Part 11

It is in the prime of the year that such intimations of mortality are keenest; when the "fall" itself has arrived, there is less of regret than of resignation. I do not know where the tranquil grief for parted loveliness is so tenderly expressed as in a fragmentary poem of Shelley's, "The Zucca," which, though little known by the majority of readers, contains some of the most poignant, most Shelleyan verses ever written. The poet relates how when the Italian summer was dead, and autumn was in turn expiring, he went forth in grief for the decay of that ideal beauty--"dim object of my soul's idolatry"--of which he, above all men, was the worshipper, and in this mood of sadness found the withered gourd which was the subject of his song.

And thus I went lamenting, when I saw A plant upon the river's margin lie, Like one who loved beyond his Nature's law. And in despair had cast him down to die.

There is a fitness in such imagery; for flowers seem to serve naturally as emblems of human emotions. Who has not felt the pathos of a faded blossom kept as a memorial of the past? Many years ago I was given a beautifully bound copy of Moxon's edition of _Shelley_; and when I noticed that opposite that loveliest of poems, "Epipsychidion," were a few pink petals interleaved, I was sure that their presence at such a page was not merely accidental; and it has since been a whim of mine that those tokens of some bygone incident in the life of a former owner of the book should not be displaced.

There are vicissitudes in human lives with which flowers become associated in our thoughts. I recall a calm autumn day spent in company with a friend upon the Surrey Downs, when the marjoram and other fragrant flowers of the chalk were still as beautiful as in summer, but the sadness of a near departure from that familiar district lay heavy on my mind; and that day proved indeed to be the end of many happy years, for long afterwards, when I returned to those hills, all was changed for _me_, though Nature was kindly as before. Thus a date, not greatly heeded at the time, may be found to have marked one of life's turning-points, and the flowers connected with it may hold a peculiar significance in memory.

It is a sad moment for a flower-lover when he sees before him "the last rose of summer" ("rose" is a term which may here be used in a general sense for any sweet and pleasing flower), and realizes that he is now face to face with the season's euthanasia, "that last brief resurrection of summer in its most brilliant memorials, a resurrection that has no root in the past, nor steady hold upon the future, like the lambent and fitful gleams from an expiring lamp." Yet so gradual is this change, and the resurrection of which De Quincey speaks so entrancing, that one is comforted even while he grieves.

For example, there are few sights more cheering on a late September day than to find by some bare tidal river a colony of the marsh-mallow. The most admired member of the family is usually the muskmallow; and certainly it is a very pretty flower, with its bright foliage and the pink satiny sheen of its corolla; but far more charming, though less showy in appearance, is its modest sister of the salt marshes, whose leaves, overspread with hoary down, are soft as softest velvet, and her petals steeped in as tender and delicate a tint of palest rose-colour as could be imagined in dreams. There is something especially gracious about this _althaea_, or "healer"; and her virtues are not more soothing to body than to mind.

It was from the Sussex shingles that I started, and from the same shore my concluding picture shall be drawn--a quaint sea-posy that I picked there on an October afternoon, not so romantic, certainly, as one of violets or forget-me-nots, but in that sere season not less heartening than any nosegay of the spring. It held but three flowers, samphire, sea-rocket, and sea-heath. The samphire, at all times a singular and attractive herb, was now in fruit, and had faded to a wan yellow; the rocket was still in flower, its lilac blossoms crowning the solid glaucous stalk, and its thick fleshy leaves rivalling the texture of seaweed; the small sea-heath, with wiry reddish stems and dark-green foliage, lent itself by a natural contrast for twining around its bulkier companions. Thus grouped they stood for weeks in a vase on my mantel, until the time for wildflowers was overpast, and the "black and tan" days of winter were already let loose on the earth. And even when the year is actually at its lowest, the sunnier times can be revived and re-enacted in thought; for memory is potent as that wizard in Morris's poem, who in the depth of a northern Christmastide could so wondrously transform the season,

That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row; While still unheard, but in its wonted way, Piped the drear wind of that December day.

Such flowery scenes has the writing of this little book brought back to me, and has robbed at least one winter of many cheerless hours.

INDEX

Alpine bartsia, 154; forget-me-not, 155; lady's-mantle, 177; meadow-rue, 153, 168, 174, 182; mouse-ear, 176; penny-cress, 107, 108; saw-wort, 170, 174, 178 Amberley Wild Brooks, 35, 36 Arnside, 124-7 Arundel Park, 35, 142 Avens, mountain, 155, 169, 172; water, 107, 132, 156

Baneberry, 126, 127, 129 Bellflower, ivy-leaved, 48, 148, 149, 172 Bladderwort, 34, 146, 147 Borage, 124 Butterwort, 87, 148, 177

Carpenter, Edward, 15, 45, 93, 100 Castleton, 108 Chiltern Hills, 16, 90, 94, 95 Cinquefoil, marsh, 147, 148, 156; shrubby, 152, 153; vernal, 105 Cloudberry, 110 Crabbe (quoted), 30, 78 Cranberry, 149 Crow-garlic, 92 Cuckmere Haven, 26 Cwm Glas, 165, 167-70 Cwm Idwal, 168-70

Dwale, 140

Farrer, Reginald, 66, 105, 129 Fritillary, 88, 89 Fungi, 80

Gentian, 72; marsh, 144, 145; vernal, 66, 154, 155 Gerarde, John, 49, 87, 88, 91, 98, 110, 124, 130, 134, 140, 142 Globe-flower, 147, 169, 170 Gorse, 51, 52

Hare's-ear, "common," 46, 56, 87, 91; slender, 26, 27 Hellebore, 126, 142 Hemlock, 143 Henbane, 140, 141 Hound's-tongue, 55, 71 Hudson, W. H., 12, 53 (note), 57, 88, 89 Hutchinsia, 47, 106, 123

Jefferies, Richard, 40, 81 Johns, C. A., 38, 61, 125 Jupp, W. J., 15

Kinderscout, 109-12

Lady's-mantle, 167, 171; Alpine, 177 Letchworth, 92, 95, 96 Lewes brooks, 30-4 Lily of the valley, 41, 61, 125 Lloyd, E. Bertram, 16, 110, 111, 119, 183

Macmillan, Hugh, 162 (note), 175, 176 Marjoram, 69, 76, 103, 180 Marsh-cinquefoil, 147, 148 Marsh-mallow, 187 Meadow-rue, Alpine, 153, 168, 174, 182; lesser, 108 Meadow-sage, 64, 183 Monk's-hood, 94, 142 Morris, William, 42 (note), 78, 188, 189 Moschatel, 87, 88 Moss-campion, 167, 171, 175, 176 Mouse-ear, Alpine, 176

Nightshade, deadly, 72, 74, 140 Nixon, Robert, 174, 176 Norton Common, 95, 96 Nottingham catch-fly, 105, 123

Olivier, Sir Sydney, 183 Orchis, 53-6, 70, 71, 85, 86, 126, 148; bee, 53; man, 74; musk, 55; spider, 53-5 Orme's Head, 121, 124

Pagham Harbour, 27 Pansy, mountain, 108, 152, 155, 172, 174 Perfoliates, 86, 87, 108 Pevensey, shingles, 25; levels, 30, 34 Pilgrim's Way, 73 Pink, proliferous, 27; Deptford, 79; maiden, 123 Pratt, Anne, 11, 38, 60, 145, 150 Primrose, 64, 65, 131; bird's-eye, 131, 152, 172; water "violet," 31, 101, 102

Rampion, 53, 56, 74 Rock-rose, 53, 56, 72, 76, 103, 123

Saffron, meadow, 182 St. John's-worts, 11, 39, 79, 99, 148 Salmon, C. E., 17 Samphire, 24, 122, 188 Sandwort, vernal, 106, 108, 130, 167 Saw-wort, Alpine, 170, 174, 178 Saxifrages, 15, 22, 106, 167; mossy, 106, 130, 167; purple, 41, 130, 159-62; snow, 155, 174, 180; starry, 155, 167, 168, 180; yellow, 156, 171, 177 Sheep's scabious, 82 Shelley (quoted), 25, 36, 139-41, 185, 186 Shoreham shingles, 22-4 Snapdragon, 84, 86 Snowdon, 158, 164-70 Spiderwort, 168, 171, 182 Squinancy-wort, 45, 72 Stitchwort, 20, 37 Sweet Cicely, 104

Teesdale, Upper, 66, 151-7 Thistle, "melancholy," 156, 157 Thoreau, H. D., 12, 71, 144, 181; his _Journal_, 133-8 Thorn-apple, 141 Trefoils, 22, 23, 39, 40; starry-headed, 23, 99

Vaughan, Canon J., 12 (note), 98 Vetches, 22, 23, 72 Viper's bugloss, 22, 71 Virgil, 69, 80

Water-soldier, 94, 98 White, Gilbert, 51, 77, 98 Wordsworth, 11, 42, 175, 184 Wye valley, 106, 107

Yellow-wort, 72, 87

_Printed in Great Britain by_

UNWIN BROTHERS THE GRESHAM PRESS, LONDON AND WOKING

End of Project Gutenberg's The Call of the Wildflower, by Henry S. Salt