Part 10
This plant is an appropriate emblem of superstition; for it has always been regarded with reverence by the peasantry of Europe, on account of its real and supposed virtues. It was supposed to possess the power of defending persons from phantoms and spectres, and driving away all evil spirits. Its large, yellow flower grows close to the earth, and resembles a small wheel of fireworks.
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’Tis a history Handed from ages down; a nurse’s tale-- Which children, open-eyed and mouthed, devour; And thus as garrulous ignorance relates, We learn it and believe.
_Southey._
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A fortune-telling host, As numerous as the stars could boast, Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of fate in grounds of tea.
_Churchill._
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Gipsies, who every ill can cure, Except the ill of being poor, Who charms ’gainst love and agues sell, Who can in hen-roost set a spell, Prepared by arts, to them best known, To catch all feet except their own, Who as to fortune can unlock it, As easily as pick a pocket.
_Churchill._
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We may smile, or coldly sneer, The while such ghostly tales we hear,-- And wonder why they were believed, And how wise men could be deceived:-- Bathing our renovated sight In the free gospel’s glorious light, We marvel it was ever night!
_Mrs. Hale._
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This present life seems full of mysteries; The vulgar mind, to superstition prone, In nature’s workings fearful omens sees, And shrinks aghast from terrors of its own Absurd imagining. Despotic is the power Of ignorance; and thousands live in fear And die unnumbered times before the hour That Heaven has set to end their being here. The trustful, quiet, mighty thinker seeks The beautiful and simple orderings Of the Great Former of created things, And GOD to him in guiding accents speaks. Still, in the dealings of the LORD with men, Some things there are beyond our human ken.
_MacKellar._
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Tam saw an unco sight! Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillon brent new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life an mettle in their heels. A winnock bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.-- Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw’d the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantraip slight, Each in its cauld hand held a light,-- By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murderer’s banes in gibbet airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen’d bairns; A thief, new cutted frae a rape, Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi’ bluid red-rusted; Five scimiters, wi’ murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father’s throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o’ life bereft, The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi’ mair o’ horrible and awfu’, Which ev’n to name wad be unlawfu’.
_Burns._
VERVAIN.... _Enchantment_.
Vervain was employed by the ancients in various kinds of divinations. They ascribed to it a thousand properties, and, among others, that of reconciling enemies. Whenever the Romans sent their heralds to offer peace or war to nations, one of them always carried a sprig of Vervain. The Druids, both in Gaul and Britain, regarded the Vervain with the same veneration as the misletoe, and offered sacrifices to the earth before they cut this plant in spring, which was a ceremony of great pomp. Though the Druids and their religion have passed away, the Vervain is still the plant of spells and enchantment. In the northern provinces of France, the shepherds gather it with ceremonies and words known only to themselves, and express its juices under certain phases of the moon. They insist that this plant enables them to cure their ailments, and to cast a spell on their daughters and cattle, by which they can make them conform to their wishes.
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I’d wake the spell that sleeps within an herb, And witch the lady till I know she’s mine.
_Peerbold._
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Her overpowering presence made you feel It would not be idolatry to kneel.
_Byron._
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Her sacred beauty hath enchanted heaven, And, had she lived before the siege of Troy, Helen, whose beauty summoned Greece to arms, And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos, Had not been named in Homer’s Iliad; Her name had been in every line he wrote.
_Marlowe._
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Not all the charms that superstition gave To plants in lonely forests found, Could work such magic in Love’s doting slave, As the voice which his wishes crowned.
_Anon._
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A voice of laughter--a voice of glee! Among the maidens, who happy as she? By love’s enchantment her thrilling breast Is wildly, witchingly, over-blest: And gushing joys, like the sun in May, Enliven the noon of her bridal-day.
_MacKellar._
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Mysterious plant! whose golden tresses wave With a sad beauty in the dying year, Blooming amid November’s frost severe, Like a pale corpse-light o’er the recent grave. If shepherds tell us true, thy wand hath power, With gracious influence, to avert the harm Of ominous planets.
_Token, 1831._
CORN.... _Riches_.
Ceres, the goddess of Corn and harvest, was represented with a garland of ears of Corn on her head. The commemoration of the loss of her daughter Proserpine, was celebrated about the beginning of harvest; that of her search after her, at the time of sowing Corn. A whole straw has been made the emblem of union; and a broken straw, of rupture. The custom of breaking a straw, to express the rupture of a contract, may be traced back to an early period of French history, and may be said to have had a royal origin. When Charles the Simple, of France, was abandoned by his principal lords, they broke a straw to express that they would no longer acknowledge him as their king. Corn may be regarded as an appropriate emblem of wealth; since, wherever it grows, it leads us to infer plenty and comfort.
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Therefore, if at great things thou wouldst arrive, Get riches first, get wealth.
_Milton._
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Then let us get money, like bees lay up honey; We’ll build us new hives and store each cell; The sight of our treasure shall yield us great pleasure, We’ll count it, and chink it, and jingle it well.
_Dr. Franklin._
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Much learning shows how little mortals know; Much wealth, how little worldlings can enjoy: At best, it babies us with endless toys, And keeps us children till we drop to dust. As monkeys at a mirror stand amazed, They fail to find what they so plainly see; Thus men, in shining riches, see the face Of happiness, nor know it as a shade; But gaze, and touch, and peep, and peep again, And wish, and wonder it is absent still.
_Young._
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Oh, blessed lot To be possessed of wealth and of a heart So heavenly made that it refuses not Of its abundance freely to impart!
_MacKellar._
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You are heir To lordships, mansions, forests, parks, and gems. You have three mighty manors in Castile; Two broad estates in Leon; two amidst The mulberry trees of Murcia, and huge chests Crammed full of ingots, dug by naked slaves, Who famished on coarse bread. Besides all these, There bloom plantations in the East, whose fruits Are pearls, and spice, and princely diamonds; And in Brazil, Pactolus floods, ne’er dumb, Whose waves all talk in gold!
_Barry Cornwall._
CRANBERRY.... _Cure for the Heartache_.
Far away among the hills, Far from tower and town, Where wide moors and heaths lie spread, Desolate and brown.
Where the grouse and plover live Far from gun and dog, A delicate and tiny flower Decks swamp and watery bog.
The Cranberry blossom dwelleth there Amid the mountains cold, Seeming like a fairy gift Left on the dreary wold.
Oh! and ’tis very beautiful, The flowers are pink and white, And the small oval polished leaves Are evergreen and bright.
’Tis such a wee, fair, dainty thing, You’d think a greenhouse warm Would be its proper dwelling-place, Kept close from wind and storm.
But on the moors it dwelleth free, Like a fearless mountain child; With a rosy cheek, a lightsome look, And a spirit strong and wild.
In autumn, all among the swamps And marshes soft and wet, Come troops of poor hill-children The ripened fruit to get.
The bushes all in water grow, In those small pools, that lie In scores among the turfy knolls On mountains broad and high.
And there the peasant children come To pull the Cranberries red, Where bold and booted sporting squires Would scarcely dare to tread.
_They_ only shoot the poor wild birds, And chase the timid hare, For their diversion; _they_ can live In luxury, without care.
But these poor peasant-children’s lot Is full of human wo, And hungry, thinly clad, and cold, They o’er the mountains go;
With feet, that shoes have never known, And legs all blue and bare, And yet, so light are they of heart, You’ll hear them laughing there.
Such laughter makes my very heart Leap up with joy to hear, It tells that even poverty Is not entirely drear.
It telleth--what I ever think, That GOD is good indeed; And that he suiteth, in us all, Our spirit to our need.
Think ye--if these poor peasants were All discontent and sour-- If they in frowns and murmurings Spent every wretched hour:--
Like many a cherished, pampered child, Whom wealth and fondness cloy, Till e’en the knowledge of a want Would be a novel joy:--
Think, if these peasants pined like him For pleasures they have not, How manifold would then have been The sorrows of their lot!
But they, unshod, bareheaded too, Fed sparsely with coarse food, Go laughing on their gleesome way, As GOD’S bright creatures should.
They are like flowers, springing up In some unkindly place, Yet full of all their colours rare, Their sweetness and their grace.
They _are_ bright flowers, that spring to cheer E’en penury’s wilderness, And often with a swelling heart, Those human flowers I bless.
Kind blessings on their bold, clear eyes, And elvish, unbound hair;-- And blessings on their laughter wild, Mid crags and moorlands bare!
In autumn mornings forth they go With baskets to the wold, Some of wicker, some of rush, Some new, and many old.
And over mountain, over glen, The merry creatures bound, On to the wide and boggy heaths, Where a thousand streamlets sound.
The small bare legs all splash about, Heeding not cold nor wet, So long as busy eyes can see, And hands the treasure get.
“_And after all this toil and moil, What profit win they thence?_”-- Perhaps a long day’s work may bring A few poor sordid pence.
But more than hundreds to the rich Are pennies to the poor, And thankfully they seek and sell The Cranberries on the moor.
_Louisa A. Twamley._
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The heart of kindness seldom sours or curdles; The cream of love is in it pure and sweet: With every charm that human nature girdles, And every grace of gentleness replete, The man who has a kindly heart is most In pattern like his LORD; for where the law Of kindness rules the heart, the virtues draw Together in companionship, and post Themselves around that citadel of love. The kindly man doth always kindly prove: He has a word of sweetness for the child-- Of pity for the poor--of sympathy For all who mourn; and truly glad is he When through his generous care some sorrowing face has smiled. There’s music ever in the kindly soul, For every deed of goodness done is like A chord set in the heart, and joy doth strike Upon it oft as memory doth unroll The immortal page whereon good deeds are writ; And Heaven gives nothing sweeter to the mind Than memories of the acts that bless our human kind.
_MacKellar._
IVY.... _Constancy._
In Greece the altar of Hymen was enwreathed with Ivy, and a branch of it was presented to the new-married couple, as a symbol of the indissoluble knot. It was sacred to Bacchus, who is represented crowned with Ivy leaves, as well as those of the vine. It formed the crown of the Greek and Roman poets; and, in modern times, has been made the poet’s frequent image of constancy. The Ivy is attached to the earth by its own roots, and derives no nourishment from the substances to which it clings. The protector of ruins, it adorns the dilapidated walls which it holds together; it will not accept every kind of support, but its attachment ends only with its life.
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When all things have their trial, you shall find Nothing is constant but a virtuous mind.
_Shirley._
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The mountain rill Seeks with no surer flow the far, bright sea, Than my unchanged affections flow to thee.
_Park Benjamin._
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I am constant as the northern star; Of whose true, fixed, and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.
_Shakspeare._
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Make my breast Transparent as pure crystal, that the world, Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought My heart does hold. Where shall a woman turn Her eyes to find out constancy?
_Buckingham._
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No, never from this hour to part, We’ll live and love so true, The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin’s too.
_Goldsmith._
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The Ivy round some lofty pile Its twining tendril flings; Though fled from thence be pleasure’s smile, It yet the fonder clings; As lonelier still becomes the place, The warmer is its fond embrace, More firm its verdant rings; As if it loved its shade to rear O’er one devoted to despair. Thus shall my bosom cling to thine, Unchanged by gliding years; Through Fortune’s rise, or her decline, In sunshine, or in tears; And though between us oceans roll, And rocks divide us, still my soul Shall feel no jealous fears: Confiding in a heart like thine, Love’s uncontaminated shrine.
_Mrs. Hale._
HOLLY.... _Foresight_.
The Holly, with its scarlet berries, is the most beautiful of the evergreens that have been used for ages to adorn the churches of old England, during the Christmas season. It is an ornament to the woods, stripped bare by the rude breath of winter; its berries serve for food for the little birds that never leave us, and its foliage affords them an hospitable shelter during the cold season. Nature, by a seeming forethought, has been careful to preserve the verdure of this handsome tree all the year round, and to arm it with thorns, that it may furnish both food and protection to the innocent creatures which resort to it for shelter. It may be added, however, that from the bark of the common Holly, when fermented and washed from the woody fibres, is made the bird-lime which is used for catching small birds.
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With Holly and ivy, So green and so gay, We deck up our houses As fresh as the day; With bays and rosemary, And laurel complete, And every one now Is a king in conceit.
_Poor Robin’s Almanac, 1695._
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THE HOLLY TREE.
O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see The Holly tree? The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves, Ordered by an intelligence so wise As might confound the atheist’s sophistries.
Below, a circling fence its leaves are seen, Wrinkled and keen; No grazing cattle, through their prickly round Can reach to wound; But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.
I love to view these things with curious eyes And moralize; And in this wisdom of the Holly tree Can emblems see, Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme, One which may profit in the after-time.
Thus, though abroad, perchance I might appear Harsh and austere, To those who on my leisure would intrude Reserved and rude, Gentle at home amid my friends I’d be, Like the high leaves upon the Holly tree.
And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly tree.
And as when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, The Holly leaves a sober hue display, Less bright than they; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the Holly tree?
So serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng, So would I seem amid the young and gay More grave than they, That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the Holly tree.
_Southey._
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To know the road ere on’t we trust the foot, And where it leads, and what, while journeying, We may meet, is Wisdom’s eager wish.
_Peerbold._
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Walk Boldly and wisely in that light thou hast; There is a hand above will help thee on.
_Bailey._
MEADOW SAFFRON.... _My best days are past_.
The Meadow Saffron, or Colchicum Autumnale, springs up about the time the leaves begin to fall from the trees, and may, therefore, be said to proclaim to all nature, that the bright days of summer are past. According to Ovid, this autumnal flower owes its origin to some drops of the magic liquor prepared by Medea, to restore the aged Æson to the bloom and vigour of youth, which were spilled in the fields. As a medicine, the Colchicum is powerful, but dangerous, and must be used with caution. The poisonous quality of the plant seems to be known, as if by instinct, to all kinds of cattle. They all shun it, and in many pastures this alone will be found standing, when all other herbage has been consumed.
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Why grieve that time has brought so soon The sober age of manhood on? As idly should I weep at noon To see the blush of morning gone. True, time will sear and blanch my brow: Well--I shall sit with aged men, And my good glass will tell me how A grisly beard becomes me then. And should no foul dishonour lie Upon my head when I am gray, Love yet may search my fading eye, And smooth the path of my decay.
_Bryant._
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Oh! thou who dry’st the mourner’s tear, How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to thee! The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone: But thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of wo.
_Moore._
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Then bright from earth, amid the troubled sky, Ascends fair Colchicum, with radiant eye, Warms the cold bosom of the hoary year, And lights with beauty’s blaze the dusky sphere.
_Darwin._
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The world around me groweth gray and old: My friends are dropping one by one away; Some live in distant lands--some in the clay Rest quietly, their mortal moments told. And when my children gather at my knee To worship GOD and sing our morning psalm, Their rising stature whispers unto me My life is waning towards its evening calm.
_MacKellar._
CHINA ASTER.... _Variety_.
The China Aster begins to blow when other flowers are scarce. It is like an afterthought of Flora’s, who smiles at leaving us. The China Aster was introduced into Europe by Father d’Insarville, a Jesuit missionary; who, about the year 1730, sent seeds of it to the royal gardens of Paris. As, by cultivation, many varieties of the Aster have been obtained, the flower has been made the emblem of variety.
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The sleepless streams move onward Through beds of idling lilies, Chiding the foolish flowers That watch their mirrored beauty; So live the thoughtless many, Who throng the halls of fashion.
_Dawes._
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I love the ever-varying hue Upon the face of heaven; I would not have it always blue, But oft with lightning riven. I would not have wide oceans spread A mirror e’er to see; But lashed to many a cresty head By scowling tempests free!
_C. Watson._
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Play every string in love’s sweet lyre-- Set all its music flowing; Be air, and dew, and light, and fire, To keep the soul-flower growing.
_Mrs. Osgood._
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The rapid and the deep--the fall, the gulf, Have likenesses in feeling and in life. And life, so varied, hath more loveliness In one day than a creeping century Of sameness.
_Bailey._
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Youth loves and lives on change, Till the soul sighs for sameness; which at last Becomes variety; and takes its place.
_Bailey._
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Variety’s the source of joy below, From which still fresh revolving pleasures flow; In books and love the mind one end pursues, And only change the expiring flame renews.
_Gay._
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Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks, Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, But all to please and sate a curious taste?
_Milton._
AMERICAN STARWORT.... _Welcome_.
The Starwort is another late-blooming flower. It is exclusively indigenous to North America and the Cape of Good Hope. The flowers are of every variety of hue, and present a very attractive appearance.
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Stranger, new flowers in our vales are seen, With a dazzling eye, and a lovely green.-- They scent the breath of the dewy morn: They feed no worm, and they hide no thorn, But revel and grow in our balmy air; They are flowers which Freedom hath planted there.