May 19.

A cold May and a windyMakes a fat barn and a findy.

A hot May makes a fat churchyard.

Drought never bred dearth in England.

Whoso hath but a mouth, shall ne’er in England suffer drought.

When the sand doth feed the clay,England woe and welladay;But when the clay doth feed the sand,Then it is well with Angle land.

After a famine in the stall,Comes a famine in the hall.

When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn,Sell your cow, and buy your corn;But when she comes to the full bit,Sell your corn, and buy your sheep.

If the cock moult before the hen,We shall have weather thick and thin;But if the hen moult before the cock,We shall have weather hard as a block.

As the days lengthen, so the cold strengthen.

If there be a rainbow in the eve, it will rain and leave,But if there be a rainbow in the morrow, it will neither lend nor borrow.

A rainbow in the morningIs the shepherd’s warning;But a rainbow at nightIs the shepherd’s delight.

No tempest, good July,Lest corn come off blue by.

When the wind’s in the east,It’s neither good for man nor beast.When the wind’s in the south,It’s in the rain’s mouth.

When the wind’s in the south,It blows the bait into the fishes’ mouth.

No weather is ill,If the wind be still.

When the sloe-tree is as white as a sheet,Sow your barley, whether it be dry or wet.

A green winter makes a fat churchyard.

Hail brings frost in the tail.

A snow year, a rich year.

Winter’s thunder’s summer’s wonder.

Mouse Ear.Hieracium Pilosella.Dedicated toSt. Eric.

St. Peter Celestine, Pope,A. D.1296.St. Pudentiana.St. Dunstan; Abp. of Canterbury,A. D.988.

He was born at Glastonbury, of which monastery he became abbot, and died archbishop of Canterbury in 988.[146]

The legend of St. Dunstan relates many miracles of him, the most popular of which is to this effect; that St. Dunstan, as the fact really was, became expert in goldsmith’s work; it then gives as a story, that while he was busied in making a chalice, the devil annoyed him by his personal appearance, and tempted him; whereupon St. Dunstan suddenly seized the fiend by the nose with a pair of iron tongs, burning hot, and so held him while he roared and cried till the night was far spent.

St. Dunstan and the Devil.

There is an engraved portrait of St. Dunstan thus detaining the devil in bondage, with these lines, or lines to that effect beneath; they are quoted from memory:—

St. Dunstan, as the story goes,Once pull’d the devil by the noseWith red-hot tongs, which made him roar,That he was heard three miles or more.

On lord mayor’s day, in 1687, the pageants of sir John Shorter, knt. as lord mayor, were very splendid. He was of the company of goldsmiths, who, at their own expense, provided one of the pageants representing this miracle of St. Dunstan. It must have been of amazing size, for it was a “Hieroglyphic of the Company,” consisting of a spacious laboratory or workhouse, containing several conveniences and distinct apartments, for the different operators and artificers, with forges, anvils, hammers, and all instruments proper for the mystery of the goldsmiths. In the middle of the frontispiece, on a rich golden chair of state, satST. DUNSTAN, the ancient patron and tutelar guardian of the company. He was attired, to express his prelatical dignity and canonization, in a robe of fine lawn, with a cope over it of shining cloth of gold reaching to the ground. He wore a golden mitre beset with precious stones, and bore in his left hand a golden crosier, and in his right a pair of goldsmith’s tongs. Behind him were Orpheus and Amphion playing on melodious instruments; standing more forward were the cham of Tartary, and the grand sultan, who, being “conquered by the christian harmony, seemed to sue for reconcilement.” At the steps of the prelatical throne were a goldsmith’s forge and furnace, with fire, crucibles, and gold, and a workman blowing the bellows. On each side was a large press of gold and silver plate. Towards the front were shops of artificers and jewellers all at work, with anvils, hammers, and instruments for enamelling, beating out gold and silver plate; on a step below St. Dunstan, sat an assay-master, with his trial-balance and implements. There were two apartments for the processes of disgrossing, flatting, and drawing gold and silver wire, and the fining, melting, smelting, refining, and separating of gold and silver, both by fire and water. Another apartment contained a forge, with miners in canvass breeches, red waistcoats and red caps, bearing spades, pickaxes, twibbles, and crows for sinking shafts and making adits. The lord mayor, having approached and viewed the curiosity of the pageant, was addressed in

A SPEECH BY ST. DUNSTAN.Waked with this musick from my silent urn,Your patronDUNSTANcomes t’ attend your turn.Amphionand oldOrpheusplaying by,To keep ourforgein tuneful harmony.These pontifical ornaments I wear,Are types of rule and order all the year.In these white robes none can a fault descry,Since all have liberty as well as I:Nor need you fear the shipwreck of your cause,Your loss of charter or the penal laws,Indulgence granted by your bounteous prince,Makes for that loss too great a recompence.This charm the Lernæan Hydra will reclaim;Your patron shall the tameless rabble tame.Of the proudCHAMI scorn to be afear’d;I’ll take the angrySULTANby the beard.Nay, should theDEVILintrude amongst your foes[Enter DevilDevil.What then?St. Dunstan.—————Snap, thus, I have him by the nose!

A SPEECH BY ST. DUNSTAN.

Waked with this musick from my silent urn,Your patronDUNSTANcomes t’ attend your turn.Amphionand oldOrpheusplaying by,To keep ourforgein tuneful harmony.These pontifical ornaments I wear,Are types of rule and order all the year.In these white robes none can a fault descry,Since all have liberty as well as I:Nor need you fear the shipwreck of your cause,Your loss of charter or the penal laws,Indulgence granted by your bounteous prince,Makes for that loss too great a recompence.This charm the Lernæan Hydra will reclaim;Your patron shall the tameless rabble tame.Of the proudCHAMI scorn to be afear’d;I’ll take the angrySULTANby the beard.Nay, should theDEVILintrude amongst your foes[Enter DevilDevil.What then?St. Dunstan.—————Snap, thus, I have him by the nose!

Devil.What then?

St. Dunstan.—————Snap, thus, I have him by the nose!

The most prominent feature in the devil’s face being held by St. Dunstan’s tongs, after the prelate had duly spurned the submission of the cham of Tartary and the grand sultan, a silversmith with three other workmen proceeding to the great anvil, commenced working a plate of massy metal, singing and keeping time upon the anvil.[147]

1536. Anne Boleyn, queen of Henry VIII., fell a victim to his brutal passions by the hands of the executioner.

1692. The great sea battle off la Hogue.

Monk’s hood.Aconitum Napellus.Dedicated toSt. Dunstan.

[146]Butler.[147]Hone, on Ancient Mysteries.

[146]Butler.

[147]Hone, on Ancient Mysteries.

St. Bernardinof Sienna,A. D.1444.St. Ethelbert, King of the East Angles,A. D.793.St. Yvo, Bp. of Chartres,A. D.1115.

ON BEING CONFINED TO SCHOOL ONEPLEASANT MORNING IN SPRING.The morning sun’s enchanting raysNow call forth every songster’s praise;Now the lark, with upward flight,Gaily ushers in the light;While wildly warbling from each tree,The birds sing songs to Liberty.But for me no songster sings,For me no joyous lark up-springs;For I, confined in gloomy school,Must own the pedant’s iron rule,And, far from sylvan shades and bowers,In durance vile, must pass the hours;There con the scholiast’s dreary lines,Where no bright ray of genius shines,And close to rugged learning cling,While laughs around the jocund spring.How gladly would my soul foregoAll that arithmeticians know,Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach,Or all that industry can reach,To taste each morn of all the joysThat with the laughing sun arise;And unconstrain’d to rove alongThe bushy brakes and glens among;And woo the muse’s gentle power,In unfrequented rural bower!But, ah! such heaven-approaching joysWill never greet my longing eyes;Still will they cheat in vision fine,Yet never but in fancy shine.Oh, that I were the little wrenThat shrilly chirps from yonder glenOh, far away I then would rove,To some secluded bushy grove;There hop and sing with careless glee,Hop and sing at liberty;And till death should stop my lays,Far from men would spend my days.

ON BEING CONFINED TO SCHOOL ONEPLEASANT MORNING IN SPRING.

The morning sun’s enchanting raysNow call forth every songster’s praise;Now the lark, with upward flight,Gaily ushers in the light;While wildly warbling from each tree,The birds sing songs to Liberty.But for me no songster sings,For me no joyous lark up-springs;For I, confined in gloomy school,Must own the pedant’s iron rule,And, far from sylvan shades and bowers,In durance vile, must pass the hours;There con the scholiast’s dreary lines,Where no bright ray of genius shines,And close to rugged learning cling,While laughs around the jocund spring.How gladly would my soul foregoAll that arithmeticians know,Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach,Or all that industry can reach,To taste each morn of all the joysThat with the laughing sun arise;And unconstrain’d to rove alongThe bushy brakes and glens among;And woo the muse’s gentle power,In unfrequented rural bower!But, ah! such heaven-approaching joysWill never greet my longing eyes;Still will they cheat in vision fine,Yet never but in fancy shine.Oh, that I were the little wrenThat shrilly chirps from yonder glenOh, far away I then would rove,To some secluded bushy grove;There hop and sing with careless glee,Hop and sing at liberty;And till death should stop my lays,Far from men would spend my days.

But for me no songster sings,For me no joyous lark up-springs;For I, confined in gloomy school,Must own the pedant’s iron rule,And, far from sylvan shades and bowers,In durance vile, must pass the hours;There con the scholiast’s dreary lines,Where no bright ray of genius shines,And close to rugged learning cling,While laughs around the jocund spring.

How gladly would my soul foregoAll that arithmeticians know,Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach,Or all that industry can reach,To taste each morn of all the joysThat with the laughing sun arise;And unconstrain’d to rove alongThe bushy brakes and glens among;And woo the muse’s gentle power,In unfrequented rural bower!But, ah! such heaven-approaching joysWill never greet my longing eyes;Still will they cheat in vision fine,Yet never but in fancy shine.

Oh, that I were the little wrenThat shrilly chirps from yonder glenOh, far away I then would rove,To some secluded bushy grove;There hop and sing with careless glee,Hop and sing at liberty;And till death should stop my lays,Far from men would spend my days.

In the “Perennial Calendar,” Dr. Forster with great taste introduces a beautiful series of quotations adapted to the season from different poets:—

Lucretius on Spring and the Seasons, translated by Good.Spring comes, and Venus with fell foot advanced;Then light-winged Zephyr, harbinger beloved;Maternal Flora, strewing ere she treads,For every footstep flowers of choicest hue,And the glad æther loading with perfumesThen Heat succeeds, the parched Etesian breeze,And dust-discoloured Ceres; Autumn thenFollows, and tipsy Bacchus, arm in arm,And storms and tempests; Eurus roars amain,And the red south brews thunders; till, at length,Cold shuts the scene, and Winter’s train prevails,Snows, hoary Sleet, and Frost, with chattering teeth.

Lucretius on Spring and the Seasons, translated by Good.

Spring comes, and Venus with fell foot advanced;Then light-winged Zephyr, harbinger beloved;Maternal Flora, strewing ere she treads,For every footstep flowers of choicest hue,And the glad æther loading with perfumesThen Heat succeeds, the parched Etesian breeze,And dust-discoloured Ceres; Autumn thenFollows, and tipsy Bacchus, arm in arm,And storms and tempests; Eurus roars amain,And the red south brews thunders; till, at length,Cold shuts the scene, and Winter’s train prevails,Snows, hoary Sleet, and Frost, with chattering teeth.

Milton makes the most heavenly clime to consist of an eternal spring:

The birds that quire apply; airs, vernal airs,Breathing the smell of field and grove, attuneThe trembling leaves, while universal Pan,Knit with the graces, and the hours in dance,Led on the eternal spring.

From Atherstone’s Last Days of Herculaneum.Soft tints of sweet May morn, when day’s bright godLooks smiling from behind delicious mists;Throwing his slant rays on the glistening grass,Where ’gainst the rich deep green the Cowslip hangsHis elegant bells of purest gold:—the paleSweet perfumed primrose lifts its face to heaven,Like the full, artless gaze of infancy:—The little ray-crowned daisy peeps beneath,When the tall neighbour grass, heavy with dew,Bows down its head beneath the freshening breeze;Where oft in long dark lines the waving treesThrow their soft shadows on the sunny fields;Where, in the music-breathing hedge, the thornAnd pearly white May blossom, full of sweets,Hang out the virgin flag of spring, entwinedWith dripping honey-suckles, whose sweet breathSinks to the heart—recalling, with a sigh,Dim recollected feelings of the daysOf youth and early love.

From Atherstone’s Last Days of Herculaneum.

Soft tints of sweet May morn, when day’s bright godLooks smiling from behind delicious mists;Throwing his slant rays on the glistening grass,Where ’gainst the rich deep green the Cowslip hangsHis elegant bells of purest gold:—the paleSweet perfumed primrose lifts its face to heaven,Like the full, artless gaze of infancy:—The little ray-crowned daisy peeps beneath,When the tall neighbour grass, heavy with dew,Bows down its head beneath the freshening breeze;Where oft in long dark lines the waving treesThrow their soft shadows on the sunny fields;Where, in the music-breathing hedge, the thornAnd pearly white May blossom, full of sweets,Hang out the virgin flag of spring, entwinedWith dripping honey-suckles, whose sweet breathSinks to the heart—recalling, with a sigh,Dim recollected feelings of the daysOf youth and early love.

From Spring, by KleistWho thus, O tulip! thy gay-painted breastIn all the colours of the sun has drest?Well could I call thee, in thy gaudy pride,The queen of flowers; but blooming by thy sideHer thousand leaves that beams of love adorn,Her throne surrounded by protecting thorn,And smell eternal, form a juster claim,Which gives the heaven-born rose the lofty name,Who having slept throughout the wintry storm,Now through the opening buds displays her smiling form.Between the leaves the silver whitethorn showsIts dewy blossoms, pure as mountain snows.Here the blue hyacinth’s nectareous cellTo my charmed senses gives its cooling smell.In lowly beds the purple violets bloom,And liberal shower around their rich perfume.See, how the peacock stalks yon beds beside,Where rayed in sparkling dust and velvet pride,Like brilliant stars, arranged in splendid row,The proud auriculas their lustre show:The jealous bird now shows his swelling breast,His many-coloured neck, and lofty crest;Then all at once his dazzling tail displays,On whose broad circle thousand rainbows blaze.The wanton butterflies, with fickle wing,Flutter round every flower that decks the springThen on their painted pinions eager haste,The luscious cherry’s blood to taste.

From Spring, by Kleist

Who thus, O tulip! thy gay-painted breastIn all the colours of the sun has drest?Well could I call thee, in thy gaudy pride,The queen of flowers; but blooming by thy sideHer thousand leaves that beams of love adorn,Her throne surrounded by protecting thorn,And smell eternal, form a juster claim,Which gives the heaven-born rose the lofty name,Who having slept throughout the wintry storm,Now through the opening buds displays her smiling form.Between the leaves the silver whitethorn showsIts dewy blossoms, pure as mountain snows.Here the blue hyacinth’s nectareous cellTo my charmed senses gives its cooling smell.In lowly beds the purple violets bloom,And liberal shower around their rich perfume.See, how the peacock stalks yon beds beside,Where rayed in sparkling dust and velvet pride,Like brilliant stars, arranged in splendid row,The proud auriculas their lustre show:The jealous bird now shows his swelling breast,His many-coloured neck, and lofty crest;Then all at once his dazzling tail displays,On whose broad circle thousand rainbows blaze.The wanton butterflies, with fickle wing,Flutter round every flower that decks the springThen on their painted pinions eager haste,The luscious cherry’s blood to taste.

From the “Perennial Calendar.”

Chickweed.—When the flower expands boldly and fully, no rain will happen for four hours or upwards: if it continues in that open state, no rain will disturb the summer’s day: when it half conceals its miniature flower, the day is generally showery; but if it entirely shuts up, or veils the white flower with its green mantle, let the traveller put on his great coat, and the ploughman, with his beasts of drought, expect rest from their labour.

Siberian sowthistle.—If the flowers of this plant keep open all night, rain will certainly fall the next day.

Trefoil.—The different species of trefoil always contract their leaves at the approach of a storm: hence these plants have been termed the husbandman’s barometer.

African marygold.—If this plant opens not its flowers in the morning about seven o’clock, you may be sure it will rain that day, unless it thunders.

The convolvulus also, and the pimpernelanagalis arvensis, fold up their leaves on the approach of rain: the last in particular is termed the poor man’s weather-glass.

White thorns and dog-rose bushes.—Wet summers are generally attended with an uncommon quantity of seed on these shrubs; whence their unusual fruitfulness is a sign of a severe winter.

Besides the above, there are several plants, especially those with compound yellow flowers, which nod, and during the whole day turn their flowers towards the sun: viz. to the east in the morning, to the south at noon, and to the west towards evening; this is very observable in the sowthistlesonchus arvensis: and it is a well-known fact, that a great part of the plants in a serene sky expand their flowers, and as it were with cheerful looks behold the light of the sun; but before rain they shut them up, as the tulip.

The flowers of the alpine whitlow grassdraba alpina, the bastard feverfewparthenium, and the wintergreentrientalis, hang down in the night as if the plants were asleep, lest rain or the moist air should injure the fertilizing dust.

One species of woodsorrel shuts up or doubles its leaves before storms and tempests, but in a serene sky expands or unfolds them, so that the husbandman can pretty clearly foretell tempests from it. It is also well known that the mountain ebonybauhinia, sensitive plants, and cassia, observe the same rule.

Besides affording prognostics, many plants also fold themselves up at particular hours, with such regularity, as to have acquired particular names from this property. The following are among the more remarkable plants of this description:—

Goatsbeard.—The flowers of both species of tragopogon open in the morning at the approach of the sun, and without regard to the state of the weather regularly shut about noon. Hence it is generally known in the country by the name of go to bed at noon.

The princesses’ leaf, or four o’clock flower, in the Malay Islands, is an elegant shrub so called by the natives, because their ladies are fond of the grateful odour of its white leaves. It takes its generic name from its quality of opening its flowers at four in the evening, and not closing them in the morning till the same hour returns, when they again expand in the evening at the same hour. Many people transplant them from the woods into their gardens, and use them as a dial or a clock, especially in cloudy weather.

The evening primrose is well known from its remarkable properties of regularly shutting with a loud popping noise, about sunset in the evening, and opening at sunrise in the morning. After six o’clock, these flowers regularly report the approach of night.

The tamarind treeparkinsonia, the nipplewortlapsana communis, the water lilynymphaea, the marygoldscalendulae, the bastard sensitive plantaeschynomene, and several others of the diadelphia class, in serene weather, expand their leaves in the daytime, and contract them during the night. According to some botanists, the tamarind-tree enfolds within its leaves the flowers or fruit every night, in order to guard them from cold or rain.

The flower of the garden lettuce, which is in a vertical plane, opens at seven o’clock, and shuts at ten.

A species of serpentine aloe, without prickles, whose large and beautiful flowers exhale a strong odour of the vanilla during the time of its expansion, which is very short, is cultivated in the imperial garden at Paris. It does notblow till towards the month of July, and about five o’clock in the evening, at which time it gradually opens its petals, expands them, droops, and dies. By ten o’clock the same night, it is totally withered, to the great astonishment of the spectators, who flock in crowds to see it.

The cerea, a native of Jamaica and Vera Cruz, expands an exquisitely beautiful coral flower, and emits a highly fragrant odour, for a few hours in the night, and then closes to open no more. The flower is nearly a foot in diameter; the inside of the calyx, of a splendid yellow; and the numerous petals are of a pure white. It begins to open about seven or eight o’clock in the evening, and closes before sunrise in the morning.

The flower of the dandelion possesses very peculiar means of sheltering itself from the heat of the sun, as it closes entirely whenever the heat becomes excessive. It has been observed to open, in summer, at half an hour after five in the morning, and to collect its petals towards the centre about nine o’clock.

Linnæus has enumerated forty-six flowers, which possess this kind of sensibility: he divides them into three classes.—1. Meteoric flowers, which less accurately observe the hour of folding, but are expanded sooner or later according to the cloudiness, moisture, or pressure of the atmosphere. 2. Tropical flowers, that open in the morning and close before evening every day, but the hour of their expanding becomes earlier or later as the length of the day increases or decreases. 3. Equinoctial flowers, which open at a certain and exact hour of the day, and for the most part close at another determinate hour.

On Flora’s Horologe, by Charlotte Smith.In every copse and sheltered dell,Unveiled to the observant eye,Are faithful monitors, who tellHow pass the hours and seasons by.The green-robed children of the SpringWill mark the periods as they pass,Mingle with leaves Time’s feathered wing,And bind with flowers his silent glass.Mark where transparent waters glide,Soft flowing o’er their tranquil bed;There, cradled on the dimpling tide,Nymphæa rests her lovely head.But conscious of the earliest beam,She rises from her humid nest,And sees reflected in the streamThe virgin whiteness of her breast.Till the bright Daystar to the westDeclines, in Ocean’s surge to lave:Then, folded in her modest vest,She slumbers on the rocking wave.See Hieracium’s various tribe,Of plumy seed and radiate flowers,The course of Time their blooms describe,And wake or sleep appointed hours.Broad o’er its imbricated cupThe Goatsbeard spreads its golden raysBut shuts its cautious petals up,Retreating from the noontide blaze.Pale as a pensive cloistered nun,The Bethlem Star her face unveils,When o’er the mountain peers the Sun,But shades it from the vesper gales.Among the loose and arid sandsThe humble Arenaria creeps;Slowly the Purple Star expands,But soon within its calyx sleeps.And those small bells so lightly rayedWith young Aurora’s rosy hue,Are to the noontide Sun displayed,But shut their plaits against the dew.On upland slopes the shepherds markThe hour, when, as the dial true,Cichorium to the towering LarkLifts her soft eyes serenely blue.And thou, “Wee crimson tipped flower,”Gatherest thy fringed mantle roundThy bosom, at the closing hour,When nightdrops bathe the turfy ground,Unlike Silene, who declinesThe garish noontide’s blazing light;But when the evening crescent shines,Gives all her sweetness to the night.Thus in each flower and simple bell,That in our path betrodden lie,Are sweet remembrancers who tellHow fast their winged moments fly.

On Flora’s Horologe, by Charlotte Smith.

In every copse and sheltered dell,Unveiled to the observant eye,Are faithful monitors, who tellHow pass the hours and seasons by.The green-robed children of the SpringWill mark the periods as they pass,Mingle with leaves Time’s feathered wing,And bind with flowers his silent glass.Mark where transparent waters glide,Soft flowing o’er their tranquil bed;There, cradled on the dimpling tide,Nymphæa rests her lovely head.But conscious of the earliest beam,She rises from her humid nest,And sees reflected in the streamThe virgin whiteness of her breast.Till the bright Daystar to the westDeclines, in Ocean’s surge to lave:Then, folded in her modest vest,She slumbers on the rocking wave.See Hieracium’s various tribe,Of plumy seed and radiate flowers,The course of Time their blooms describe,And wake or sleep appointed hours.Broad o’er its imbricated cupThe Goatsbeard spreads its golden raysBut shuts its cautious petals up,Retreating from the noontide blaze.Pale as a pensive cloistered nun,The Bethlem Star her face unveils,When o’er the mountain peers the Sun,But shades it from the vesper gales.Among the loose and arid sandsThe humble Arenaria creeps;Slowly the Purple Star expands,But soon within its calyx sleeps.And those small bells so lightly rayedWith young Aurora’s rosy hue,Are to the noontide Sun displayed,But shut their plaits against the dew.On upland slopes the shepherds markThe hour, when, as the dial true,Cichorium to the towering LarkLifts her soft eyes serenely blue.And thou, “Wee crimson tipped flower,”Gatherest thy fringed mantle roundThy bosom, at the closing hour,When nightdrops bathe the turfy ground,Unlike Silene, who declinesThe garish noontide’s blazing light;But when the evening crescent shines,Gives all her sweetness to the night.Thus in each flower and simple bell,That in our path betrodden lie,Are sweet remembrancers who tellHow fast their winged moments fly.

In every copse and sheltered dell,Unveiled to the observant eye,Are faithful monitors, who tellHow pass the hours and seasons by.

The green-robed children of the SpringWill mark the periods as they pass,Mingle with leaves Time’s feathered wing,And bind with flowers his silent glass.

Mark where transparent waters glide,Soft flowing o’er their tranquil bed;There, cradled on the dimpling tide,Nymphæa rests her lovely head.

But conscious of the earliest beam,She rises from her humid nest,And sees reflected in the streamThe virgin whiteness of her breast.

Till the bright Daystar to the westDeclines, in Ocean’s surge to lave:Then, folded in her modest vest,She slumbers on the rocking wave.

See Hieracium’s various tribe,Of plumy seed and radiate flowers,The course of Time their blooms describe,And wake or sleep appointed hours.

Broad o’er its imbricated cupThe Goatsbeard spreads its golden raysBut shuts its cautious petals up,Retreating from the noontide blaze.

Pale as a pensive cloistered nun,The Bethlem Star her face unveils,When o’er the mountain peers the Sun,But shades it from the vesper gales.

Among the loose and arid sandsThe humble Arenaria creeps;Slowly the Purple Star expands,But soon within its calyx sleeps.

And those small bells so lightly rayedWith young Aurora’s rosy hue,Are to the noontide Sun displayed,But shut their plaits against the dew.

On upland slopes the shepherds markThe hour, when, as the dial true,Cichorium to the towering LarkLifts her soft eyes serenely blue.

And thou, “Wee crimson tipped flower,”Gatherest thy fringed mantle roundThy bosom, at the closing hour,When nightdrops bathe the turfy ground,

Unlike Silene, who declinesThe garish noontide’s blazing light;But when the evening crescent shines,Gives all her sweetness to the night.

Thus in each flower and simple bell,That in our path betrodden lie,Are sweet remembrancers who tellHow fast their winged moments fly.

Dr. Forster remarks that towards the close of this month, the cat’s earhypochœris radicatais in flower every where; its first appearance is about the 18th day. This plant, as well as the rough dandelion, continues to flower till after Midsummer. The lilac, the barberry tree, the maple, and other trees and shrubs, are also in flower. The meadow grasses are full grown and flowering. The flowers of the garden rose, in early and warm years, begin to open.

On a Young Rosebud in May, from theGerman of Goëthe.A Rose, that bloomed the roadside by,Caught a young vagrant’s wanton eye:The child was gay, the morn was clear,The child would see the rosebudnear:She saw the blooming flow’r.My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!My Rose that blooms the roadside near!The child exclaimed, “My hands shall dare,Thee, Rose, from off thy stem to tear:”The Rose replied, “If I have need,My thorns shall make thy fingers bleed—Thy rash design give o’er.”My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!My Rose that blooms the roadside near!Regardless of its thorny spray,The child would tear the Rose away;The Rose bewailed with sob and sigh,But all in vain, no help was nighTo quell the urchin’s pow’r.My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!My Rose that bloomed the roadside near!New Monthly Magazine.

On a Young Rosebud in May, from theGerman of Goëthe.

A Rose, that bloomed the roadside by,Caught a young vagrant’s wanton eye:The child was gay, the morn was clear,The child would see the rosebudnear:She saw the blooming flow’r.My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!My Rose that blooms the roadside near!The child exclaimed, “My hands shall dare,Thee, Rose, from off thy stem to tear:”The Rose replied, “If I have need,My thorns shall make thy fingers bleed—Thy rash design give o’er.”My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!My Rose that blooms the roadside near!Regardless of its thorny spray,The child would tear the Rose away;The Rose bewailed with sob and sigh,But all in vain, no help was nighTo quell the urchin’s pow’r.My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!My Rose that bloomed the roadside near!

The child exclaimed, “My hands shall dare,Thee, Rose, from off thy stem to tear:”The Rose replied, “If I have need,My thorns shall make thy fingers bleed—Thy rash design give o’er.”My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!My Rose that blooms the roadside near!

Regardless of its thorny spray,The child would tear the Rose away;The Rose bewailed with sob and sigh,But all in vain, no help was nighTo quell the urchin’s pow’r.My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!My Rose that bloomed the roadside near!

New Monthly Magazine.

From Dr. Aikin’s “Natural History of the Year,” the ensuing passages regarding the season will be found agreeable and useful.

On hedge-banks the wild germander of a fine azure blue is conspicuous, and the whole surface of meadows is often covered by the yellow crowfoot. These flowers, also called buttercups, are erroneously supposed to communicate to the butter at this season its rich yellow tinge, as the cows will not touch it on account of its acrid biting quality; this is strikingly visible in pastures, where, though all the grass is cropped to the very roots, the numerous tufts of this weed spring up, flower, and shed their seeds in perfect security, and the most absolute freedom from molestation by the cattle; they are indeed cut down and made into hay together with the rest of the rubbish that usually occupies a large proportion of every meadow; and in this state are eaten by cattle, partly because they are incapable of separating them, and partly because, by dying, their acrimony is considerably subdued; but there can be no doubt of their place being much better supplied by any sort of real grass. In the present age of agricultural improvement the subject of grass lands among others has been a good deal attended to, but much yet remains to be done, and the tracts of the ingenious Stillingfleet, and of Mr. Curtis, on this important division of rural economy, are well deserving the notice of every liberal farmer. The excellence of a meadow consists in its producing as much herbage as possible, and that this herbage should be agreeable and nutritious to the animals which are fed with its crop. Every plant of crowfoot therefore ought, if practicable, to be extirpated, for, so far from being grateful and nourishing to any kind of cattle, it is notorious, that in its fresh state nothing will touch it. The same may be said of the hemlock, kex, and other umbelliferous plants which are common in most fields, and which have entirely overrun others; for these when fresh are not only noxious to the animals that are fed upon hay, but from their rank and straggling manner of growth occupy a very large proportion of the ground. Many other plants that are commonly found in meadows may upon the same principles be objected to; and though the present generation of farmers has done much, yet still more remains for their successors to perform.

The gardens now yield an agreeable though immature product in the young gooseberries and currants, which are highly acceptable to our tables, now almost exhausted of their store of preserved fruits.

Early in the month the latest species of the summer birds of passage arrive, generally in the following order: fern-owl or goat-sucker, fly-catcher, and sedge-bird.

This is also the principal time in which birds hatch and rear their young. The assiduity and patience of the female during the task of sitting are admirable, as well as the conjugal affection of the male, who sings to his mate, and often supplies her place; and nothing can exceed the parental tenderness of both when the young are brought to light.

Several species of insects are this month added to those which have already been enumerated; the chief of which are the great white cabbage butterfly, capilio brassicæ; the may-chaffer, the favourite food of the fern-owl; the horse-fly, or forest-fly, so great a plague to horses and cattle; and several kinds of moths and butterflies.

Towards the end of May the bee-hives send forth their earlier swarms. These colonies consist of the young progeny, and some old ones, now grown too numerous to remain in their present habitation, and sufficiently strong and vigorous to provide for themselves. One queen bee is necessary to form each colony, and wherever she flies they follow. Naturedirects them to march in a body in quest of a new settlement, which, if left to their choice, would generally be some hollow trunk of a tree. But man, who converts the labours and instincts of so many animals to his own use, provides them with a dwelling, and repays himself with their honey. The early swarms are generally the most valuable, as they have time enough to lay in a plentiful store of honey for their subsistence through the winter.

About the same time the glow-worm shines. Of this species of insect the females are without wings and luminous, the males are furnished with wings, but are not luminous; it is probable, therefore, that this light may serve to direct the male to the haunts of the female, as Hero of Sestos is said to have displayed a torch from the top of a high tower to guide her venturous lover Leander in his dangerous passage across the Hellespont:—

You (i.e. the Sylphs)Warm on her mossy couch the radiant worm,Guard from cold dews her love-illumined form,From leaf to leaf conduct the virgin light,Star of the earth, and diamond of the night.Darwin.

You (i.e. the Sylphs)Warm on her mossy couch the radiant worm,Guard from cold dews her love-illumined form,From leaf to leaf conduct the virgin light,Star of the earth, and diamond of the night.

Darwin.

These little animals are found to extinguish their lamps between eleven and twelve at night.

Old May-day is the usual time for turning out cattle into the pastures, though frequently then very bare of grass. The milk soon becomes more copious, and of finer quality, from the juices of the young grass; and it is in this month that the making of cheese is usually begun in the dairies. Cheshire, Wiltshire, and the low parts of Gloucestershire, are the tracts in England most celebrated for the best cheese.

Many trees and shrubs flower in May, such as the oak, beech, maple, sycamore, barberry, laburnum, horse-chestnut, lilac, mountain ash, and Guelder rose; of the more humble plants the most remarkable are the lily of the valley, and woodroof in woods, the male orchis in meadows, and the lychnis, or cuckoo flower, on hedge-banks.

This month is not a very busy season for the farmer. Some sowing remains to be done in late years; and in forward ones, the weeds, which spring up abundantly in fields and gardens, require to be kept under. The husbandman now looks forward with anxious hope to the reward of his industry:—

Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious manHas done his part. Ye fost’ring breezes, blow!Ye soft’ning dews, ye tender show’rs descend;And temper all, thou world-receiving sun,Into the perfect year!Thomson.

Thomson.

The Horse-chestnut.Æschylus Hippocastanum.Dedicated toSt. Barnardineof Sienna.

Holiday at the Public Offices.

St. Felixof Cantalicio,A. D.1587.St. Godrick, Hermit,A. D.1170.St. Hospitius,A. D.681.

Ragged Robin.Lychnis flos cuculi.Dedicated toSt. Felix.

St. Yvo,A. D.1303.St. Basiliscus, Bp.A. D.312.Sts. CastusandÆmilius,A. D.250.St. Bobo,A. D.985.St. Conall, Abbot.

When first the soul of Love is sent abroad,Warm through the vital air, and on the heartHarmonious seizes, the gay troops begin,In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing,And try again the long-forgotten strain,At first faint warbled. But no sooner growsThe soft infusion prevalent and wide,Than all alive at once their joy o’erflowsIn music unconfined. Up springs the Lark,Shrill voiced and loud, the messenger of morn;Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted singsAmid the dawning clouds, and from their hauntCalls up the tuneful nations. Every copseDeep tangled, tree irregular, and bushBending with dewy moisture o’er the headsOf the coy quoristers that lodge within,Are prodigal of harmony. The ThrushAnd Woodlark, o’er the kind contending throngSuperior heard, run through the sweetest lengthOf notes, when listening Philomela deignsTo let them joy, and purposes, in thoughtElate, to make her night excel their day.The Blackbird whistles from the thorny brake,The mellow Bullfinch answers from the grove.Nor are the Linnets, o’er the flowering furzePour’d out profusely, silent. Joined to theseInnumerous songsters, in the freshening shadeOf newsprung leaves, their modulations mix,Mellifluous. The Jay, the Rook, the Daw,And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone,Aid the full concert, while the Stockdove breathesA melancholy murmur through the whole.Around our heads the whitewinged Plover wheelsHer sounding flight, and then directly on,In long excursion, skims the level lawns,To tempt him from her nest. The Wild Duck hence:O’er the rough moss and o’er the trackless wasteThe Heath Hen flutters, pious fraud, to leadThe hot pursuing Spaniel far astray!Thomson.

Thomson.

Yellow Star of Bethlehem.Tragopogon pratensis.Dedicated toSt. Yvo.

St. Julia, 5th Cent.St. Desiderius, Bp. of Langres, 7th Cent.St. Desiderius, Bp. of Vienne,A. D.612.

Mr. Fosbroke remarks that this feast was celebrated in Spain with representations of the gift of the Holy Ghost, and of thunder from engines, which did much damage. Wafers, or cakes, preceded by water, oak-leaves, or burning torches, were thrown down from the church roof; small birds, with cakes tied to their legs, and pigeons were let loose; sometimes there were tame white ones tied with strings, or one of wood suspended. A long censer was also swung up and down. In an old Computus, anno 1509, of St. Patrick’s, Dublin, we have ivs. viid. paid to those playing with the great and little angel and the dragon; iiis. paid for little cords employed about the Holy Ghost; ivs. vid. for making the angel (thurificantis) censing, and iis. iid. for cords of it—all on the feast of Pentecost. On the day before Whitsuntide, in some places, men and boys rolled themselves, after drinking, &c. in the mud in the streets. The Irish kept the feast with milk food, as among the Hebrews; and a breakfast composed of cake, bread, and a liquor made by hot water poured on wheaten bran. TheWhitson Aleswere derived from theAgapai, or love-feasts of the early Christians, and were so denominated from the churchwardens buying, and laying in from presents also, a large quantity of malt, which they brewed into beer, and sold out in the church or elsewhere. The profits, as well as those from sundry games, there being no poor rates, were given to the poor, for whom this was one mode of provision, according to the christian rule that all festivities should be rendered innocent by alms. Aubrey thus describes a Whitson Ale. “In every parish was a church-house, to which belonged spits, crocks, and other utensils for dressing provisions. Here the housekeepers met. The young people were there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c. the ancients sitting gravely by, and looking on.” It seems too that a tree was erected by the church door, where a banner was placed, and maidens stood gathering contributions. An arbour, called Robin Hood’s Bower, was also put up in the church-yard. The modern Whitson Ale consists of a lord and lady of the ale, a steward, sword-bearer, purse-bearer, mace-bearer, train-bearer, or page, fool, and pipe and tabor man, with a company of young men and women, who dance in a barn.

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