breast.
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April and May, the keys of the year.
_Spanish._
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The first Sunday after Easter settles the weather for the whole Summer.
_Sweden._
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"The rippling smile of the April rain."
_A. Austin._
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A cold April The barn will fill.
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Although it rains, throw not away thy watering-pot.
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Plant your 'taturs when you will, They won't come up before April.
_Wilts._
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When there are many more swifts than swallows in the Spring, expect a hot and dry Summer.
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April cold with dropping rain Willows and lilacs brings again, The whistle of returning birds, And, trumpet-lowing of the herds.
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I met Queen Spring in the hanger That slopes to the river gray; Yestreen the thrushes sang her, But she came herself to-day.
_Bourdillon._
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When the sloe tree is as white as a sheet, Sow your barley, whether it be dry or wet.
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As yet but single, The bluebells with the grasses mingle; But soon their azure will be scrolled Upon the primrose cloth of gold.
_A. Austin._
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April, pride of murmuring winds of Spring, That beneath the winnowed air, Trap with subtle nets and sweet Flora's feet, Flora's feet, the fleet and fair.
_Belleau._
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Hark! the Hours are softly calling, Bidding Spring arise, To listen to the raindrops falling From the cloudy skies, To listen to Earth's weary voices, Louder every day, Bidding her no longer linger On her charmed way; But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun; By the first bright day of summer It should all be done.
_A. A. Procter._
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TO THE BLACKBIRD
Golden Bill! Golden Bill! Lo! the peep of day; All the air is cool and still, From the elm tree on the hill, Chant away: While the moon drops down the west, Like thy mate upon her nest, And the stars before the sun Melt, like snow-flakes, one by one, Let thy loud and welcome lay Pour along Few notes, but strong.
_Montgomery._
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Fled are the frosts, and now the Fields appear Re-clothed in fresh and verdant Diaper. Thaw'd are the snows, and now the lusty Spring Gives to each mead a neat enamelling. The Palms put forth their Gemmes, and every tree Now swaggers in her leavy gallantry.
_Herrick._
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Ye who have felt and seen Spring's morning smiles and soul enlivening green, Say, did you give the thrilling transport way? Did your eye brighten, when young lambs at play Leap'd o'er your path with animated pride, Or graz'd in merry clusters by your side?
_Bloomfield._
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When in the Spring the gay south-west awakes, And rapid gusts now hide, now clear, the sun, Round each green branch a fitful glimmering shakes, And through the lawns and flowery thickets run (Tossed out of shadow into splendour brief) The silver shivers of the under-leaf.
_F. Doyle._
APRIL.
Winter is so quite forced hence And locked up underground, that ev'ry sense Hath several objects: trees have got their heads, The fields their coats; that now the shining meads Do boast the paunse, lily, and the rose; And every flower doth laugh as zephyr blows, The seas are now more even than the land; The rivers run as smoothed by his hand; Only their heads are crisped by his stroke.
_Ben Jonson._
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OF GARDENS.
In April, follow the double white violet, the wallflower, the stock-gilliflower, the cowslip, flower de liece, and lilies of all natures, rosemary flowers, the tulippa, the double peony, the pale daffodil, the French honeysuckle, the cherry-tree in blossom, the damascene, the plum trees in blossom, the whitethorn in leaf, the lilac tree.
_Bacon._
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THE PRIMROSE.
Lady of the Springe, The lovely flower that first doth show her face; Whose worthy prayse the pretty byrds do syng, Whose presence sweet the wynter's cold doth chase.
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ALMOND BLOSSOM.
Blossom of the almond trees, April's gift to April's bees, Birthday ornament of spring, Flora's fairest daughterling; Coming when no flowerets dare Trust the cruel outer air; When the royal kingcup bold Dares not don his throat of gold; And the sturdy blackthorn spray Keeps his silver for the May; Coming when no flowerets would Save thy lowly sisterhood; Early violets, blue and white, Dying for their love of light.
_Edwin Arnold._
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There is a rapturous movement, a green growing, Among the hills and valleys once again, And silent rivers of delight are flowing Into the hearts of men. There is a purple weaving on the heather, Night drops down starry gold upon the furze, Wild rivers and wild birds sing songs together, Dead Nature breathes and stirs.
_Trench._
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April! the hawthorn and the eglantine, Purple woodbine, Streak'd pink, and lily cup and rose, And thyme and marjorum are spreading, Where thou art treading, And their sweet eyes for thee unclose.
The little nightingale sits singing aye On leafy spray, And in her fitful strain doth run A thousand and a thousand changes, With voice that ranges Through every sweet division.
_Belleau._
* * * * *
The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, The street-musicians of the Heavenly City, The birds, who make sweet music for us all, In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. The thrush that carols at the dawn of day, From the green steeples of the piny woods, Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng That dwell in nests and have the gift of song.
_Longfellow._
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The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field; But if (the promise of a cloudless day) Aurora, smiling, bids her rise and play, Then straight she shows 'twas not for want of voice, Or power to climb, she made so low a choice; Singing she mounts; her airy wings are stretched Towards heaven, as if from heaven her voice she fetched.
_Waller._
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LARK'S SONG. (_Wessex._)
"Twighee, twighee! There's not a shoemaker in all the world can make a shoe for me." "Why so? Why so?" "Because my heel's as long as my toe."
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Sweet April, smiling through her tears, Shakes raindrops from her hair and disappears.
MAY
Ancient Cornish name: Miz-me, flowery month.
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Jewel for the month: Emerald. Discovers false friends.
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Lo, the young month comes, all smiling, up this way.
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The Irish say that fire and salt are the two most sacred things given to man, and if you give them away on May Day you give away your luck for the year.
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The fair maid, who, the first of May, Goes to the fields at break of day, And washes in dew from the hawthorn tree, Will ever after handsome be.
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It is unlucky to go on the water the first Monday in May.
_Irish saying._
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Whoever is ill in the month of May, For the rest of the year will be healthy and gay.
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Leave cropping from May To Michaelmas Day.
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The last year's leaf, its time is brief Upon the beechen spray; The green bud springs, the young bird sings, Old leaf, make room for May: Begone, fly away, Make room for May.
Oh, green bud, smile on me awhile; Oh, young bird, let me stay: What joy have we, old leaf, in thee? Make room, make room for May: Begone, fly away, Make room for May.
_Henry Taylor._
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There are twelve months in all the year, As I hear many say, But the merriest month in all the year Is the merry month of May.
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They who bathe in May Will soon be laid in clay; They who bathe in June Will sing another tune.
_Yorkshire._
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Come listen awhile to what we shall say, Concerning the season, the month we call May; For the flowers they are springing, and the birds they do sing, And the baziers (auriculas) are sweet in the morning of May.
When the trees are in bloom, and the meadows are green, The sweet smiling cowslips are plain to be seen; The sweet ties of Nature, which we plainly do see, For the baziers are sweet in the morning of May.
_Lancashire._
* * * * *
Summer is near, and buttercups blow, And sunshine glimmers aloft; And winds play tunes which merrily flow, Though in melody mellow and soft; Then sing the song of the green spring-time, The season of promise and bloom, When buds have birth, and the gladdened earth Awakes from her wintry tomb.
_Hogg._
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Flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
_Milton._
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OF GARDENS.
In May and June come pinks of all sorts, especially the blush pink; roses of all kinds, except the musk which comes later; honeysuckles, strawberries, bugloss, columbine, the French marigold, flos Africanus, cherry tree in fruit, ribes, figs in fruit, rasps, vine flowers, lavender in flowers, the sweet satyrian (orchis) with the white flower, herba muscaria (grape hyacinth), lilium convallium, the apple tree in blossom.
_Bacon._
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A lovely morn, so still, so very still, It hardly seems a growing day of Spring, Though all the odorous buds are blossoming, And the small matin birds were glad and shrill Some hours ago; but now the woodland rill Murmurs along, the only vocal thing, Save when the wee wren flits with stealthy wing, And cons by fits and bits her evening trill.
_Hartley Coleridge._
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If you sweep the house with blossomed broom in May, You're sure to sweep the head of the house away.
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Come out of doors! 'tis Spring! 'tis May! The trees be green, the fields be gay, The weather warm, the winter blast With all his train of clouds is past.
Mother of blossoms! and of all That's fair afield from Spring to Fall, The cuckoo, over white-waved seas, Do come to sing in thy green trees, And butterflies, in giddy flight, Do gleam the most by thy gay light.
_W. Barnes._
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All the land in flowery squares, Beneath a broad and equal blowing wind, Smelt of the coming summer, as one large cloud Drew downward: but all else of Heaven was pure Up to the sun, and May from verge to verge.
_Tennyson._
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Hush! hush! the nightingale begins to sing, And stops, as ill-contented with her note; Then breaks from out the bush with hurried wing, Restless and passionate. She tunes her throat, Laments awhile in wavering trills, and then Floods with a stream of sweetness all the glen.
_Jean Ingelow._
* * * * *
Dark winter is waning, Bright summer is reigning, The world is regaining, Its beauty in May.
The wild woods are ringing With birds sweetly singing, Where dewdrops are clinging To flowret and spray.
The sunshine entrances My heart when it dances, And glimmers and glances, Through greenwood so gay.
_From Celtic Lyre._
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OLD MAY DAY. (_May 11th._)
On! what a May-day--what a dear May-day! Feel what a breeze, love, Undulates o'er us; Meadow and trees, love, Glisten before us; Light, in all showers, Falls from the flowers, Hear how they ask us; "Come and sit down."
_From Venetian._ (_Burrati._)
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Old May Day is the usual time for turning out cattle into the pastures, though frequently then very bare of grass.
_Hone._
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The three most unpopular saints in the calender are Pancratius, Servatius, and Bonifacius, known both in Germany and Austria as the "three icemen"; and during May 12, 13, and 14 many gardeners keep nightly watch and light outdoor fires.
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Who shears his sheep before St. Gervatius' (or Servatius') Day loves more his wool than his sheep.
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When the corn is over the crow's back the frost is over.
_Cheshire._
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Go and look at oats in May, You will see them blown away; Go and look again in June, You will sing another tune.
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The oak before the ash, Prepare your summer sash; The ash before the oak, Prepare your summer cloak.
_Dorset._
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A windy May makes a fair year.
* * * * *
Cut thistles in May, They grow in a day; Cut thistles in June, That is too soon; Cut thistles in July, Then they will die.
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In the middle of May comes the tail of the winter.
_France._
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When passing o'er this streamlet, One fragrant morn in May, The meadows, wet with dewdrops, Shone bright at dawn of day; The crimson-breasted robin Was pouring forth his lay; The cuckoo's note of gladness Arose from scented spray.
The mavis warbles loudly From yonder leafy tree; The wren now joins the chorus, And chirps aloud with glee; The linnet is preparing Her cheerfulness to show, While black-cocks greet their partners With cooing soft and low.
_From Celtic Lyre._
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May's warm, slow, yellow moonlit summer nights.
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Among East Coast folk there is a pretty belief, very widely held, that in May, when the sea-fowl are hatching out on the saltings, Providence checks the spring tides so that they do not rise high enough to interfere with the birds. These they call by the appropriate name of "bird tides."
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The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close, Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose; The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and again The monitor revives his own sweet strain; But both will soon be mastered, and the copse Be left as silent as the mountain-tops, Ere some commanding star dismiss to rest The throng of rooks, that now from twig or nest, (After a steady flight on home-bound wings, And a last game of mazy hoverings Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise, Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.
_Wordsworth._
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The starlings are come! and merry May, And June, and the whitethorn and the hay, And the violet, and then the rose, and all sweet things are coming.
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He that would live for aye Must eat sage in May.
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A dry May and a dripping June Brings all things into tune.
_Bedford._
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Hawthorn bloom and elder flowers Will fill a house with evil powers.
_Warwick._
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THE SIMPLERS. (_XVIIth. Century._)
Here's pennyroyal and marigolds! Come, buy my nettle-tops. Here's water-cress and scurvy-grass! Come buy my sage of virtue, ho! Come buy my wormwood and mugwort! Here's all fine herbs of every sort: Here's southernwood that's very good, Dandelion and house-leek; Here's dragon's tongue and wood-sorrel, With bear's-foot and horehound.
* * * * *
Lazy cattle wading in the water Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups of gold.
_Whitcomb Riley._
* * * * *
When the dimpled water slippeth, Full of laughter on its way, And her wing the wagtail dippeth, Running by the brink at play; When the poplar leaves atremble Turn their edges to the light, And the far-off clouds resemble Veils of gauze most clear and white; And the sunbeams fall and flatter Woodland moss and branches brown, And the glossy finches chatter Up and down, up and down: Though the heart be not attending, Having music of her own, On the grass, through meadows wending, It is sweet to walk alone.
_Jean Ingelow._
* * * * *
MOONWORT.
There is a herb, some say, whose virtue's such It in the pasture, only with a touch, Unshods the new-shod steed.
_Withers._
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WOOD-PIGEON.
"Coo-pe-coo, Me and my poor two; Two sticks across, and a little bit of moss, And it will do, do, do."
_Notts._
* * * * *
The pigeon never knoweth woe, Until abenting it doth go.
_Old couplet._
* * * * *
If you scare the flycatcher away, No good luck with you will stay.
_Somerset._
* * * * *
May 29th, yack-bob day.
_Westmorland._
* * * * *
May, thou month of rosy beauty, Month when pleasure is a duty; Month of maids that milk the kine, Bosom rich, and breath divine; Month of bees, and month of flowers Month of blossom-laden bowers; Month of little hands with daisies, Lover's love, and poets' praises. Oh, thou merry month complete! May, thy very name is sweet.
_Leigh Hunt._
* * * * *
When clamour that doves in the lindens keep Mingles with musical flash of the weir, Where drowned green tresses of crowsfoot creep, Then comes in the sweet o' the year!
When big trout late in the twilight leap, When the cuckoo clamoureth far and near, When glittering scythes in the hayfield reap, Then comes in the sweet o' the year!
_Andrew Lang._
* * * * *
Oh! come quickly, show thee soon; Come at once with all thy noon, Manly, joyous, gipsy June.
_Leigh Hunt._
JUNE
Ancient Cornish name: Miz-epham, summer month, or head of summer.
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Jewel for the month: Agate. Long life, health, and prosperity.
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When the white pinks begin to appear, Then is the time your sheep to shear.
_Old Rhyme._
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Over the meadow, In sunshine and shadow, The meadow-larks trill and the bumble-bees drone.
_Whitcomb Riley._
* * * * *
If it raineth on the eighth of June a wet harvest men will see.
* * * * *
The broom having plenty of blossoms, or the walnut tree, is a sign of a fruitful year of corn.
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