Part 3
A calm June Puts the farmer in tune.
* * * * *
A dripping June Puts all things in tune.
* * * * *
Come away! The sunny hours Woo thee far to founts and bowers! O'er the very waters now, In their play, Flowers are shedding beauty's glow-- Come away! Where the lily's tender gleam Quivers on the glancing stream, Come away!
All the air is filled with sound, Soft and sultry, and profound; Murmurs through the shadowy grass Lightly stray; Faint winds whisper as they pass: Come away! Where the bee's deep music swells From the trembling foxglove bells. Come away!
_Mrs. Hemans._
* * * * *
Pansies! Pansies! How I love you, pansies! Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped, and dewy-eyed with glee.
_Whitcomb Riley._
* * * * *
The flower beds all were liberal of delight; Roses in heaps were there, both red and white, Lilies angelical, and gorgeous glooms Of wall-flowers, and blue hyacinths, and blooms, Hanging thick clusters from light boughs; in short, All the sweet cups to which the bees resort.
_Leigh Hunt._
* * * * *
Oh! the rosy month of June I hail as summer's queen; The hills and valleys sing in joy, and all the woods are green; And streamlets flow in gladsome song, the birds are all in tune; And Nature smiles in summer's pride, in the rosy month of June. The sixth month of the year Is the month of June, When the weather's too hot to be borne, The master doth say, As he goes on his way, "To-morrow my sheep shall be shorn."
_Somerset._
* * * * *
Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing, The small birds they warble from every green bough; Here the pink and the lily, And the daffadowndilly, To adorn and perfume the sweet meadows in June; 'Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow; But the lads and the lasses to the sheep-shearing go.
_Sussex Song._
* * * * *
Below the hill's an ash; below The ash, white elder-flow'rs do blow: Below the elder is a bed O' robinhoods a' blushin' red; And there, wi' nunch es all a-spread, The hay-meakers, wi' each a cup O' drink, do smile to zee hold up The rain, an' sky a-clearin'.
_W. Barnes._
* * * * *
By fragrant gales in frolic play The floating corn's green waves are fann'd, And all above, broad summer day! And all below, bright summer land.
_Owen Meredith._
* * * * *
The sweet west wind is flying Over the purple sea, And the amber daylight dying On roadway, hill, and tree; The cattle bells are ringing Among the slanting downs, And children's voices flinging Glad echoes through the towns: "Oh, summer day! so soon away!" The happy-hearted sigh and say: "Sweet is thy light, and sad thy flight, And sad the words--good-night, good-night."
The wan white clouds are trailing Low o'er the level plain, And the wind brings with its wailing The chill of the coming rain; Fringed by the faded heather, Wide pools of water lie, And birds and leaves together Whirl through the evening sky. "Haste thee away, oh, winter day!" The weary-hearted weep and say: "Sad is thy light, and slow thy flight, And sweet the words--good-night, good-night."
* * * * *
'Twas one of the charmed days When the genius of God doth flow, The wind may alter twenty ways, A tempest cannot blow; It may blow north, it still is warm; Or south, it still is clear; Or east, it smells like a clover farm; Or west, no thunder fear.
_Emerson._
* * * * *
Where woodbines wander, and the wallflower pushes its way alone; And where in wafts of fragrance, sweetbrier bushes make themselves known, With banks of violets for southern breezes to seek and find, And trellis'd jessamine that trembles in the summer wind. Where clove carnations overgrow the places where they were set, And, mist-like, in the intervening spaces creeps mignonette.
* * * * *
ST. BARNABAS DAY. (_Old Style. June 21st._)
Barnaby bright, Barnaby bright, The longest day and the shortest night.
* * * * *
The ignorant believe that any person fasting on Midsummer eve, and sitting in the church porch, will, at midnight, see the spirits of the persons of that parish who will die that year, come and knock at the church door, in the order and succession in which they will die.
_Hone._
* * * * *
When mack'rel ceaseth from the seas, John Baptist brings grass-beef and pease.
_Tusser._
* * * * *
1570(?)
Then doth the joyfull feast of John the Baptist take his turne, When bonfires great with loftie flame, in every town doe burne; And yong men round about with maides doe daunce in every streete, With garlands wroughte of motherworth, or else with vervain sweete.
_Barnaby Googe._
* * * * *
'Twas midsummer; The warm earth teemed with flowers; the kingcups gold, The perfumed clover, 'mid the crested grass; The plantains rearing high their flowery crowns Above the daisied coverts; overhead, The hawthorns, white and rosy, bent with bloom, The broad-fanned chestnuts spiked with frequent flowers, And white gold-hearted lilies on the stream.
_Lewis Morris._
* * * * *
OLD KENTISH SONG.
My one man, my two men, Will mow me down the medda'; My three men, my four men, Will carry away togedda'; My five men, my six men, And there ain't no more, Will mow my hay, and carry away, And mow me down the medda'.
* * * * *
Soon will high midsummer pomps come on, Soon will the musk carnation break and swell, Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon, Sweet William with his homely cottage-smell, And stocks in fragrant blow.
_Matthew Arnold._
* * * * *
SIGNS OF RAIN.
The hollow winds begin to blow, The clouds look black, the glass is low, The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, The spiders from their cobwebs creep, Last night the sun went pale to bed, The moon in halo hid her head, The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, For see! a rainbow spans the sky. The walls are damp, the ditches smell, Clos'd is the pink ey'd pimpernel. Hark! how the chairs and tables crack; Old Betty's joints are on the rack. Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry, The distant hills are looking nigh. How restless are the snorting swine! The busy flies disturb the kine. Low o'er the grass the swallow wings; The cricket, too, how loud it sings. Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, Sits smoothing o'er her whiskered jaws. Through the clear stream the fishes rise, And nimbly catch the incautious flies. The sheep are seen at early light Cropping the meads with eager bite. Tho' June, the air is cold and chill; The mellow blackbird's voice is still. The glow-worms, numerous and bright, Illumed the dewy dell last night. At dusk the squalid toad was seen Hopping, crawling, o'er the green. The frog has lost his yellow vest, And in a dingy suit is dress'd. The leech disturb'd is newly risen Quite to the summit of his prison. The whirling winds the dust obeys, And in the rapid eddy plays. My dog, so altered in his taste, Quits mutton bones on grass to feast; And see yon rooks, how odd their flight, They imitate the gliding kite, Or seem precipitate to fall, As if they felt the piercing ball. 'Twill surely rain--I see with sorrow, Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.
An excuse for not accepting the invitation of a friend to make a country excursion.
_Edward Jenner._
* * * * *
Pondweed sinks before rain.
* * * * *
Fir cones close for wet, open for fine weather.
* * * * *
Cows and sheep lie down before rain to keep a dry place to lie on.
* * * * *
When the clouds go up the hill, They'll send down water to turn a mill.
_Hants._
* * * * *
If nights three dewless there be, 'Twill rain you're sure to see.
* * * * *
If bees stay at home Rain will soon come. If they fly away Fine will be the day.
* * * * *
1656.
If the down flyeth off colt's foot, dandelyon and thistles, when there is no winde, it is a sign of rain.
* * * * *
When a cock drinks in summer it will rain a little after.
_Italy._
* * * * *
When sheep begin to go up the mountains, shepherds say it will be fine weather.
* * * * *
Sea gull, sea gull, sit on the sand; It's never good weather when you're on the land.
* * * * *
Pimpernel, pimpernel, tell me true, Whether the weather be fine or no; No heart can think, no tongue can tell, The virtues of the pimpernel.
* * * * *
When rain causes bubbles to rise in water it falls upon, the shower will last long.
_Essex._
* * * * *
A Saturday's rainbow, a week's rotten weather.
_South Ireland._
* * * * *
A sunshiny shower Never lasts half an hour.
_Bedford._
* * * * *
When oxen do lick themselves against the hair, it betokeneth rain to follow shortly after.
* * * * *
Beast do take comfort in a moist Air: and it maketh them eat their meat better, and therefore sheep will get up betimes in the morning to feed against rain, and Cattle, and Deer, and Coneys will feed hard before Rain, and a Heifer will put up his nose and snuff in the air against Rain. Worms, vermin, etc., likewise do foreshew Rain: for Earth-worms will come forth, and Moles will cast up more, and Fleas bite more against Rain.
_Bacon._
* * * * *
To talk of the weather is nothing but folly, For when it rains on the hill, the sun shines in the valley.
* * * * *
Maayres taails an' mackerel sky, Not long wet, nor not long dry.
_Berkshire._
* * * * *
When the wind veers against the sun, Trust it not, for back 'twill run.
* * * * *
Rainbow to windward, foul falls the day; Rainbow to leeward, damp runs away.
* * * * *
When sheep do huddle by tree and bush, Bad weather is coming with wind and slush.
* * * * *
A rainbow at morn, Put your hook in the corn; A rainbow at eve, Put your head in the sheave.
_Cornwall._
* * * * *
Clouds without rain in summer indicate wind.
* * * * *
Saturday's moon, Sunday seen The foulest weather there ever hath been.
* * * * *
When the new moon comes in at midnight, or within thirty minutes before or after, the following month will be fine.
* * * * *
Saturday change, and Sunday full, Is always wet, and always wull.
_Northants._
* * * * *
If mist's in the new moon, rain in the old; If mist's in the old moon, rain in the new.
* * * * *
A fog and a small moon Bring an easterly wind soon.
_Cornwall._
* * * * *
If Saturday's moon Comes once in seven years, It comes too soon.
* * * * *
FULL MOON.
The nearer to twelve in the afternoon, the drier the moon. The nearer to twelve in the forenoon, the wetter the moon.
_Hereford._
* * * * *
When the moon is at the full, Mushrooms you may freely pull; But when the moon is on the wane, Wait, ere you think to pluck again.
* * * * *
The moon and the weather May change together; But change of the moon Does not change the weather; If we'd no moon at all, And that may seem strange, We still should have weather That's subject to change.
* * * * *
MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.
The pastoral cowslips are our little pets, And daisy stars, whose firmament is green; Pansies, and those veiled nuns, meek violets, Sighing to that warm world from which they screen; And golden daffodils, plucked for May's queen; And lovely harebells, quaking on the heath; And hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen, Whose tuneful voice, turned fragrance in his breath, Kissed by sad zephyr, guilty of his death.
_Hood._
* * * * *
The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and the trees; There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the cuckoo's sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky, Who would "go parading," In London "and masquerading," On such a night in June, With the beautiful soft half-moon, And all these innocent blisses? On such a night as this is!
_Wordsworth._
* * * * *
When the wind's in the south The rain's in its mouth.
* * * * *
No weather is ill If the wind be still.
_Old saying._
* * * * *
All through the sultry hours of June, From morning blithe to golden noon, And till the star of evening climbs The gray-blue East, a world too soon, There sings a thrush within the limes.
God's poet, hid in foliage green, Sings endless songs, himself unseen; Right seldom come his silent times. Linger, ye summer hours serene! Sing on, dear thrush, amid the limes!
_Mortimer Collins._
* * * * *
A wet June makes a dry September.
_Cornwall._
JULY
Ancient Cornish name: Miz-gorepham, head of the summer month.
* * * * *
Jewel for the month: Ruby. Discovers poison.
* * * * *
If the first of July be rainy weather, 'Twill rain more or less for four weeks together.
* * * * *
In my nostrils the summer wind Blows the exquisite scent of the rose: Oh! for the golden, golden wind, Breaking the buds as it goes! Breaking the buds and bending the grass, And spilling the scent of the rose.
_Aldrich._
* * * * *
I sometimes think that never blows so red The rose as where some buried C├Žsar bled; That every hyacinth the garden wears Dropt in its lap from some once lovely head.
_Omar Khayyam._
* * * * *
OF GARDENS.
In July come gilliflowers of all varieties, musk roses, the lime tree in blossom, early pears, and plums in fruit, ginnetings, quadlins.
_Bacon._
* * * * *
A tuft of evening primroses, O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes; O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep, But that 'tis ever startled by the leap Of buds into ripe flowers.
_Keats._
* * * * *
Now the glories of the year May be viewed at the best, And the earth doth now appear In her fairest garments dress'd: Sweetly smelling plants and flowers Do perfume the garden bowers; Hill and valley, wood and field, Mixed with pleasure profits yield.
_George Withers._
* * * * *
Blue flags, yellow flags, flags all freckled, Which will you take? Yellow, blue, speckled! Take which you will, speckled, blue, yellow, Each in its way has not a fellow.
_C. Rossetti._
Swelling downs, where sweet air stirs Blue hair-bells lightly, and where prickly furze Buds lavish gold.
_Keats._
* * * * *
Mouse-ear, or Scorpion grass, any manner of way ministered to horses brings this help unto them, that they cannot be hurt, while the smith is shoeing of them, therefore it is called of many, _herba clavorum_, the herb of nails.
_Old saying, before 1660._
* * * * *
Sweet is the Rose, but growes upon a brere; Sweet is the Junipere, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere; Sweet is the Firbloome, but his braunche is rough; Sweet is the Cypresse, but his rynd is tough; Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the Broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is Moly, but his root is ill. So every sweet with sowre is tempered still, That maketh it the coveted be more: For easie things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men doe set but little store.
_Spenser._
* * * * *
Where the copse-wood is the greenest, Where the fountain glistens sheenest, Where the morning dew lies longest, There the lady fern grows strongest.
_Walter Scott._
* * * * *
FAIRE DAYES: OR, DAWNES DECEITFUL.
Faire was the Dawne; and but e'ene now the Skies Shew'd like to Creame, enspir'd with Strawberries: But on a sudden, all was chang'd and gone That smil'd in that first sweet complexion.
Then Thunder-claps and Lightning did conspire To teare the world, or set it all on fire. What trust to things below, whenas we see, As Men, the Heavens have their Hypocrisie?
_Herrick._
* * * * *
Summer in the penniless can stir the frozen prayer, Summer sends a golden glow through needy bones a-while; Bright and breezy is the dawn, and soft the balmy air; Summer, 'tis the breath of Heaven, 'tis God's own gracious smile.
_From Victor Hugo._
* * * * *
The nightingale and the cuckow both grow hoarse at the rising of Sirius the dogge star.
* * * * *
Not rend off, but cut off ripe bean with a knife, For hindering stalk of her vegetive life. So gather the lowest, and leaving the top, Shall teach thee a trick for to double thy crop.
_Tusser._
* * * * *
A shower of rain in July, when the corn begins to fill, Is worth a plough of oxen, and all belongs theretill.
* * * * *
ST. SWITHUN. (_July 15th_.)
Saint Swithun's Day, if thou dost rain, For forty days it will remain; Saint Swithun's Day, if thou be fair, For forty days 'twill rain na mair.
_Scotland._
* * * * *
St. Swithun christens the apples.
* * * * *
No tempest good July, Lest the corn look ruely.
* * * * *
While wormwood hath seed, get a handful or twain, To save against March, to make flea to refrain: Where chamber is sweepid, and wormwood is strown, No flea for his life, dare abide to be known.
* * * * *
THE FLOWER GIRL.
1.
Come buy, come buy my mystic flowers, All ranged with due consideration, And culled in fancy's fairy bowers, To suit each age and every station.
2.
For those who late in life would tarry, I've snowdrops, winter's children cold; And those who seek for wealth to marry, May buy the flaunting marigold.
3.
I've ragwort, ragged robins, too, Cheap flowers for those of low condition; For bachelors I've buttons blue; And crown imperials for ambition.
4.
For sportsmen keen, who range the lea, I've pheasant's eye and sprigs of heather; For courtiers with the supple knee, I've parasites and prince's feather.
5.
For thin tall fops I keep the rush, For peasants still am nightshade weeding; For rakes I've devil-in-the-bush, For sighing strephons, loves-lies-bleeding.
But fairest blooms affection's hand For constancy and worth disposes, And gladly weaves at your command A wreath of amaranths and roses.
_Mrs. Corbold._
* * * * *
LONDON STREET-CALL. (_About 200 years old._)
Will you buy, lady, buy My sweet blooming lavender? There are sixteen blue branches a penny. You will buy it once, you will buy it twice, It makes your clothes smell so very nice. It will scent your pocket-handkerchief, And it will scent your clothes as well. Now is your time, and do not delay: Come and buy your lavender, All fresh cut from Mitcham every day.
* * * * *
I do not want change: I want the same old and loved things, the same wild flowers, the same trees and soft ash-green; the turtle doves, the blackbirds, the coloured yellow-hammer sing, sing, singing so long as there is light to cast a shadow on the dial, for such is the measure of his song, and I want them in the same place.
_Richard Jefferies._
* * * * *
ST. JAMES'S DAY. (_New Style. July 25th._)
'Till Saint James's Day be past and gone, There may be hops, or there may be none.
_Hereford._
* * * * *
July, to whom, the dog-star in her train, St. James gives oisters, and St. Swithin rain.
_Churchill._
* * * * *
Oh! golden, golden summer, What is it thou hast done? Thou hast chased each vernal roamer With thy fiercely burning sun.
Glad was the cuckoo's hail. Where may we hear it now? Thou hast driven the nightingale From the waving hawthorn bough.
Thou hast shrunk the mighty river; Thou hast made the small brook flee; And the light gales faintly quiver Through the dark and shadowy tree.
_W. Howitt._
AUGUST
Ancient Cornish name: Miz-east, harvest month.
* * * * *
Jewel for the month: Sardonyx. Insures happiness in marriage.
AUGUST FIRST. (_Loaf-mass Day._)
Day of offering first fruits, when a loaf was given to the priests in place of the first fruits.
* * * * *
At Latter Lammas, i.e. never.
* * * * *
The August gold of earth.
* * * * *
All things rejoiced beneath the sun, the weeds, The river, and the cornfields, and the reeds; The willow-leaves that glanced in the light breeze, And the firm foliage of the larger trees.
_Shelley._
OF GARDENS.
In August come plums of all sorts in fruit, pears, apricots, berberies, filberds, musk melons, monkshoods of all colour.
_Bacon._
* * * * *
AUGUST 1ST. (_Snipe shooting may begin._)
Snipe's song: "Don't take" local name for Snipe.
Nipcake, don't take, Don't take, don't take; Gie the lasses milk and bread, And gie the laddies don't take, Don't take, don't take.
_Scottish Midlands._
* * * * *
AUGUST 5TH. (_Old Style._)
St. James's Day. Oyster Day.
Who eats oysters on St. James's Day will never want.
* * * * *
Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy, Barley bows a graceful head, Short and small shoots up canary; Each of these is some one's bread--
Bread for man or bread for beast, Or at very least A bird's savoury feast.
_C. Rossetti._
* * * * *
It is always windy in barley harvests; it blows off the heads for the poor.
* * * * *
On Thursday at three Look out and you'll see What Friday will be.
* * * * *
No weather is ill If the wind be still.
* * * * *
For morning rain leave not your journey.
* * * * *
Never a fisherman med there be, If fishes could hear as well as see.
_Kent._
* * * * *
If the sage tree thrives and grows, The master's _not_ master, and that he knows.
_Warwick._
* * * * *
A garden must be looked into, and dressed as a body.
* * * * *
To smell wild thyme will renew spirits and energy in long walks under an August sun.
* * * * *
Friday's a day as'll have his trick, The fairest or foulest day o' the wick.