A MEDLEY OF WEATHER LOREAMEDLEYOFWEATHER LORECOLLECTED BYM. E. S. WRIGHT"An almanack is out at twelve months day,My legacy it doth endure for aye,But take you notice, though 'tis but a hint,It far exceeds some books of greater print."The Shepherd's Legacy.(John Claridge, 1670)Horace G. Commin,Bournemouth1913THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX.CONTENTSPAGEPREFACE5JANUARY9FEBRUARY17MARCH24APRIL37MAY52JUNE67JULY85AUGUST94SEPTEMBER100OCTOBER109NOVEMBER116DECEMBER121INDEX131PREFACEIn this collection of Weather Lore and Poetry I beg to acknowledge with gratitude permission from Messrs. Macmillan to quote lines from Tennyson, Charles Turner, Alfred Austin, Matthew Arnold, Christina Rossetti, T. E. Brown, and Francis Doyle.From Messrs. Longman and Green from Jean Ingelow, from "Four Bridges," and "An Afternoon at a Parsonage." Andrew Lang, from "A Ballade of Summer." William Morris' from "The Earthly Paradise," and "Love is Enough," and Edwin Arnold, from "Bloom of an Almond Tree."From Messrs. Kegan Paul and Trench from Lewis Morris. From Messrs. Chatto and Windus (by the courtesy of Mr. Theodore Watts-Dunton) for the inclusion of verses by A. Swinburne, and from the Walter Scott Publishing Company for the use of Selections of R. W. Emerson and Owen Meredith. I have endeavoured to avoid infringing copyrights, but if I should have done so inadvertently I beg that my sincere apologies maybe accepted.M. E. S. Wright.A MEDLEY OF WEATHER LOREA MEDLEY OFWEATHER LOREJANUARYAncient Cornish name for the month:Mis-jenver, cold air month.Jewel for the month: Garnet. Constancy.If Janiveer calends be summerly gay,'Twill be wintry weather till the calends of May.The wind of the South will be productive of heat and fertility; the wind of the West, of milk and fish; the wind from the North, of cold and storm; the wind from the East, of fruit on the trees.Scotland.At New Year's tideThe days lengthen a cock's stride.Proverb in the North.A cold January, a feverish February, a dusty March, a weeping April, a windy May, presage a good year and gay.France.Warwickshire countrymen to ensure good luck bow nine times to the first New Moon of the year.A snow year, a rich year.The blackest month of all the yearIs the month of Janiveer.Through all the sad and weary hoursWhich cold and dark and storms will bring,We scarce believe in what we know—That time drags on at last to Spring.The empty pastures blind with rain.If the grass grow in Janiveer'Twill be the worse for 't all the year.A fair day in winter is the mother of a storm.Under water famine, under snow bread.March in Janiveer,Janiveer in March I fear.A year of snow a year of plenty.Spain.Winter time for shoeing;Peascod time for wooing.Devon.1565On Twelve-eve in Christmas, they used to set up as high as they can a sieve of oats, and in it a dozen candles set round, and in the centre one larger, all lighted. This in memory of our Saviour and His Apostles, lights of the world.Westmeath custom.In the South-hams of Devonshire, on the Eve of the Epiphany, the farmer attended by his workmen, with a large pitcher of cyder, goes to the orchard, and there, encircling one of the best bearing trees, they drink the following toast three several times:"Here's to thee, old apple-tree,Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow!And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!Hats-full, caps-full!Bushel-bushel-sacks-full!And my pockets full too! Huzza!"Old Custom of blessing Apple Trees on Twelfth Day.Apple-tree, apple-tree,Bear apples for me:Hats full, laps full,Sacks full, caps full:Apple-tree, apple-tree,Bear apples for me."Twelfth-Day—came in a tiffany suit, white and gold, like a queen on a frost-cake, all royal, glittering, and Epiphanous."Elia.January the fourteenth will be either the coldest or wettest day of the year.Huntingdon.St. Anthony.(January 17th.)It is affirmed of him that all the world bemoaned his death, for afterwards there fell no rain from heaven for three years.St. Vincent.(January 22nd. Old Style. February 3rd. New Style.)Remember in St. Vincent's DayIf the sun his beams display,'Tis a token bright and clear,That you will have a prosperous year.Winter's thunder's summer's wonder.St. Paul's Eve.(January 24th.)Winter's white shrowd doth cover all the grounde,And Caecias blows his bitter blaste of woe;The ponds and pooles, and streams in ice are bounde,And famished birds are shivering in the snowe.Still round about the house they flitting goe,And at the windows seek for scraps of foodeWhich Charity with hand profuse doth throwe,Right weeting that in neede of it they stoode,For Charity is shown by working creatures goode.The sparrowe pert, the chaffinche gay and cleane,The redbreast welcome to the cotter's house,The livelie blue tomtit, the oxeye greene,The dingie dunnock, and the swart colemouse;The titmouse of the marsh, the nimble wrenne,The bullfinch and the goldspink, with the kingOf birds the goldcrest. The thrush, now and then,The blackbird, wont to whistle in the spring,Like Christians seeke the heavenlie food SaintPaul doth bring.Dr. Forster.St. Paul's Day.If Saint Paul's Day be fair and clear,It promises then a happy year;But if it chance to snow or rain,Then will be dear all sorts of grain;Or if the wind do blow aloft,Great stirs will vex the world full oft;And if dark clouds do muff the sky,Then foul and cattle oft will die.T. Passenger.Of Gardens.For the latter part of January and February, the mezerion tree, which then blossoms; crocus vernus, both the yellow and the gray; primroses, anemones, the early tulippa, hyacinthus orientalis, chamairis, frettellaria.Bacon.A January springIs worth no thing.Pluck broom, broom still,Cut broom, broom kill.Tusser.Good gardener mine,Make garden fine,Set garden pease,And beans if ye please.Set respis and rose,Young roots of those.Who now sows oatsGets gold and groats.Who sows in May,Gets little that way.Tusser.A kindly good January freezeth pot by the fire.O Winter! wilt thou never—never go!O Summer! but I weary for thy coming!David Gray.If the robin sings in the bush, then the weather will be coarse; but if the robin sings on the barn, then the weather will be warm.Norfolk.FEBRUARYAncient Cornish name:Hu-evral, whirling month.Jewel: Amethyst. Sincerity.One month is past, another is begun,Since merry bells rang out the dying year,And buds of rarest green began to peer,As if impatient for a warmer sun;And though the distant hills are bleak and dun,The virgin snowdrop, like a lambent fire,Pierces the cold earth, with its green-streaked spire;And in dark woods the wandering little oneMay find a primrose.Hartley Coleridge.Fair rising from her icy couch,Wan herald of the floral year,The snowdrop marks the spring's approach,Ere yet the primrose groups appear,Or peers the arum from its spotted veil,Or violets scent the cold capricious gale.Charlotte Smith.Candlemas shined, and the winter's behind.If Candlemas Day be fair and brightThe winter will take another flight;But if it should be dark and drearThen winter is gone for another year.When on the Purification sun hath shined,The greater part of winter comes behind.The badger peeps out of his hole on Candlemas Day, and if he finds snows, walks abroad; but if he sees the sun shining, he draws back into his hole.German saying.On Candlemas Day if the thorns hang-a-drop,Then you are sure of a good pea crop.When the wind's in the East on Candlemas Day,There it will stick till the second of May.February fill the ditch,Black or white we don't care which.Hants.All the months of the yearFear a fair Februeer.The dim droop of a sombre February day.There is an old proverb,That birds of a featherOn Saint Valentine's dayWill meet together.1733.Why, Valentine's a day to chooseA mistress, and our freedom lose?May I my reason interpose,The question with an answer close?To imitate we have a mind,And couple like the winged kind.John Dunton.I early rose, just at the break of day,Before the sun had chased the stars away;Afield I went, amid the morning dew,To milk my kine (for so should housewives do),Thee first I spied, and the first swain we see.In spite of fortune, shall our true-love be.Gay.Shrove-tide.Beef and bacon's out of season,I want a pan to parch my peason.Berks.Knick-knock, the pan's hot,And we are come a-shroving,For a piece of pancake,Or a piece of bacon,Or a piece of truckle cheeseOf your own making.Hants.On Shrove Tuesday night, though the supper be fat,Before Easter Day thou mayst fast for that.Isle of Man.Pancake Bell.(Congleton.)The housekeeper goes to the huxter's shop,And the eggs are brought home, and there's flop! flop! flop!And there's batter, and butter, and savoury smell,While merrily rings the Pancake Bell.So much sun as shineth on Pancake Tuesday, the like will shine every day in Lent.A hoar frost,Third day crost,The fourth lost.Lancs.Bean Sowing.One for the mouse, one for the crow,One to rot, one to grow.Sow peason and beans in the wane of the moone,Who soweth them sooner, he soweth too soon;That they with the planet may rest and rise,And flourish with bearing, most plentiful wise.Tusser.If February gives much snowA fine summer it doth foreshow.Now set for thy potBest herbs to be got,For flowers go set,All sorts ye can get.Tusser.In Oxfordshire the first bee seen in February is saluted, as this is said to bring good luck.Thrush's Song."Did he do it? Did he do it?Come and see, come and see;Knee deep, knee deep;Cherry sweet, cherry sweet,To me! to me! to me!"The pretty lark,Climbing the welkin clear,Chaunts with a "Cheer, here, peer,I near my dear!"When stooping thence,Seeming her fall to rue,"Adieu," she cries,"Adieu! dear Love, adieu!"When after a rough and stormy day there is a lull in the wind at the going down of the sun, old men say: "Us shall have better weather now, for the wind's gone to sleep with the sun."Devon.When a moorland shepherd meets his sheep on a winter's night coming down from the hilltops (where they prefer to sleep) he knows that a storm is brewing.MARCHAncient Cornish name:Miz-merp, horse month.Jewel: Bloodstone. Courage and wisdom.Upon St. David's DayPut oats and barley in the clay.The leeke is white and green, whereby is mentThat Britaines are both stout and eminent;Next to the lion and the unicorne,The leek's the fairest emblyn that is worne.Harleian MS.On the first of MarchThe crows begin to search,By the first of AprilThey are sitting still,By the first of MayThey are a' flown away;Croupin' greedy back again,Wi' October's wind and rain.He who freely lops in March will get his lap full of fruit.Portuguese saying.Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles,Warlike March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath.Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and angles,Round the shuddering house, breathing of winter and death.W. D. Howells.Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dryMake April ready for the throstle's song,Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong.W. Morris.Of Gardens.For March there come violets, especially the single blue, which are the earliest; the early daffodil, the daisy, the almond tree in blossom, the peach tree in blossom, the cornelian (dogwood) tree in blossom, sweetbrier.Bacon.A frosty winter, and a dusty March,And a rain about Aperill,And another about the Lammas timeWhen the corn begins to fill,Is worth a ploughy of goldAnd all her pins theretill.Come gather the crocus-cups with me,And dream of the summer coming;Saffron, and purple, and snowy white,All awake to the first bees humming.The white is there for the maiden-heart,And the purple is there for sorrow;The saffron is there for the true true love,And they'll all be dead to-morrow.Sebastian Evans.Beside the garden path the crocus nowPuts forth its head to woo the genial breeze,And finds the snowdrop, hardier visitant,Already basking in the solar ray.Upon the brooke the water cresses floatMore greenly, and the bordering reeds exaltHigher their speary summits. Joyously,From stone to stone, the ouzel flits along,Startling the linnet from the hawthorn bough;While on the elm-tree, overshadowing deepThe low-roofed cottage white, the blackbird sitsCheerily hymning the awakened year.Blank earth-baldness clothes itself afresh,And breaks into the crocus-purple hour.Tennyson.Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trustMarch with its peck of dust,Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,Nor even May, whose flowersOne frost may wither through the sunless hours.C. Rossetti.If it does not freeze on the tenth of March a fertile year may be expected.In March is good graffing, the skilful do know,So long as the wind in the east do not blow:From moon being changed, till past be the prime,For graffing and cropping is very good time.Tusser.In March and in April, from morning to night,In sowing and setting good huswives delight:To have in a garden or other like plot,To trim up their house, and to furnish their pot.Tusser.To the Daffodil.O Love-star of the unbeloved March,When cold and shrill,Forth flows beneath a low dim-lighted archThe wind that beats sharp crag and barren hill,And keeps unfilmed the lately torpid rill!Herald and harbinger! with theeBegins the year's great jubilee!Of her solemnities sublime(A sacristan whose gusty taperFlashes through earliest morning vapour)Thou ring'st dark nocturns and dim prime.Birds that have yet no heart for songGain strength with thee to twitter,And, warm at last, where hollies throng,The mirror'd sunbeams glitter.A. De Vere.The softest turf of English green,With sloping walks and trees between,And then a bed of flowers half-seen.Here daffodils in early SpringAnd violets their off'rings bring,And sweetest birds their hymns outsing.When country roads begin to thawIn mottled spots of damp and dust,And fences by the margin drawAlong the frozen crustTheir graphic silhouettes, I say,The Spring is coming round this way.When suddenly some shadow birdGoes wavering beneath the gaze,And through the hedge the moan is heardOf kine that fain would grazeIn grasses new, I smile and say,The Spring is coming round this way.Whitcomb Riley.Oh, what a dawn of day!How the March sun feels like May!All is blue againAfter last night's rain.Browning.No summer flowers are half so sweetAs those of early Spring.Under the furze is hunger and cold,Under the broom is silver and gold.The Spring.When wintry weather's all a-done,An' brooks do sparkle in the zun,An' naisy-builden rooks do vleeWi' sticks toward their elem tree;When birds do zing, an' we can zeeUpon the bough the buds o' spring—Then I'm as happy as a king,A'vield wi' health an' sunshine.Vor then the cowslips hangin' flow'rA-wetted in the zunny show'r,Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell,Beside the wood-screen'd graegle's bell;Where drushes aggs, wi' sky-blue shell,Do lie in mossy nest amongThorns, while they do zing their zongAt evenin' in the zunsheen.W. Barnes.A camomile bed,—The more it is trodden,The more it will spread.Thunder in springCold will bring.March search, April try,May will prove if you live or die.March wind and May sunMakes clothes white and maids dun.March does from April gainThree days, and they're in rain,Returned by April in's bad kind,Three days, and they're in wind.Sun set in a clear,Easterly wind's near;Sun set in a bank,Westerly will not lack.Scotland.In the morning look toward the south east;In the evening look toward the north west.China.Pale moon doth rain,Red moon doth blow,White moon doth neither rain nor snow.Latin proverb.Any person neglecting to kill the first butterfly he may see for the season will have ill luck throughout the year.Devon and Hants.St. Patrick's Day.(March 17th.)Gervase of Tilbury gives a legend that on St. Patrick's Day, to do homage to him, the fish rise from the sea, pass in procession before his altar, and then disappear.Divination by a daffodil.When a daffodil I seeHanging down his head t'wards me,Guesse I may what I must be:First, I shall decline my head;Secondly, I shall be dead;Lastly, safely buryed.Herrick.Hail! once again, that sweet strong note!Loud on my loftiest larch,Thou quaverest with thy mottled throat,Brave minstrel of bleak March!A. Austin.March twenty-first, Spring begins.Where the wind is at twelve o'clock on the twenty-first of March, there she'll bide for three months afterwards.Surrey and Hants.When the wind blows from N.E.—a uniformly dry quarter during the week of the vernal equinox—it is an all but unfailing guide to the general character of the ensuing season.Our vernal signs the Ram begins,Then comes the Bull, in May the Twins;The Crab in June, next Leo shines,And Virgo ends the northern signs.The Balance brings autumnal fruits,The Scorpion stings, the Archer shoots;December's Goat brings wintry blast,Aquarius rain, the Fish come last.E. C. Brewer.Spring is here when you can tread on nine daisies at once on the village green.There is a saying that if boys be beaten with an elder stick it hinders their growth.When our Lord falls in our Lady's lapEngland will meet with a great mishap.There is a tradition amongst New Forest gipsies that you must not soap your face on Good Friday, as it is said that soapsuds were thrown in Our Lord's face on the day of His Crucifixion.Thou wilt remember one warm morn when winterCrept aged from the earth, and spring's first breathBlew soft from the moist hills; the blackthorn boughs,So dark in the bare wood, when glisteningIn the sunshine were white with coming buds,Like the bright side of a sorrow, and the banksHad violets opening from sleep like eyes.Browning.If apples bloom in March,In vain for 'um you'll sarch;If apples bloom in April,Why then they'll be plentiful;If apples bloom in May,You may eat 'um night and day.From whatever quarter the wind blows on Palm Sunday, it will continue to blow for the greater part of the coming summer.Hants.As many days of fog in March, so many days of frost in May, on corresponding days.Hants.In Spring a tub of rain makes a spoonful of mud. In Autumn a spoonful of rain makes a tub of mud.There is a tradition that twin lambs are scarce in Leap Year.Sleep with your head to the North—you will have sickness; to the South—long life; to the East—health and riches; to the West—fame.APRILAncient Cornish name:Miz-ebrall primrose month.Jewel for the month: Sapphire. Frees from enchantment.If it thunders on All Fool's dayIt brings good crops of grain and hay.The first thunder of the year awakesAll the frogs and all the snakes.MS. 250years 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.A wet Good Friday and Easter dayBrings plenty of grass, but little good hay.Leicester.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 letA thought of sorrow free.W. Story.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.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, primroseThat loves to lurk below the hawthorn shade.Graham.Spring is strong and virtuous,Broad—sowing, cheerful, plenteous,Quickening underneath the mouldGrains beyond the price of gold.So deep and large her bounties are,That one broad, long midsummer dayShall to the planet overpayThe ravage of a year of war.Emerson.In wild moor or sterile heath,Bright with the golden furze, beneathO'erhanging bush or shelving stone,The little stonechat dwells alone,Or near his brother of the whin;Among the foremost to beginHis 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.The lark sung loud; the music at his heartHad called him early; upward straight he went,And bore in nature's quire the merriest part.C. Turner.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.April fourteenth, first cuckoo day.Sussex.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.There is an old superstition that where one hears the cuckoo first there one will spend most of the year.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.ODE TO THE CUCKOO.Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!Thou messenger of Spring!Now Heaven repairs thy rural seatAnd 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."Cuckoo! cuckoo!" The first we've heard!"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" God bless the birdScarce time to take his breath,And now "Cuckoo!" he saith.Cuckoo! cuckoo! three cheers!And let the welkin ring!He has not folded wingSince last he saw Algiers.T. E. Brown.April fifteenth, first swallow day.Sussex.He comes! He comes! who loves to bearSoft sunny hours and seasons fair;The swallow hither comes to restHis sable wing and snowy breast.April and May, the keys of the year.Spanish.The first Sunday after Easter settles the weather for the whole Summer.Sweden."The rippling smile of the April rain."A. Austin.A cold AprilThe barn will fill.Although it rains, throw not away thy watering-pot.Plant your 'taturs when you will,They won't come up before April.Wilts.When there are many more swifts than swallows in the Spring, expect a hot and dry Summer.April cold with dropping rainWillows and lilacs brings again,The whistle of returning birds,And, trumpet-lowing of the herds.I met Queen Spring in the hangerThat slopes to the river gray;Yestreen the thrushes sang her,But she came herself to-day.Bourdillon.When the sloe tree is as white as a sheet,Sow your barley, whether it be dry or wet.As yet but single,The bluebells with the grasses mingle;But soon their azure will be scrolledUpon the primrose cloth of gold.A. Austin.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.Hark! the Hours are softly calling,Bidding Spring arise,To listen to the raindrops fallingFrom the cloudy skies,To listen to Earth's weary voices,Louder every day,Bidding her no longer lingerOn her charmed way;But hasten to her task of beautyScarcely yet begun;By the first bright day of summerIt should all be done.A. A. Procter.To The BlackbirdGolden 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 sunMelt, like snow-flakes, one by one,Let thy loud and welcome layPour alongFew notes, but strong.Montgomery.Fled are the frosts, and now the Fields appearRe-clothed in fresh and verdant Diaper.Thaw'd are the snows, and now the lusty SpringGives to each mead a neat enamelling.The Palms put forth their Gemmes, and every treeNow swaggers in her leavy gallantry.Herrick.Ye who have felt and seenSpring's morning smiles and soul enlivening green,Say, did you give the thrilling transport way?Did your eye brighten, when young lambs at playLeap'd o'er your path with animated pride,Or graz'd in merry clusters by your side?Bloomfield.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 henceAnd locked up underground, that ev'ry senseHath several objects: trees have got their heads,The fields their coats; that now the shining meadsDo 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.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, thecherry-tree in blossom, the damascene, the plum trees in blossom, the whitethorn in leaf, the lilac tree.Bacon.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.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 dareTrust the cruel outer air;When the royal kingcup boldDares not don his throat of gold;And the sturdy blackthorn sprayKeeps his silver for the May;Coming when no flowerets wouldSave thy lowly sisterhood;Early violets, blue and white,Dying for their love of light.Edwin Arnold.There is a rapturous movement, a green growing,Among the hills and valleys once again,And silent rivers of delight are flowingInto 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.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 ayeOn leafy spray,And in her fitful strain doth runA thousand and a thousand changes,With voice that rangesThrough 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 throngThat dwell in nests and have the gift of song.Longfellow.The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to buildHer 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 stretchedTowards heaven, as if from heaven her voice she fetched.Waller.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."Sweet April, smiling through her tears,Shakes raindrops from her hair and disappears.MAYAncient Cornish name:Miz-me, flowery month.Jewel for the month: Emerald. Discovers false friends.Lo, the young month comes, all smiling, up this way.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.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.It is unlucky to go on the water the first Monday in May.Irish saying.Whoever is ill in the month of May,For the rest of the year will be healthy and gay.Leave cropping from MayTo Michaelmas Day.The last year's leaf, its time is briefUpon 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.There are twelve months in all the year,As I hear many say,But the merriest month in all the yearIs the merry month of May.They who bathe in MayWill soon be laid in clay;They who bathe in JuneWill sing another tune.Yorkshire.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 earthAwakes from her wintry tomb.Hogg.Flowery May, who from her green lap throwsThe yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.Milton.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.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 shrillSome hours ago; but now the woodland rillMurmurs 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.If you sweep the house with blossomed broom in May,You're sure to sweep the head of the house away.Come out of doors! 'tis Spring! 'tis May!The trees be green, the fields be gay,The weather warm, the winter blastWith all his train of clouds is past.Mother of blossoms! and of allThat'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.All the land in flowery squares,Beneath a broad and equal blowing wind,Smelt of the coming summer, as one large cloudDrew downward: but all else of Heaven was pureUp to the sun, and May from verge to verge.Tennyson.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 thenFloods 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 ringingWith birds sweetly singing,Where dewdrops are clingingTo flowret and spray.The sunshine entrancesMy heart when it dances,And glimmers and glances,Through greenwood so gay.From Celtic Lyre.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.)Old May Day is the usual time for turning out cattle into the pastures, though frequently then very bare of grass.Hone.The three most unpopular saints in the calender are Pancratius, Servatius, and Bonifacius, known both in Germany and Austria asthe "three icemen"; and during May 12, 13, and 14 many gardeners keep nightly watch and light outdoor fires.Who shears his sheep before St. Gervatius' (or Servatius') Day loves more his wool than his sheep.When the corn is over the crow's back the frost is over.Cheshire.Go and look at oats in May,You will see them blown away;Go and look again in June,You will sing another tune.The oak before the ash,Prepare your summer sash;The ash before the oak,Prepare your summer cloak.Dorset.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.In the middle of May comes the tail of the winter.France.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 robinWas pouring forth his lay;The cuckoo's note of gladnessArose from scented spray.The mavis warbles loudlyFrom yonder leafy tree;The wren now joins the chorus,And chirps aloud with glee;The linnet is preparingHer cheerfulness to show,While black-cocks greet their partnersWith cooing soft and low.From Celtic Lyre.May's warm, slow, yellow moonlit summer nights.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."The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close,Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose;The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and againThe monitor revives his own sweet strain;But both will soon be mastered, and the copseBe left as silent as the mountain-tops,Ere some commanding star dismiss to restThe throng of rooks, that now from twig or nest,(After a steady flight on home-bound wings,And a last game of mazy hoveringsAround their ancient grove) with cawing noise,Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.Wordsworth.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.He that would live for ayeMust eat sage in May.A dry May and a dripping JuneBrings all things into tune.Bedford.Hawthorn bloom and elder flowersWill fill a house with evil powers.Warwick.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 waterWhere 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 atrembleTurn their edges to the light,And the far-off clouds resembleVeils of gauze most clear and white;And the sunbeams fall and flatterWoodland moss and branches brown,And the glossy finches chatterUp 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 suchIt in the pasture, only with a touch,Unshods the new-shod steed.Withers.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 flowersMonth 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 keepMingles 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.
A MEDLEY OF WEATHER LOREAMEDLEYOFWEATHER LORECOLLECTED BYM. E. S. WRIGHT"An almanack is out at twelve months day,My legacy it doth endure for aye,But take you notice, though 'tis but a hint,It far exceeds some books of greater print."The Shepherd's Legacy.(John Claridge, 1670)Horace G. Commin,Bournemouth1913THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX.
A MEDLEY OF WEATHER LORE
COLLECTED BYM. E. S. WRIGHT
"An almanack is out at twelve months day,My legacy it doth endure for aye,But take you notice, though 'tis but a hint,It far exceeds some books of greater print."
The Shepherd's Legacy.
(John Claridge, 1670)
Horace G. Commin,
Bournemouth
1913
THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX.
CONTENTSPAGEPREFACE5JANUARY9FEBRUARY17MARCH24APRIL37MAY52JUNE67JULY85AUGUST94SEPTEMBER100OCTOBER109NOVEMBER116DECEMBER121INDEX131
CONTENTS
PREFACEIn this collection of Weather Lore and Poetry I beg to acknowledge with gratitude permission from Messrs. Macmillan to quote lines from Tennyson, Charles Turner, Alfred Austin, Matthew Arnold, Christina Rossetti, T. E. Brown, and Francis Doyle.From Messrs. Longman and Green from Jean Ingelow, from "Four Bridges," and "An Afternoon at a Parsonage." Andrew Lang, from "A Ballade of Summer." William Morris' from "The Earthly Paradise," and "Love is Enough," and Edwin Arnold, from "Bloom of an Almond Tree."From Messrs. Kegan Paul and Trench from Lewis Morris. From Messrs. Chatto and Windus (by the courtesy of Mr. Theodore Watts-Dunton) for the inclusion of verses by A. Swinburne, and from the Walter Scott Publishing Company for the use of Selections of R. W. Emerson and Owen Meredith. I have endeavoured to avoid infringing copyrights, but if I should have done so inadvertently I beg that my sincere apologies maybe accepted.M. E. S. Wright.
In this collection of Weather Lore and Poetry I beg to acknowledge with gratitude permission from Messrs. Macmillan to quote lines from Tennyson, Charles Turner, Alfred Austin, Matthew Arnold, Christina Rossetti, T. E. Brown, and Francis Doyle.
From Messrs. Longman and Green from Jean Ingelow, from "Four Bridges," and "An Afternoon at a Parsonage." Andrew Lang, from "A Ballade of Summer." William Morris' from "The Earthly Paradise," and "Love is Enough," and Edwin Arnold, from "Bloom of an Almond Tree."
From Messrs. Kegan Paul and Trench from Lewis Morris. From Messrs. Chatto and Windus (by the courtesy of Mr. Theodore Watts-Dunton) for the inclusion of verses by A. Swinburne, and from the Walter Scott Publishing Company for the use of Selections of R. W. Emerson and Owen Meredith. I have endeavoured to avoid infringing copyrights, but if I should have done so inadvertently I beg that my sincere apologies maybe accepted.
M. E. S. Wright.
A MEDLEY OF WEATHER LOREA MEDLEY OFWEATHER LOREJANUARYAncient Cornish name for the month:Mis-jenver, cold air month.Jewel for the month: Garnet. Constancy.If Janiveer calends be summerly gay,'Twill be wintry weather till the calends of May.The wind of the South will be productive of heat and fertility; the wind of the West, of milk and fish; the wind from the North, of cold and storm; the wind from the East, of fruit on the trees.Scotland.At New Year's tideThe days lengthen a cock's stride.Proverb in the North.A cold January, a feverish February, a dusty March, a weeping April, a windy May, presage a good year and gay.France.Warwickshire countrymen to ensure good luck bow nine times to the first New Moon of the year.A snow year, a rich year.The blackest month of all the yearIs the month of Janiveer.Through all the sad and weary hoursWhich cold and dark and storms will bring,We scarce believe in what we know—That time drags on at last to Spring.The empty pastures blind with rain.If the grass grow in Janiveer'Twill be the worse for 't all the year.A fair day in winter is the mother of a storm.Under water famine, under snow bread.March in Janiveer,Janiveer in March I fear.A year of snow a year of plenty.Spain.Winter time for shoeing;Peascod time for wooing.Devon.1565On Twelve-eve in Christmas, they used to set up as high as they can a sieve of oats, and in it a dozen candles set round, and in the centre one larger, all lighted. This in memory of our Saviour and His Apostles, lights of the world.Westmeath custom.In the South-hams of Devonshire, on the Eve of the Epiphany, the farmer attended by his workmen, with a large pitcher of cyder, goes to the orchard, and there, encircling one of the best bearing trees, they drink the following toast three several times:"Here's to thee, old apple-tree,Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow!And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!Hats-full, caps-full!Bushel-bushel-sacks-full!And my pockets full too! Huzza!"Old Custom of blessing Apple Trees on Twelfth Day.Apple-tree, apple-tree,Bear apples for me:Hats full, laps full,Sacks full, caps full:Apple-tree, apple-tree,Bear apples for me."Twelfth-Day—came in a tiffany suit, white and gold, like a queen on a frost-cake, all royal, glittering, and Epiphanous."Elia.January the fourteenth will be either the coldest or wettest day of the year.Huntingdon.St. Anthony.(January 17th.)It is affirmed of him that all the world bemoaned his death, for afterwards there fell no rain from heaven for three years.St. Vincent.(January 22nd. Old Style. February 3rd. New Style.)Remember in St. Vincent's DayIf the sun his beams display,'Tis a token bright and clear,That you will have a prosperous year.Winter's thunder's summer's wonder.St. Paul's Eve.(January 24th.)Winter's white shrowd doth cover all the grounde,And Caecias blows his bitter blaste of woe;The ponds and pooles, and streams in ice are bounde,And famished birds are shivering in the snowe.Still round about the house they flitting goe,And at the windows seek for scraps of foodeWhich Charity with hand profuse doth throwe,Right weeting that in neede of it they stoode,For Charity is shown by working creatures goode.The sparrowe pert, the chaffinche gay and cleane,The redbreast welcome to the cotter's house,The livelie blue tomtit, the oxeye greene,The dingie dunnock, and the swart colemouse;The titmouse of the marsh, the nimble wrenne,The bullfinch and the goldspink, with the kingOf birds the goldcrest. The thrush, now and then,The blackbird, wont to whistle in the spring,Like Christians seeke the heavenlie food SaintPaul doth bring.Dr. Forster.St. Paul's Day.If Saint Paul's Day be fair and clear,It promises then a happy year;But if it chance to snow or rain,Then will be dear all sorts of grain;Or if the wind do blow aloft,Great stirs will vex the world full oft;And if dark clouds do muff the sky,Then foul and cattle oft will die.T. Passenger.Of Gardens.For the latter part of January and February, the mezerion tree, which then blossoms; crocus vernus, both the yellow and the gray; primroses, anemones, the early tulippa, hyacinthus orientalis, chamairis, frettellaria.Bacon.A January springIs worth no thing.Pluck broom, broom still,Cut broom, broom kill.Tusser.Good gardener mine,Make garden fine,Set garden pease,And beans if ye please.Set respis and rose,Young roots of those.Who now sows oatsGets gold and groats.Who sows in May,Gets little that way.Tusser.A kindly good January freezeth pot by the fire.O Winter! wilt thou never—never go!O Summer! but I weary for thy coming!David Gray.If the robin sings in the bush, then the weather will be coarse; but if the robin sings on the barn, then the weather will be warm.Norfolk.
A MEDLEY OF WEATHER LORE
A MEDLEY OFWEATHER LORE
Ancient Cornish name for the month:Mis-jenver, cold air month.
Jewel for the month: Garnet. Constancy.
If Janiveer calends be summerly gay,'Twill be wintry weather till the calends of May.
The wind of the South will be productive of heat and fertility; the wind of the West, of milk and fish; the wind from the North, of cold and storm; the wind from the East, of fruit on the trees.
Scotland.
At New Year's tideThe days lengthen a cock's stride.
Proverb in the North.
A cold January, a feverish February, a dusty March, a weeping April, a windy May, presage a good year and gay.
France.
Warwickshire countrymen to ensure good luck bow nine times to the first New Moon of the year.
A snow year, a rich year.
The blackest month of all the yearIs the month of Janiveer.
Through all the sad and weary hoursWhich cold and dark and storms will bring,
We scarce believe in what we know—That time drags on at last to Spring.
The empty pastures blind with rain.
If the grass grow in Janiveer'Twill be the worse for 't all the year.
A fair day in winter is the mother of a storm.
Under water famine, under snow bread.
March in Janiveer,Janiveer in March I fear.
A year of snow a year of plenty.
Spain.
Winter time for shoeing;Peascod time for wooing.
Devon.
1565
On Twelve-eve in Christmas, they used to set up as high as they can a sieve of oats, and in it a dozen candles set round, and in the centre one larger, all lighted. This in memory of our Saviour and His Apostles, lights of the world.
Westmeath custom.
In the South-hams of Devonshire, on the Eve of the Epiphany, the farmer attended by his workmen, with a large pitcher of cyder, goes to the orchard, and there, encircling one of the best bearing trees, they drink the following toast three several times:
"Here's to thee, old apple-tree,
Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow!And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!
Hats-full, caps-full!Bushel-bushel-sacks-full!
And my pockets full too! Huzza!"
Old Custom of blessing Apple Trees on Twelfth Day.
Apple-tree, apple-tree,Bear apples for me:Hats full, laps full,Sacks full, caps full:Apple-tree, apple-tree,Bear apples for me.
"Twelfth-Day—came in a tiffany suit, white and gold, like a queen on a frost-cake, all royal, glittering, and Epiphanous."
Elia.
January the fourteenth will be either the coldest or wettest day of the year.
Huntingdon.
St. Anthony.(January 17th.)
It is affirmed of him that all the world bemoaned his death, for afterwards there fell no rain from heaven for three years.
St. Vincent.(January 22nd. Old Style. February 3rd. New Style.)
Remember in St. Vincent's DayIf the sun his beams display,'Tis a token bright and clear,That you will have a prosperous year.
Winter's thunder's summer's wonder.
St. Paul's Eve.(January 24th.)
Winter's white shrowd doth cover all the grounde,And Caecias blows his bitter blaste of woe;The ponds and pooles, and streams in ice are bounde,And famished birds are shivering in the snowe.
Still round about the house they flitting goe,And at the windows seek for scraps of foodeWhich Charity with hand profuse doth throwe,Right weeting that in neede of it they stoode,For Charity is shown by working creatures goode.The sparrowe pert, the chaffinche gay and cleane,The redbreast welcome to the cotter's house,The livelie blue tomtit, the oxeye greene,The dingie dunnock, and the swart colemouse;The titmouse of the marsh, the nimble wrenne,The bullfinch and the goldspink, with the kingOf birds the goldcrest. The thrush, now and then,The blackbird, wont to whistle in the spring,Like Christians seeke the heavenlie food SaintPaul doth bring.
Dr. Forster.
St. Paul's Day.
If Saint Paul's Day be fair and clear,It promises then a happy year;But if it chance to snow or rain,Then will be dear all sorts of grain;Or if the wind do blow aloft,Great stirs will vex the world full oft;And if dark clouds do muff the sky,Then foul and cattle oft will die.
T. Passenger.
Of Gardens.
For the latter part of January and February, the mezerion tree, which then blossoms; crocus vernus, both the yellow and the gray; primroses, anemones, the early tulippa, hyacinthus orientalis, chamairis, frettellaria.
Bacon.
A January springIs worth no thing.
Pluck broom, broom still,Cut broom, broom kill.
Tusser.
Good gardener mine,Make garden fine,Set garden pease,And beans if ye please.Set respis and rose,Young roots of those.Who now sows oatsGets gold and groats.Who sows in May,Gets little that way.
Tusser.
A kindly good January freezeth pot by the fire.
O Winter! wilt thou never—never go!O Summer! but I weary for thy coming!
David Gray.
If the robin sings in the bush, then the weather will be coarse; but if the robin sings on the barn, then the weather will be warm.
Norfolk.
FEBRUARYAncient Cornish name:Hu-evral, whirling month.Jewel: Amethyst. Sincerity.One month is past, another is begun,Since merry bells rang out the dying year,And buds of rarest green began to peer,As if impatient for a warmer sun;And though the distant hills are bleak and dun,The virgin snowdrop, like a lambent fire,Pierces the cold earth, with its green-streaked spire;And in dark woods the wandering little oneMay find a primrose.Hartley Coleridge.Fair rising from her icy couch,Wan herald of the floral year,The snowdrop marks the spring's approach,Ere yet the primrose groups appear,Or peers the arum from its spotted veil,Or violets scent the cold capricious gale.Charlotte Smith.Candlemas shined, and the winter's behind.If Candlemas Day be fair and brightThe winter will take another flight;But if it should be dark and drearThen winter is gone for another year.When on the Purification sun hath shined,The greater part of winter comes behind.The badger peeps out of his hole on Candlemas Day, and if he finds snows, walks abroad; but if he sees the sun shining, he draws back into his hole.German saying.On Candlemas Day if the thorns hang-a-drop,Then you are sure of a good pea crop.When the wind's in the East on Candlemas Day,There it will stick till the second of May.February fill the ditch,Black or white we don't care which.Hants.All the months of the yearFear a fair Februeer.The dim droop of a sombre February day.There is an old proverb,That birds of a featherOn Saint Valentine's dayWill meet together.1733.Why, Valentine's a day to chooseA mistress, and our freedom lose?May I my reason interpose,The question with an answer close?To imitate we have a mind,And couple like the winged kind.John Dunton.I early rose, just at the break of day,Before the sun had chased the stars away;Afield I went, amid the morning dew,To milk my kine (for so should housewives do),Thee first I spied, and the first swain we see.In spite of fortune, shall our true-love be.Gay.Shrove-tide.Beef and bacon's out of season,I want a pan to parch my peason.Berks.Knick-knock, the pan's hot,And we are come a-shroving,For a piece of pancake,Or a piece of bacon,Or a piece of truckle cheeseOf your own making.Hants.On Shrove Tuesday night, though the supper be fat,Before Easter Day thou mayst fast for that.Isle of Man.Pancake Bell.(Congleton.)The housekeeper goes to the huxter's shop,And the eggs are brought home, and there's flop! flop! flop!And there's batter, and butter, and savoury smell,While merrily rings the Pancake Bell.So much sun as shineth on Pancake Tuesday, the like will shine every day in Lent.A hoar frost,Third day crost,The fourth lost.Lancs.Bean Sowing.One for the mouse, one for the crow,One to rot, one to grow.Sow peason and beans in the wane of the moone,Who soweth them sooner, he soweth too soon;That they with the planet may rest and rise,And flourish with bearing, most plentiful wise.Tusser.If February gives much snowA fine summer it doth foreshow.Now set for thy potBest herbs to be got,For flowers go set,All sorts ye can get.Tusser.In Oxfordshire the first bee seen in February is saluted, as this is said to bring good luck.Thrush's Song."Did he do it? Did he do it?Come and see, come and see;Knee deep, knee deep;Cherry sweet, cherry sweet,To me! to me! to me!"The pretty lark,Climbing the welkin clear,Chaunts with a "Cheer, here, peer,I near my dear!"When stooping thence,Seeming her fall to rue,"Adieu," she cries,"Adieu! dear Love, adieu!"When after a rough and stormy day there is a lull in the wind at the going down of the sun, old men say: "Us shall have better weather now, for the wind's gone to sleep with the sun."Devon.When a moorland shepherd meets his sheep on a winter's night coming down from the hilltops (where they prefer to sleep) he knows that a storm is brewing.
Ancient Cornish name:Hu-evral, whirling month.
Jewel: Amethyst. Sincerity.
One month is past, another is begun,Since merry bells rang out the dying year,And buds of rarest green began to peer,As if impatient for a warmer sun;And though the distant hills are bleak and dun,The virgin snowdrop, like a lambent fire,Pierces the cold earth, with its green-streaked spire;And in dark woods the wandering little oneMay find a primrose.
Hartley Coleridge.
Fair rising from her icy couch,Wan herald of the floral year,The snowdrop marks the spring's approach,Ere yet the primrose groups appear,Or peers the arum from its spotted veil,Or violets scent the cold capricious gale.
Charlotte Smith.
Candlemas shined, and the winter's behind.
If Candlemas Day be fair and brightThe winter will take another flight;But if it should be dark and drearThen winter is gone for another year.
When on the Purification sun hath shined,The greater part of winter comes behind.
The badger peeps out of his hole on Candlemas Day, and if he finds snows, walks abroad; but if he sees the sun shining, he draws back into his hole.
German saying.
On Candlemas Day if the thorns hang-a-drop,Then you are sure of a good pea crop.
When the wind's in the East on Candlemas Day,There it will stick till the second of May.
February fill the ditch,Black or white we don't care which.
Hants.
All the months of the yearFear a fair Februeer.
The dim droop of a sombre February day.
There is an old proverb,That birds of a featherOn Saint Valentine's dayWill meet together.
1733.
Why, Valentine's a day to chooseA mistress, and our freedom lose?May I my reason interpose,The question with an answer close?To imitate we have a mind,And couple like the winged kind.
John Dunton.
I early rose, just at the break of day,Before the sun had chased the stars away;Afield I went, amid the morning dew,To milk my kine (for so should housewives do),Thee first I spied, and the first swain we see.In spite of fortune, shall our true-love be.
Gay.
Shrove-tide.
Beef and bacon's out of season,I want a pan to parch my peason.
Berks.
Knick-knock, the pan's hot,And we are come a-shroving,For a piece of pancake,Or a piece of bacon,Or a piece of truckle cheeseOf your own making.
Hants.
On Shrove Tuesday night, though the supper be fat,Before Easter Day thou mayst fast for that.
Isle of Man.
Pancake Bell.(Congleton.)
The housekeeper goes to the huxter's shop,And the eggs are brought home, and there's flop! flop! flop!And there's batter, and butter, and savoury smell,While merrily rings the Pancake Bell.
So much sun as shineth on Pancake Tuesday, the like will shine every day in Lent.
A hoar frost,Third day crost,The fourth lost.
Lancs.
Bean Sowing.
One for the mouse, one for the crow,One to rot, one to grow.
Sow peason and beans in the wane of the moone,Who soweth them sooner, he soweth too soon;That they with the planet may rest and rise,And flourish with bearing, most plentiful wise.
Tusser.
If February gives much snowA fine summer it doth foreshow.
Now set for thy potBest herbs to be got,For flowers go set,All sorts ye can get.
Tusser.
In Oxfordshire the first bee seen in February is saluted, as this is said to bring good luck.
Thrush's Song.
"Did he do it? Did he do it?Come and see, come and see;Knee deep, knee deep;Cherry sweet, cherry sweet,To me! to me! to me!"
The pretty lark,Climbing the welkin clear,Chaunts with a "Cheer, here, peer,I near my dear!"When stooping thence,Seeming her fall to rue,"Adieu," she cries,"Adieu! dear Love, adieu!"
When after a rough and stormy day there is a lull in the wind at the going down of the sun, old men say: "Us shall have better weather now, for the wind's gone to sleep with the sun."
Devon.
When a moorland shepherd meets his sheep on a winter's night coming down from the hilltops (where they prefer to sleep) he knows that a storm is brewing.
MARCHAncient Cornish name:Miz-merp, horse month.Jewel: Bloodstone. Courage and wisdom.Upon St. David's DayPut oats and barley in the clay.The leeke is white and green, whereby is mentThat Britaines are both stout and eminent;Next to the lion and the unicorne,The leek's the fairest emblyn that is worne.Harleian MS.On the first of MarchThe crows begin to search,By the first of AprilThey are sitting still,By the first of MayThey are a' flown away;Croupin' greedy back again,Wi' October's wind and rain.He who freely lops in March will get his lap full of fruit.Portuguese saying.Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles,Warlike March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath.Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and angles,Round the shuddering house, breathing of winter and death.W. D. Howells.Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dryMake April ready for the throstle's song,Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong.W. Morris.Of Gardens.For March there come violets, especially the single blue, which are the earliest; the early daffodil, the daisy, the almond tree in blossom, the peach tree in blossom, the cornelian (dogwood) tree in blossom, sweetbrier.Bacon.A frosty winter, and a dusty March,And a rain about Aperill,And another about the Lammas timeWhen the corn begins to fill,Is worth a ploughy of goldAnd all her pins theretill.Come gather the crocus-cups with me,And dream of the summer coming;Saffron, and purple, and snowy white,All awake to the first bees humming.The white is there for the maiden-heart,And the purple is there for sorrow;The saffron is there for the true true love,And they'll all be dead to-morrow.Sebastian Evans.Beside the garden path the crocus nowPuts forth its head to woo the genial breeze,And finds the snowdrop, hardier visitant,Already basking in the solar ray.Upon the brooke the water cresses floatMore greenly, and the bordering reeds exaltHigher their speary summits. Joyously,From stone to stone, the ouzel flits along,Startling the linnet from the hawthorn bough;While on the elm-tree, overshadowing deepThe low-roofed cottage white, the blackbird sitsCheerily hymning the awakened year.Blank earth-baldness clothes itself afresh,And breaks into the crocus-purple hour.Tennyson.Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trustMarch with its peck of dust,Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,Nor even May, whose flowersOne frost may wither through the sunless hours.C. Rossetti.If it does not freeze on the tenth of March a fertile year may be expected.In March is good graffing, the skilful do know,So long as the wind in the east do not blow:From moon being changed, till past be the prime,For graffing and cropping is very good time.Tusser.In March and in April, from morning to night,In sowing and setting good huswives delight:To have in a garden or other like plot,To trim up their house, and to furnish their pot.Tusser.To the Daffodil.O Love-star of the unbeloved March,When cold and shrill,Forth flows beneath a low dim-lighted archThe wind that beats sharp crag and barren hill,And keeps unfilmed the lately torpid rill!Herald and harbinger! with theeBegins the year's great jubilee!Of her solemnities sublime(A sacristan whose gusty taperFlashes through earliest morning vapour)Thou ring'st dark nocturns and dim prime.Birds that have yet no heart for songGain strength with thee to twitter,And, warm at last, where hollies throng,The mirror'd sunbeams glitter.A. De Vere.The softest turf of English green,With sloping walks and trees between,And then a bed of flowers half-seen.Here daffodils in early SpringAnd violets their off'rings bring,And sweetest birds their hymns outsing.When country roads begin to thawIn mottled spots of damp and dust,And fences by the margin drawAlong the frozen crustTheir graphic silhouettes, I say,The Spring is coming round this way.When suddenly some shadow birdGoes wavering beneath the gaze,And through the hedge the moan is heardOf kine that fain would grazeIn grasses new, I smile and say,The Spring is coming round this way.Whitcomb Riley.Oh, what a dawn of day!How the March sun feels like May!All is blue againAfter last night's rain.Browning.No summer flowers are half so sweetAs those of early Spring.Under the furze is hunger and cold,Under the broom is silver and gold.The Spring.When wintry weather's all a-done,An' brooks do sparkle in the zun,An' naisy-builden rooks do vleeWi' sticks toward their elem tree;When birds do zing, an' we can zeeUpon the bough the buds o' spring—Then I'm as happy as a king,A'vield wi' health an' sunshine.Vor then the cowslips hangin' flow'rA-wetted in the zunny show'r,Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell,Beside the wood-screen'd graegle's bell;Where drushes aggs, wi' sky-blue shell,Do lie in mossy nest amongThorns, while they do zing their zongAt evenin' in the zunsheen.W. Barnes.A camomile bed,—The more it is trodden,The more it will spread.Thunder in springCold will bring.March search, April try,May will prove if you live or die.March wind and May sunMakes clothes white and maids dun.March does from April gainThree days, and they're in rain,Returned by April in's bad kind,Three days, and they're in wind.Sun set in a clear,Easterly wind's near;Sun set in a bank,Westerly will not lack.Scotland.In the morning look toward the south east;In the evening look toward the north west.China.Pale moon doth rain,Red moon doth blow,White moon doth neither rain nor snow.Latin proverb.Any person neglecting to kill the first butterfly he may see for the season will have ill luck throughout the year.Devon and Hants.St. Patrick's Day.(March 17th.)Gervase of Tilbury gives a legend that on St. Patrick's Day, to do homage to him, the fish rise from the sea, pass in procession before his altar, and then disappear.Divination by a daffodil.When a daffodil I seeHanging down his head t'wards me,Guesse I may what I must be:First, I shall decline my head;Secondly, I shall be dead;Lastly, safely buryed.Herrick.Hail! once again, that sweet strong note!Loud on my loftiest larch,Thou quaverest with thy mottled throat,Brave minstrel of bleak March!A. Austin.March twenty-first, Spring begins.Where the wind is at twelve o'clock on the twenty-first of March, there she'll bide for three months afterwards.Surrey and Hants.When the wind blows from N.E.—a uniformly dry quarter during the week of the vernal equinox—it is an all but unfailing guide to the general character of the ensuing season.Our vernal signs the Ram begins,Then comes the Bull, in May the Twins;The Crab in June, next Leo shines,And Virgo ends the northern signs.The Balance brings autumnal fruits,The Scorpion stings, the Archer shoots;December's Goat brings wintry blast,Aquarius rain, the Fish come last.E. C. Brewer.Spring is here when you can tread on nine daisies at once on the village green.There is a saying that if boys be beaten with an elder stick it hinders their growth.When our Lord falls in our Lady's lapEngland will meet with a great mishap.There is a tradition amongst New Forest gipsies that you must not soap your face on Good Friday, as it is said that soapsuds were thrown in Our Lord's face on the day of His Crucifixion.Thou wilt remember one warm morn when winterCrept aged from the earth, and spring's first breathBlew soft from the moist hills; the blackthorn boughs,So dark in the bare wood, when glisteningIn the sunshine were white with coming buds,Like the bright side of a sorrow, and the banksHad violets opening from sleep like eyes.Browning.If apples bloom in March,In vain for 'um you'll sarch;If apples bloom in April,Why then they'll be plentiful;If apples bloom in May,You may eat 'um night and day.From whatever quarter the wind blows on Palm Sunday, it will continue to blow for the greater part of the coming summer.Hants.As many days of fog in March, so many days of frost in May, on corresponding days.Hants.In Spring a tub of rain makes a spoonful of mud. In Autumn a spoonful of rain makes a tub of mud.There is a tradition that twin lambs are scarce in Leap Year.Sleep with your head to the North—you will have sickness; to the South—long life; to the East—health and riches; to the West—fame.
Ancient Cornish name:Miz-merp, horse month.
Jewel: Bloodstone. Courage and wisdom.
Upon St. David's DayPut oats and barley in the clay.
The leeke is white and green, whereby is mentThat Britaines are both stout and eminent;Next to the lion and the unicorne,The leek's the fairest emblyn that is worne.
Harleian MS.
On the first of MarchThe crows begin to search,By the first of AprilThey are sitting still,By the first of MayThey are a' flown away;Croupin' greedy back again,Wi' October's wind and rain.
He who freely lops in March will get his lap full of fruit.
Portuguese saying.
Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles,
Warlike March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath.
Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and angles,
Round the shuddering house, breathing of winter and death.
W. D. Howells.
Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dryMake April ready for the throstle's song,Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong.
W. Morris.
Of Gardens.
For March there come violets, especially the single blue, which are the earliest; the early daffodil, the daisy, the almond tree in blossom, the peach tree in blossom, the cornelian (dogwood) tree in blossom, sweetbrier.
Bacon.
A frosty winter, and a dusty March,And a rain about Aperill,And another about the Lammas timeWhen the corn begins to fill,Is worth a ploughy of goldAnd all her pins theretill.
Come gather the crocus-cups with me,And dream of the summer coming;Saffron, and purple, and snowy white,All awake to the first bees humming.The white is there for the maiden-heart,And the purple is there for sorrow;The saffron is there for the true true love,And they'll all be dead to-morrow.
Sebastian Evans.
Beside the garden path the crocus nowPuts forth its head to woo the genial breeze,And finds the snowdrop, hardier visitant,Already basking in the solar ray.Upon the brooke the water cresses floatMore greenly, and the bordering reeds exaltHigher their speary summits. Joyously,From stone to stone, the ouzel flits along,Startling the linnet from the hawthorn bough;While on the elm-tree, overshadowing deepThe low-roofed cottage white, the blackbird sitsCheerily hymning the awakened year.
Blank earth-baldness clothes itself afresh,And breaks into the crocus-purple hour.
Tennyson.
Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trustMarch with its peck of dust,Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,Nor even May, whose flowersOne frost may wither through the sunless hours.
C. Rossetti.
If it does not freeze on the tenth of March a fertile year may be expected.
In March is good graffing, the skilful do know,So long as the wind in the east do not blow:From moon being changed, till past be the prime,For graffing and cropping is very good time.
Tusser.
In March and in April, from morning to night,In sowing and setting good huswives delight:To have in a garden or other like plot,To trim up their house, and to furnish their pot.
Tusser.
To the Daffodil.
O Love-star of the unbeloved March,
When cold and shrill,
Forth flows beneath a low dim-lighted arch
The wind that beats sharp crag and barren hill,
And keeps unfilmed the lately torpid rill!
Herald and harbinger! with theeBegins the year's great jubilee!Of her solemnities sublime(A sacristan whose gusty taperFlashes through earliest morning vapour)Thou ring'st dark nocturns and dim prime.Birds that have yet no heart for songGain strength with thee to twitter,And, warm at last, where hollies throng,The mirror'd sunbeams glitter.
A. De Vere.
The softest turf of English green,With sloping walks and trees between,And then a bed of flowers half-seen.Here daffodils in early SpringAnd violets their off'rings bring,And sweetest birds their hymns outsing.
When country roads begin to thawIn mottled spots of damp and dust,
And fences by the margin drawAlong the frozen crust
Their graphic silhouettes, I say,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When suddenly some shadow birdGoes wavering beneath the gaze,
And through the hedge the moan is heardOf kine that fain would graze
In grasses new, I smile and say,
The Spring is coming round this way.
Whitcomb Riley.
Oh, what a dawn of day!How the March sun feels like May!All is blue againAfter last night's rain.
Browning.
No summer flowers are half so sweetAs those of early Spring.
Under the furze is hunger and cold,Under the broom is silver and gold.
The Spring.
When wintry weather's all a-done,An' brooks do sparkle in the zun,An' naisy-builden rooks do vleeWi' sticks toward their elem tree;When birds do zing, an' we can zeeUpon the bough the buds o' spring—Then I'm as happy as a king,A'vield wi' health an' sunshine.Vor then the cowslips hangin' flow'rA-wetted in the zunny show'r,Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell,Beside the wood-screen'd graegle's bell;Where drushes aggs, wi' sky-blue shell,Do lie in mossy nest amongThorns, while they do zing their zongAt evenin' in the zunsheen.
W. Barnes.
A camomile bed,—The more it is trodden,The more it will spread.
Thunder in springCold will bring.
March search, April try,May will prove if you live or die.
March wind and May sunMakes clothes white and maids dun.
March does from April gainThree days, and they're in rain,Returned by April in's bad kind,Three days, and they're in wind.
Sun set in a clear,Easterly wind's near;Sun set in a bank,Westerly will not lack.
Scotland.
In the morning look toward the south east;In the evening look toward the north west.
China.
Pale moon doth rain,Red moon doth blow,White moon doth neither rain nor snow.
Latin proverb.
Any person neglecting to kill the first butterfly he may see for the season will have ill luck throughout the year.
Devon and Hants.
St. Patrick's Day.(March 17th.)
Gervase of Tilbury gives a legend that on St. Patrick's Day, to do homage to him, the fish rise from the sea, pass in procession before his altar, and then disappear.
Divination by a daffodil.
When a daffodil I seeHanging down his head t'wards me,Guesse I may what I must be:First, I shall decline my head;Secondly, I shall be dead;Lastly, safely buryed.
Herrick.
Hail! once again, that sweet strong note!Loud on my loftiest larch,Thou quaverest with thy mottled throat,Brave minstrel of bleak March!
A. Austin.
March twenty-first, Spring begins.
Where the wind is at twelve o'clock on the twenty-first of March, there she'll bide for three months afterwards.
Surrey and Hants.
When the wind blows from N.E.—a uniformly dry quarter during the week of the vernal equinox—it is an all but unfailing guide to the general character of the ensuing season.
Our vernal signs the Ram begins,Then comes the Bull, in May the Twins;The Crab in June, next Leo shines,And Virgo ends the northern signs.The Balance brings autumnal fruits,The Scorpion stings, the Archer shoots;December's Goat brings wintry blast,Aquarius rain, the Fish come last.
E. C. Brewer.
Spring is here when you can tread on nine daisies at once on the village green.
There is a saying that if boys be beaten with an elder stick it hinders their growth.
When our Lord falls in our Lady's lapEngland will meet with a great mishap.
There is a tradition amongst New Forest gipsies that you must not soap your face on Good Friday, as it is said that soapsuds were thrown in Our Lord's face on the day of His Crucifixion.
Thou wilt remember one warm morn when winter
Crept aged from the earth, and spring's first breath
Blew soft from the moist hills; the blackthorn boughs,
So dark in the bare wood, when glistening
In the sunshine were white with coming buds,
Like the bright side of a sorrow, and the banks
Had violets opening from sleep like eyes.
Browning.
If apples bloom in March,In vain for 'um you'll sarch;If apples bloom in April,Why then they'll be plentiful;If apples bloom in May,You may eat 'um night and day.
From whatever quarter the wind blows on Palm Sunday, it will continue to blow for the greater part of the coming summer.
Hants.
As many days of fog in March, so many days of frost in May, on corresponding days.
Hants.
In Spring a tub of rain makes a spoonful of mud. In Autumn a spoonful of rain makes a tub of mud.
There is a tradition that twin lambs are scarce in Leap Year.
Sleep with your head to the North—you will have sickness; to the South—long life; to the East—health and riches; to the West—fame.
APRILAncient Cornish name:Miz-ebrall primrose month.Jewel for the month: Sapphire. Frees from enchantment.If it thunders on All Fool's dayIt brings good crops of grain and hay.The first thunder of the year awakesAll the frogs and all the snakes.MS. 250years 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.A wet Good Friday and Easter dayBrings plenty of grass, but little good hay.Leicester.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 letA thought of sorrow free.W. Story.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.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, primroseThat loves to lurk below the hawthorn shade.Graham.Spring is strong and virtuous,Broad—sowing, cheerful, plenteous,Quickening underneath the mouldGrains beyond the price of gold.So deep and large her bounties are,That one broad, long midsummer dayShall to the planet overpayThe ravage of a year of war.Emerson.In wild moor or sterile heath,Bright with the golden furze, beneathO'erhanging bush or shelving stone,The little stonechat dwells alone,Or near his brother of the whin;Among the foremost to beginHis 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.The lark sung loud; the music at his heartHad called him early; upward straight he went,And bore in nature's quire the merriest part.C. Turner.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.April fourteenth, first cuckoo day.Sussex.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.There is an old superstition that where one hears the cuckoo first there one will spend most of the year.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.ODE TO THE CUCKOO.Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!Thou messenger of Spring!Now Heaven repairs thy rural seatAnd 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."Cuckoo! cuckoo!" The first we've heard!"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" God bless the birdScarce time to take his breath,And now "Cuckoo!" he saith.Cuckoo! cuckoo! three cheers!And let the welkin ring!He has not folded wingSince last he saw Algiers.T. E. Brown.April fifteenth, first swallow day.Sussex.He comes! He comes! who loves to bearSoft sunny hours and seasons fair;The swallow hither comes to restHis sable wing and snowy breast.April and May, the keys of the year.Spanish.The first Sunday after Easter settles the weather for the whole Summer.Sweden."The rippling smile of the April rain."A. Austin.A cold AprilThe barn will fill.Although it rains, throw not away thy watering-pot.Plant your 'taturs when you will,They won't come up before April.Wilts.When there are many more swifts than swallows in the Spring, expect a hot and dry Summer.April cold with dropping rainWillows and lilacs brings again,The whistle of returning birds,And, trumpet-lowing of the herds.I met Queen Spring in the hangerThat slopes to the river gray;Yestreen the thrushes sang her,But she came herself to-day.Bourdillon.When the sloe tree is as white as a sheet,Sow your barley, whether it be dry or wet.As yet but single,The bluebells with the grasses mingle;But soon their azure will be scrolledUpon the primrose cloth of gold.A. Austin.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.Hark! the Hours are softly calling,Bidding Spring arise,To listen to the raindrops fallingFrom the cloudy skies,To listen to Earth's weary voices,Louder every day,Bidding her no longer lingerOn her charmed way;But hasten to her task of beautyScarcely yet begun;By the first bright day of summerIt should all be done.A. A. Procter.To The BlackbirdGolden 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 sunMelt, like snow-flakes, one by one,Let thy loud and welcome layPour alongFew notes, but strong.Montgomery.Fled are the frosts, and now the Fields appearRe-clothed in fresh and verdant Diaper.Thaw'd are the snows, and now the lusty SpringGives to each mead a neat enamelling.The Palms put forth their Gemmes, and every treeNow swaggers in her leavy gallantry.Herrick.Ye who have felt and seenSpring's morning smiles and soul enlivening green,Say, did you give the thrilling transport way?Did your eye brighten, when young lambs at playLeap'd o'er your path with animated pride,Or graz'd in merry clusters by your side?Bloomfield.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 henceAnd locked up underground, that ev'ry senseHath several objects: trees have got their heads,The fields their coats; that now the shining meadsDo 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.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, thecherry-tree in blossom, the damascene, the plum trees in blossom, the whitethorn in leaf, the lilac tree.Bacon.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.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 dareTrust the cruel outer air;When the royal kingcup boldDares not don his throat of gold;And the sturdy blackthorn sprayKeeps his silver for the May;Coming when no flowerets wouldSave thy lowly sisterhood;Early violets, blue and white,Dying for their love of light.Edwin Arnold.There is a rapturous movement, a green growing,Among the hills and valleys once again,And silent rivers of delight are flowingInto 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.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 ayeOn leafy spray,And in her fitful strain doth runA thousand and a thousand changes,With voice that rangesThrough 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 throngThat dwell in nests and have the gift of song.Longfellow.The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to buildHer 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 stretchedTowards heaven, as if from heaven her voice she fetched.Waller.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."Sweet April, smiling through her tears,Shakes raindrops from her hair and disappears.
Ancient Cornish name:Miz-ebrall primrose month.
Jewel for the month: Sapphire. Frees from enchantment.
If it thunders on All Fool's dayIt brings good crops of grain and hay.
The first thunder of the year awakesAll the frogs and all the snakes.
MS. 250years 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.
A wet Good Friday and Easter dayBrings plenty of grass, but little good hay.
Leicester.
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 letA thought of sorrow free.
W. Story.
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.
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.
Spring is strong and virtuous,Broad—sowing, cheerful, plenteous,Quickening underneath the mouldGrains beyond the price of gold.So deep and large her bounties are,That one broad, long midsummer dayShall to the planet overpayThe ravage of a year of war.
Emerson.
In wild moor or sterile heath,Bright with the golden furze, beneathO'erhanging bush or shelving stone,The little stonechat dwells alone,Or near his brother of the whin;Among the foremost to beginHis 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.
The lark sung loud; the music at his heartHad called him early; upward straight he went,And bore in nature's quire the merriest part.
C. Turner.
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.
April fourteenth, first cuckoo day.
Sussex.
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.
There is an old superstition that where one hears the cuckoo first there one will spend most of the year.
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.
ODE TO THE CUCKOO.
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!Thou messenger of Spring!Now Heaven repairs thy rural seatAnd 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.
"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" The first we've heard!"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" God bless the birdScarce time to take his breath,And now "Cuckoo!" he saith.Cuckoo! cuckoo! three cheers!And let the welkin ring!He has not folded wingSince last he saw Algiers.
T. E. Brown.
April fifteenth, first swallow day.
Sussex.
He comes! He comes! who loves to bearSoft sunny hours and seasons fair;The swallow hither comes to restHis sable wing and snowy breast.
April and May, the keys of the year.
Spanish.
The first Sunday after Easter settles the weather for the whole Summer.
Sweden.
"The rippling smile of the April rain."
A. Austin.
A cold AprilThe barn will fill.
Although it rains, throw not away thy watering-pot.
Plant your 'taturs when you will,They won't come up before April.
Wilts.
When there are many more swifts than swallows in the Spring, expect a hot and dry Summer.
April cold with dropping rainWillows and lilacs brings again,The whistle of returning birds,And, trumpet-lowing of the herds.
I met Queen Spring in the hangerThat slopes to the river gray;Yestreen the thrushes sang her,But she came herself to-day.
Bourdillon.
When the sloe tree is as white as a sheet,Sow your barley, whether it be dry or wet.
As yet but single,
The bluebells with the grasses mingle;But soon their azure will be scrolledUpon the primrose cloth of gold.
A. Austin.
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.
Hark! the Hours are softly calling,
Bidding Spring arise,
To listen to the raindrops fallingFrom the cloudy skies,
To listen to Earth's weary voices,
Louder every day,
Bidding her no longer lingerOn her charmed way;
But hasten to her task of beauty
Scarcely yet begun;
By the first bright day of summerIt should all be done.
A. A. Procter.
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 sunMelt, like snow-flakes, one by one,Let thy loud and welcome lay
Pour alongFew notes, but strong.
Montgomery.
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.
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.
When in the Spring the gay south-west awakes,
And rapid gusts now hide, now clear, the sun,
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.
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, thecherry-tree in blossom, the damascene, the plum trees in blossom, the whitethorn in leaf, the lilac tree.
Bacon.
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.
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 dareTrust the cruel outer air;When the royal kingcup boldDares not don his throat of gold;And the sturdy blackthorn sprayKeeps his silver for the May;Coming when no flowerets wouldSave thy lowly sisterhood;Early violets, blue and white,Dying for their love of light.
Edwin Arnold.
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.
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 throngThat dwell in nests and have the gift of song.
Longfellow.
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.
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."
Sweet April, smiling through her tears,Shakes raindrops from her hair and disappears.
MAYAncient Cornish name:Miz-me, flowery month.Jewel for the month: Emerald. Discovers false friends.Lo, the young month comes, all smiling, up this way.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.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.It is unlucky to go on the water the first Monday in May.Irish saying.Whoever is ill in the month of May,For the rest of the year will be healthy and gay.Leave cropping from MayTo Michaelmas Day.The last year's leaf, its time is briefUpon 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.There are twelve months in all the year,As I hear many say,But the merriest month in all the yearIs the merry month of May.They who bathe in MayWill soon be laid in clay;They who bathe in JuneWill sing another tune.Yorkshire.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 earthAwakes from her wintry tomb.Hogg.Flowery May, who from her green lap throwsThe yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.Milton.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.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 shrillSome hours ago; but now the woodland rillMurmurs 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.If you sweep the house with blossomed broom in May,You're sure to sweep the head of the house away.Come out of doors! 'tis Spring! 'tis May!The trees be green, the fields be gay,The weather warm, the winter blastWith all his train of clouds is past.Mother of blossoms! and of allThat'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.All the land in flowery squares,Beneath a broad and equal blowing wind,Smelt of the coming summer, as one large cloudDrew downward: but all else of Heaven was pureUp to the sun, and May from verge to verge.Tennyson.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 thenFloods 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 ringingWith birds sweetly singing,Where dewdrops are clingingTo flowret and spray.The sunshine entrancesMy heart when it dances,And glimmers and glances,Through greenwood so gay.From Celtic Lyre.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.)Old May Day is the usual time for turning out cattle into the pastures, though frequently then very bare of grass.Hone.The three most unpopular saints in the calender are Pancratius, Servatius, and Bonifacius, known both in Germany and Austria asthe "three icemen"; and during May 12, 13, and 14 many gardeners keep nightly watch and light outdoor fires.Who shears his sheep before St. Gervatius' (or Servatius') Day loves more his wool than his sheep.When the corn is over the crow's back the frost is over.Cheshire.Go and look at oats in May,You will see them blown away;Go and look again in June,You will sing another tune.The oak before the ash,Prepare your summer sash;The ash before the oak,Prepare your summer cloak.Dorset.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.In the middle of May comes the tail of the winter.France.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 robinWas pouring forth his lay;The cuckoo's note of gladnessArose from scented spray.The mavis warbles loudlyFrom yonder leafy tree;The wren now joins the chorus,And chirps aloud with glee;The linnet is preparingHer cheerfulness to show,While black-cocks greet their partnersWith cooing soft and low.From Celtic Lyre.May's warm, slow, yellow moonlit summer nights.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."The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close,Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose;The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and againThe monitor revives his own sweet strain;But both will soon be mastered, and the copseBe left as silent as the mountain-tops,Ere some commanding star dismiss to restThe throng of rooks, that now from twig or nest,(After a steady flight on home-bound wings,And a last game of mazy hoveringsAround their ancient grove) with cawing noise,Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.Wordsworth.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.He that would live for ayeMust eat sage in May.A dry May and a dripping JuneBrings all things into tune.Bedford.Hawthorn bloom and elder flowersWill fill a house with evil powers.Warwick.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 waterWhere 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 atrembleTurn their edges to the light,And the far-off clouds resembleVeils of gauze most clear and white;And the sunbeams fall and flatterWoodland moss and branches brown,And the glossy finches chatterUp 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 suchIt in the pasture, only with a touch,Unshods the new-shod steed.Withers.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 flowersMonth 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 keepMingles 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.
Ancient Cornish name:Miz-me, flowery month.
Jewel for the month: Emerald. Discovers false friends.
Lo, the young month comes, all smiling, up this way.
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.
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.
It is unlucky to go on the water the first Monday in May.
Irish saying.
Whoever is ill in the month of May,For the rest of the year will be healthy and gay.
Leave cropping from MayTo Michaelmas Day.
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.
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.
They who bathe in MayWill soon be laid in clay;They who bathe in JuneWill sing another tune.
Yorkshire.
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.
Flowery May, who from her green lap throwsThe yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Milton.
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.
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.
If you sweep the house with blossomed broom in May,
You're sure to sweep the head of the house away.
Come out of doors! 'tis Spring! 'tis May!The trees be green, the fields be gay,The weather warm, the winter blastWith all his train of clouds is past.Mother of blossoms! and of allThat'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.
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.
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 ringingWith birds sweetly singing,Where dewdrops are clinging
To flowret and spray.
The sunshine entrancesMy heart when it dances,And glimmers and glances,
Through greenwood so gay.
From Celtic Lyre.
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.)
Old May Day is the usual time for turning out cattle into the pastures, though frequently then very bare of grass.
Hone.
The three most unpopular saints in the calender are Pancratius, Servatius, and Bonifacius, known both in Germany and Austria asthe "three icemen"; and during May 12, 13, and 14 many gardeners keep nightly watch and light outdoor fires.
Who shears his sheep before St. Gervatius' (or Servatius') Day loves more his wool than his sheep.
When the corn is over the crow's back the frost is over.
Cheshire.
Go and look at oats in May,You will see them blown away;Go and look again in June,You will sing another tune.
The oak before the ash,Prepare your summer sash;The ash before the oak,Prepare your summer cloak.
Dorset.
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.
In the middle of May comes the tail of the winter.
France.
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.
May's warm, slow, yellow moonlit summer nights.
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."
The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close,Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose;The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and againThe monitor revives his own sweet strain;But both will soon be mastered, and the copseBe left as silent as the mountain-tops,Ere some commanding star dismiss to restThe throng of rooks, that now from twig or nest,(After a steady flight on home-bound wings,And a last game of mazy hoveringsAround their ancient grove) with cawing noise,Disturb the liquid music's equipoise.
Wordsworth.
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.
He that would live for ayeMust eat sage in May.
A dry May and a dripping JuneBrings all things into tune.
Bedford.
Hawthorn bloom and elder flowersWill fill a house with evil powers.
Warwick.
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.
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 flowersMonth 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 keepMingles 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.