Part 14

Cold the day and cold the drifted snow, Dim the day until the cold dark night.

(_Stirs the fire_)

Crackle, sparkle, faggot; embers glow: Some one may be plodding through the snow Longing for a light, For the light that you and I can show. If no one else should come, Here Robin Redbreast's welcome to a crumb, And never troublesome: Robin, why don't you come and fetch your crumb?

Here's butter for my hunch of bread, And sugar for your crumb; Here's room upon the hearthrug, If you'll only come.

In your scarlet waistcoat, With your keen bright eye, Where are you loitering? Wings were made to fly!

Make haste to breakfast, Come and fetch your crumb, For I'm as glad to see you As you are glad to come.

(_Two Robin Redbreasts are seen tapping with their beaks at the lattice, which JANUARY opens. The birds flutter in, hop about the floor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar thrown to them. They have scarcely finished their meal when a knock is heard at the door. JANUARY hangs a guard in front of the fire, and opens to FEBRUARY, who appears with a bunch of snowdrops in her hand._)

Good-morrow, sister.

FEBRUARY

Brother, joy to you! I've brought some snowdrops; only just a few, But quite enough to prove the world awake, Cheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew And for the pale sun's sake.

(_She hands a few of her snowdrops to JANUARY, who retires into the background. While FEBRUARY stands arranging the remaining snowdrops in a glass of water on the window-sill, a soft butting and bleating are heard outside. She opens the door, and sees one foremost lamb with other sheep and lambs bleating and crowding towards her._)

O you, you little wonder, come--come in, You wonderful, you woolly soft white lamb: You panting mother ewe, come too, And lead that tottering twin Safe in: Bring all your bleating kith and kin, Except the horny ram.

(_FEBRUARY opens a second door in the background, and the little flock files through into a warm and sheltered compartment out of sight._)

The lambkin tottering in its walk With just a fleece to wear; The snowdrop drooping on its stalk So slender,-- Snowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair, Braving the cold for our delight, Both white Both tender.

(_A rattling of doors and windows; branches seen without, tossing violently to and fro._)

How the doors rattle, and the branches sway! Here brother March comes whirling on his way With winds that eddy and sing:--

(_She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and discloses MARCH hastening up, both hands full of violets and anemones._)

Come, show me what you bring; For I have said my say, fulfilled my day, And must away.

MARCH

(_Stopping short on the threshold_)

I blow an arouse Through the world's wide house To quicken the torpid earth; Grappling I fling Each feeble thing, But bring strong life to the birth. I wrestle and frown, And topple down; I wrench, I rend, I uproot; Yet the violet Is born where I set The sole of my flying foot.

(_Hands violet and anemones to FEBRUARY, who retires into the background._)

And in my wake Frail wind-flowers quake, And the catkins promise fruit. I drive ocean ashore With rush and roar, And he cannot say me nay: My harpstrings all Are the forests tall, Making music when I play.

(_Before MARCH has done speaking, a voice is heard approaching accompanied by a twittering of birds. APRIL comes along singing, and stands outside and out of sight to finish her song._)

APRIL

(_Outside_)

Pretty little three Sparrows in a tree, Light upon the wing; Though you cannot sing You can chirp of Spring: Chirp of Spring to me, Sparrows, from your tree.

Never mind the showers, Chirp about the flowers While you build a nest: Straws from east and west, Feathers from your breast, Make the snuggest bowers In a world of flowers.

(_Appearing at the open door_)

Good-morrow and good-bye: if others fly, Of all the flying months you're the most flying.

MARCH

You're hope and sweetness, April.

APRIL

I've a rainbow in my showers And a lapful of flowers, And these dear nestlings aged three hours; And here's their mother sitting; Their father's merely flitting To find their breakfast somewhere in my bowers.

(_As she speaks APRIL shows MARCH her apron full of flowers and nest full of birds. MARCH wanders away into the grounds. APRIL, without entering the cottage, hangs over the hungry nestlings watching them. MAY arrives unperceived by APRIL, and gives her a kiss. APRIL starts and looks round._)

Ah, May, good-morrow, May, and so good-bye.

MAY

That's just your way, sweet April, smile and sigh: Your sorrow's half in fun, Begun and done And turned to joy while twenty seconds run. I've gathered flowers all as I came along, At every step a flower Fed by your last bright shower,--

(_She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers with APRIL, who strolls away through the garden._)

And gathering flowers I listened to the song Of every bird in bower.

Here are my buds of lily and rose, And here's my namesake blossom may; And from a watery spot See here forget-me-not, With all that blows To-day.

(_JUNE appears at the further end of the garden, coming slowly towards MAY, who, seeing her, exclaims:_)

Surely you're come too early, sister June.

JUNE

Indeed I feel as if I came too soon To round your young May moon And set the world a-gasping at my noon. Yet come I must. So here are strawberries Sun-flushed and sweet, as many as you please; And here are full-blown roses by the score, More roses, and yet more.

(_MAY, eating strawberries, withdraws among the flower beds. JUNE seats herself in the shadow of a laburnum._)

Or if I'm lulled by note of bird and bee, Or lulled by noontide's silence deep, I need but nestle down beneath my tree And drop asleep.

(_JUNE falls asleep; and is not awakened by the voice of JULY, who, behind the scenes, is heard, half singing, half calling._)

JULY

(_Behind the scenes_)

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.

(_Enter JULY, a basket of many-coloured irises slung upon his shoulders, a bunch of ripe grass in one hand, and a plate piled full of peaches balanced upon the other. He steals up to JUNE, and tickles her with the grass. She wakes._)

JUNE

What, here already?

JULY

Nay, my tryst is kept; The longest day slipped by you while you slept. I've brought you one curved pyramid of bloom,

(_Hands her the plate_)

Not flowers but peaches, gathered where the bees, As downy, bask and boom In sunshine and in gloom of trees. But get you in, a storm is at my heels; The whirlwind whistles and wheels, Lightning flashes and thunder peals, Flying and following hard upon my heels.

(_JUNE takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbour_)

The roar of a storm sweeps up From the east to the lurid west, The darkening sky, like a cup, Is filled with rain to the brink; The sky is purple and fire, Blackness and noise and unrest; The earth, parched with desire Opens her mouth to drink. Have done with thunder and fire, O sky with the rainbow crest; O earth, have done with desire, Drink, and drink deep, and rest.

(_Enter AUGUST, carrying a sheaf made up of different kinds of grain._)

Hail, brother August, flushed and warm And scathless from my storm, Your hands are full of corn, I see, As full as hands can be: And earth and air both smell as sweet as balm In their recovered calm, And that they owe to me.

(_JULY retires into a shrubbery_)

AUGUST

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.

(_AUGUST descries SEPTEMBER toiling across the lawn_)

My harvest home is ended; and I spy September drawing nigh, With the first thought of Autumn in her eye, And the first sigh Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly.

(_SEPTEMBER arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped high with fruit_)

SEPTEMBER

Unload me, brother. I have brought a few Plums and these pears for you, A dozen kinds of apples, one or two Melons, some figs all bursting through Their skins, and pearled with dew These damsons violet-blue.

(_While SEPTEMBER is speaking, AUGUST lifts the basket to the ground, selects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along the gravel walk, eating a pear as he goes._)

My song is half a sigh Because my green leaves die; Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are dying; And well may Autumn sigh, And well may I Who watch the sere leaves flying.

(_OCTOBER enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long ripe hop-bine trailing after him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his buttonhole._)

OCTOBER

Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite over, Even if the year has done with corn and clover, With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact, it's true Some leaves remain and some flowers too. For me and you. Now see my crops:

(_Offering his produce to SEPTEMBER_)

I've brought you nuts and hops; And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops.

(_OCTOBER wreathes the hop-bine about SEPTEMBER'S neck, and gives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, but without shutting the door. She steps into the background; he advances to the hearth, removes the guard, stirs up the smouldering fire, and arranges several chestnuts ready to roast._)

Crack your first nut and light your first fire, Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar; Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher, Logs are cheery as sun or as star, Logs we can find wherever we are. Spring one soft day will open the leaves, Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers; Never fancy my whistling wind grieves, Never fancy I've tears in my showers: Dance, nights and days! and dance on, my hours!

(_Sees NOVEMBER approaching_)

Here comes my youngest sister, looking dim And grim With dismal ways. What cheer, November?

NOVEMBER

(_Entering and shutting the door_)

Nought have I to bring, Tramping a-chill and shivering, Except these pine cones for a blaze,-- Except a fog which follows, And stuffs up all the hollows,-- Except a hoar frost here and there,-- Except some shooting stars Which dart their luminous cars Trackless and noiseless through the keen night air.

(_OCTOBER, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws into the background, while NOVEMBER throws her pine cones on the fire, and sits down listlessly._)

The earth lies asleep, grown tired Of all that's high or deep; There's nought desired and nought required Save a sleep. I rock the cradle of the earth, I lull her with a sigh; And know that she will wake to mirth By and by.

(_Through the window DECEMBER is seen running and leaping in the direction of the door. He knocks._)

Ah, here's my youngest brother come at last:

(_Calls out without rising._)

Come in, December.

(_He opens the door and enters, loaded with evergreens in berry, etc._)

Come, and shut the door, For now it's snowing fast; It snows, and will snow more and more; Don't let it drift in on the floor. But you, you're all aglow; how can you be Rosy and warm and smiling in the cold?

DECEMBER

Nay, no closed doors for me, But open doors and open hearts and glee To welcome young and old.

Dimmest and brightest month am I; My short days end, my lengthening days begin; What matters more or less sun in the sky, When all is sun within?

(_He begins making a wreath as he sings_)

Ivy and privet dark as night, I weave with hips and haws a cheerful show, And holly for a beauty and delight, And milky mistletoe.

While high above them all I set Yew twigs and Christmas roses pure and pale; Then Spring her snowdrop and her violet May keep, so sweet and frail;

May keep each merry singing bird, Of all her happy birds that singing build: For I've a carol which some shepherds heard Once in a wintry field.

(_While DECEMBER concludes his song all the other Months troop in from the garden, or advance out of the background. The Twelve join hands in a circle, and begin dancing round to a stately measure as the curtain falls._)

(_Abridged._)

PRINCE WINTER

Carl Ewald

The Prince of Winter sat on the mountains: an old man with white hair and beard. His naked breast was shaggy, shaggy his legs and hands. He looked strong and wild with cold stern eyes.

But he was not angry as when Spring drove him from the valley and when Autumn did not go quickly enough. He looked out over the kingdom calmly for he knew that it was his. And, when he found anything dead or empty or desolate, he plucked at his great white beard and gave a harsh and satisfied laugh.

But all that lived in the land was struck with terror when it looked into his cold eyes.

The trees shook in their thick bark, and the bushes struck their branches together in consternation. The mouse became quite snow-blind, when she peeped outside the door; the stag looked mournfully over the white meadow.

"My muzzle can still break thro' the ice, when I drink," he said. "I can still scrape the snow to one side and find a tuft of grass. But, if things go on like this for another week, then it's all up with me."

The crow and the chaffinch and the sparrow and the tit had quite lost their voices. They thought of the other birds, who had departed in time, and they who remained knew not where to turn in their distress. At last they set out in a row to carry their humble greeting to the new lord of the land.

"Here come your birds, O mightiest of all Princes!" said the crow and stood and marked time in the white snow. "The others left the country as soon as you announced your coming, but we have remained to submit us to your sway. Now be a gracious lord to us and grant us food."

"We bow before Your Highness!" said the chaffinch.

"We have so longed for you," said the tit, and he put his head on one side.

And the sparrow said the same as the others, in a tone of deep respect.

But the Prince of Winter laughed at them disdainfully.

"Ha, you time-serving birds! In Summer's time you amused yourselves merrily, in Autumn's, you ate yourselves stout and fat; and as soon as Spring strikes up you will dance to his piping like the others. I hate you and your screaming and squalling and the trees you hop about in. You are all here to defy me and I shall do for you if I can." Then he rose in all his strength.

"I have my own birds and now you shall see them."

He clapped his hands and sang:

"Wee snow-birds, white snow-birds, White snow-birds, wee snow-birds, Through fields skim along! To jubilant Spring I grudge music of no birds, To Summer, no song.

"Come, Winter's mute messengers, Swift birds and slow birds, White snow-birds, wee snow-birds, Till the valley be soft as down for your nestling Of numberless ice-eggs by frosty rims spanned! Now rushing, now resting, White snow-birds, wee snow-birds, Skim soft thro' the land!"

And Winter's birds came.

Suddenly, it darkened, and the air became full of little black specks, which descended and turned into great white snow-flakes.

They fell over the ground in an endless multitude. There was now not a blade of grass, nor yet a stone to be seen: everything was smooth and soft and white. Only the trees stood out high in the air and the river flowed black thro' the meadow.

"I know how to crush you," said the Prince of Winter.

And, when evening came, he told the wind to go down. Then the waves became small and still, Winter stared at them with his cold eyes, and the ice built its bridge from bank to bank. In vain the waves tried to hum Spring's song. There was no strength in their voices.

Next morning there was nothing left to the river but a narrow channel; and, when one more night had passed, the bridge was finished. Again the Prince of Winter called for his white birds; and soon the carpet was drawn over the river till it was no longer possible to see where land began or water ended.

But the trees stood boldly out of the deep snow, the firs had kept all their leaves and were so green that it was quite shocking to behold. Wherever they stood, they were a protection against the frost and a shelter against the snow; and the chaffinch and the other small birds found refuge under their roofs.

The Prince of Winter looked at them angrily.

"If I could but break you!" he said. "You stand in the midst of my kingdom keeping guard for Summer and you give shelter to the birds who disturb the peace of my land. If only I had snow enough to bury you!"

But the trees stood strong under Winter's wrath and waved their long branches.

"You have taken from us what you can," they said. "Farther than that you cannot go. We will wait calmly for better times."

When they had said this Winter suddenly set eyes upon tiny little buds round about the twigs. He saw the little brown mice trip out for a run in the snow and disappear again into their snug parlours before his eyes. He heard the hedgehog snoring in the hedge; and the crows kept on screaming in his ears. Through his own ice he saw the noses of the frogs stick up from the bottom of the pond.

"Am I the master or not?" he shouted. He tore at his beard with both hands.

He heard the anemones breathe peacefully and lightly in the mould; he heard thousands of grubs bore deep into the wood of the trees as cheerfully as though Summer were in the land. He saw the bees crawl about in their busy hive and share the honey they had collected in summer, and have a happy time. He saw the bat in the hollow tree, the worm deep in the ground; and, wherever he turned, he saw millions of eggs and grubs and chrysalides, well guarded and waiting confidently for him to go away.

He stamped on the ground and shouted in his loud, hoarse voice:

"Roar forth, mine anger, roar, and rouse, What breathes below earth's girder! By thousands slay them!"

He shouted it over the land.

The ice broke and split into long cracks. It sounded like thunder from the bottom of the river.

Then the storm broke loose. The gale roared so that you could hear the trees fall crashing in the forest. The ice was split in two and the huge floes heaped up into towering icebergs. The snow fell and drifted over meadow and hill; sky and earth were blended into one. It was piercingly cold, and where the snow had been blown away the ground was hard as stone.

The Prince of Winter stood in the valley and looked upon all this with content. He went into the forest, where the snow was frozen to windward right up to the tips of the smooth beech-trunks; but in the boughs of the fir-trees it lay so thick that they were weighted right down to the ground.

"You may be Summer's servants," he said, "but still you have to resign yourselves to wearing my livery. And now the sun shall shine on you; and I will have a glorious day."

He bade the sun come out and he came.

He rode over a bright blue sky, and all that was still alive in the valley raised itself towards him for warmth.

"Call Spring back to the valleys! Give us Summer again!"

The sun gleamed upon the hoar-frost but could not melt it; he stared down at the snow, but could not thaw it. The valley lay silent.

"That's how I like to see the land," said Winter.

The Prince of Winter sat on his mountain throne again and surveyed his kingdom and was glad. His great cold eyes stared, while he growled in his beard.

Proud of speed and hard of hand, A cruel lord to follow, Winter locks up sea and land, Blocks up every hollow.

Summer coaxes, sweet and bland, Flowers in soft vigour, At Winter's harsh and grim command They die of ruthless rigour.

Short and cold is Winter's Day, Long and worse night's hours, Few birds languish in his pay And yet fewer flowers.

The days wore on and Winter reigned over the land.

The little brown mice had eaten their last nut; the hedgehog was hungry and the crows were nearly giving in.

Then suddenly there came the sound of singing.

Play up! Play soon, Keep time! Keep time! Ye wavelets blue and tender, Keep time! Keep time! Burst ice and rime In equinoctial splendor.

Up leaped Winter and stared with his hands over his brows.

Down below in the valley stood the Prince of Spring, young and straight in his green garb, with the lute slung over his shoulder. His long hair waved in the wind and his face was soft and round, his mouth was ever smiling and his eyes were dreamy and moist.

HOW SPRING AND WINTER MET

The Winter and the Spring were met: The Winter threw a fleecy net, And caught the young Spring over night. He put to sleep the budding tree Within a cloister dim and white; And the little golden crocus flower, That comes too early for the bee, He hid away from sunrise hour. The brook was conscious of his power And lost its trick of babbling words.

But Spring awoke, despite his craft, And out of windows looked and laughed.

At first he set to sing all birds, With twittering voices small and clear, And bade them say they felt no grief To find the snow and mildewed leaf Heaped up in nests they built last year. Then found a crystal alcove high The bluebird carolled to the sky. The robin whistled cheer, good cheer! The sparrow rung his matin bells, And far away in reedy dells The quail a friendly greeting sent. Then was the stifled pine not loth To shuffle off the dull white sloth; Then leaped the brook by icy stair, And snapped his fetters as he went; The sun shone out most full and fair, And Winter rose and struck his tent.

Edith M. Thomas.

Transcriber's Note

On pp. 13-14 the text reads, "The king took up the sack nearest to him, their surprise, when out rushed a great heap of brown leaves, which flew all over the floor and half choked them with dust!" It appears there may be some missing text between "nearest to him" and "their surprise"; there does not appear to be any damage or obscured text in the original book, and the line count matches that of other pages, so it may be that a line was omitted during typesetting. The transcriber was unable to locate an alternative printing of the story, so, as it is impossible to determine what that text may be, the omission is preserved as printed.

Poe is referred to in this text as Edgar Allen Poe, rather than the more usual Edgar Allan Poe. This is preserved as printed.

Although authors and translators are listed in the Table of Contents, their names are not always included with their prose in the main text. This convention is retained here to match the original book.

Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.

Hyphenation and capitalisation has been made consistent within individual pieces in the book.

The following amendments have been made:

First page of Acknowledgments--Edinburg amended to Edinburgh--"To T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh ..."