Chapter M: E. S. Wright (1)

A MEDLEY OF WEATHER LORE

A MEDLEY OF WEATHER LORE

JANUARY

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 tide
The 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 year
Is the month of Janiveer.

* * * * *

Through all the sad and weary hours
Which 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 Day
If 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 foode
Which 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 king
Of birds the goldcrest. The thrush, now and then,
The blackbird, wont to whistle in the spring,
Like Christians seeke the heavenlie food Saint
Paul 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 spring
Is 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 oats
Gets 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._

FEBRUARY

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 one
May 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 bright
The winter will take another flight;
But if it should be dark and drear
Then 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 year
Fear a fair Februeer.

* * * * *

The dim droop of a sombre February day.

* * * * *

There is an old proverb,
That birds of a feather
On Saint Valentine's day
Will meet together.

* * * * *

1733.

Why, Valentine's a day to choose
A 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 cheese
Of 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 snow
A fine summer it doth foreshow.

* * * * *

Now set for thy pot
Best 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.

MARCH

Ancient Cornish name:
Miz-merp, horse month.

* * * * *

Jewel: Bloodstone. Courage and wisdom.

* * * * *

Upon St. David's Day
Put oats and barley in the clay.

* * * * *

The leeke is white and green, whereby is ment
That 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 March
The crows begin to search,
By the first of April
They are sitting still,
By the first of May
They 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 dry
Make 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 time
When the corn begins to fill,
Is worth a ploughy of gold
And 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 now
Puts 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 float
More greenly, and the bordering reeds exalt
Higher 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 deep
The low-roofed cottage white, the blackbird sits
Cheerily 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 trust
March with its peck of dust,
Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,
Nor even May, whose flowers
One 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 thee
Begins the year's great jubilee!
Of her solemnities sublime
(A sacristan whose gusty taper
Flashes through earliest morning vapour)
Thou ring'st dark nocturns and dim prime.
Birds that have yet no heart for song
Gain 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 Spring
And violets their off'rings bring,
And sweetest birds their hymns outsing.

* * * * *

When country roads begin to thaw
In mottled spots of damp and dust,
And fences by the margin draw
Along the frozen crust
Their graphic silhouettes, I say,
The Spring is coming round this way.

When suddenly some shadow bird
Goes wavering beneath the gaze,
And through the hedge the moan is heard
Of 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 again
After last night's rain.

_Browning._

* * * * *

No summer flowers are half so sweet
As 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 vlee
Wi' sticks toward their elem tree;
When birds do zing, an' we can zee
Upon 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'r
A-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 among
Thorns, while they do zing their zong
At evenin' in the zunsheen.

_W. Barnes._

* * * * *

A camomile bed,--
The more it is trodden,
The more it will spread.

* * * * *

Thunder in spring
Cold will bring.

* * * * *

March search, April try,
May will prove if you live or die.

* * * * *

March wind and May sun
Makes clothes white and maids dun.

* * * * *

March does from April gain
Three 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 see
Hanging 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 lap
England 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.

APRIL

Ancient Cornish name:
Miz-ebrall primrose month.

* * * * *

Jewel for the month: Sapphire. Frees from enchantment.

* * * * *

If it thunders on All Fool's day
It brings good crops of grain and hay.

* * * * *

The first thunder of the year awakes
All the frogs and all the snakes.

* * * * *

MS. 250 YEARS 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 day
Brings 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 let
A 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 mould
Grains beyond the price of gold.
So deep and large her bounties are,
That one broad, long midsummer day
Shall to the planet overpay
The ravage of a year of war.

_Emerson._

* * * * *

In wild moor or sterile heath,
Bright with the golden furze, beneath
O'erhanging bush or shelving stone,
The little stonechat dwells alone,
Or near his brother of the whin;
Among the foremost to begin
His 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 heart
Had 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 seat
And 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 bird
Scarce time to take his breath,
And now "Cuckoo!" he saith.
Cuckoo! cuckoo! three cheers!
And let the welkin ring!
He has not folded wing
Since last he saw Algiers.

_T. E. Brown._

* * * * *

April fifteenth, first swallow day.

_Sussex._

* * * * *

He comes! He comes! who loves to bear
Soft sunny hours and seasons fair;
The swallow hither comes to rest
His 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 April
The 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 rain
Willows and lilacs brings again,
The whistle of returning birds,
And, trumpet-lowing of the herds.

* * * * *

I met Queen Spring in the hanger
That 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 scrolled
Upon 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 falling
From the cloudy skies,
To listen to Earth's weary voices,
Louder every day,
Bidding her no longer linger
On her charmed way;
But hasten to her task of beauty
Scarcely yet begun;
By the first bright day of summer
It 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 sun
Melt, like snow-flakes, one by one,
Let thy loud and welcome lay
Pour along
Few 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,
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 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, the cherry-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 dare
Trust the cruel outer air;
When the royal kingcup bold
Dares not don his throat of gold;
And the sturdy blackthorn spray
Keeps his silver for the May;
Coming when no flowerets would
Save 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 throng
That 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.

MAY

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 May
To 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 May
Will soon be laid in clay;
They who bathe in June
Will 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 throws
The 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 blast
With all his train of clouds is past.

Mother of blossoms! and of all
That'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 ringing
With birds sweetly singing,
Where dewdrops are clinging
To flowret and spray.

The sunshine entrances
My 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 as the "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 again
The monitor revives his own sweet strain;
But both will soon be mastered, and the copse
Be left as silent as the mountain-tops,
Ere some commanding star dismiss to rest
The throng of rooks, that now from twig or nest,
(After a steady flight on home-bound wings,
And a last game of mazy hoverings
Around 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 aye
Must eat sage in May.

* * * * *

A dry May and a dripping June
Brings all things into tune.

_Bedford._

* * * * *

Hawthorn bloom and elder flowers
Will 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 flowers
Month 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 keep
Mingles 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._

JUNE

Ancient Cornish name:
Miz-epham, summer month, or head of summer.

* * * * *

Jewel for the month: Agate. Long life, health, and prosperity.

* * * * *

When the white pinks begin to appear,
Then is the time your sheep to shear.

_Old Rhyme._

* * * * *

Over the meadow,
In sunshine and shadow,
The meadow-larks trill and the bumble-bees drone.

_Whitcomb Riley._

* * * * *

If it raineth on the eighth of June a wet harvest men will see.

* * * * *

The broom having plenty of blossoms, or the walnut tree, is a sign of a fruitful year of corn.

* * * * *

A calm June
Puts the farmer in tune.

* * * * *

A dripping June
Puts all things in tune.

* * * * *

Come away! The sunny hours
Woo thee far to founts and bowers!
O'er the very waters now,
In their play,
Flowers are shedding beauty's glow--
Come away!
Where the lily's tender gleam
Quivers on the glancing stream,
Come away!

All the air is filled with sound,
Soft and sultry, and profound;
Murmurs through the shadowy grass
Lightly stray;
Faint winds whisper as they pass:
Come away!
Where the bee's deep music swells
From the trembling foxglove bells.
Come away!

_Mrs. Hemans._

* * * * *

Pansies! Pansies! How I love you, pansies!
Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped, and dewy-eyed with glee.

_Whitcomb Riley._

* * * * *

The flower beds all were liberal of delight;
Roses in heaps were there, both red and white,
Lilies angelical, and gorgeous glooms
Of wall-flowers, and blue hyacinths, and blooms,
Hanging thick clusters from light boughs; in short,
All the sweet cups to which the bees resort.

_Leigh Hunt._

* * * * *

Oh! the rosy month of June I hail as summer's queen;
The hills and valleys sing in joy, and all the woods are green;
And streamlets flow in gladsome song, the birds are all in tune;
And Nature smiles in summer's pride, in the rosy month of June.
The sixth month of the year
Is the month of June,
When the weather's too hot to be borne,
The master doth say,
As he goes on his way,
"To-morrow my sheep shall be shorn."

_Somerset._

* * * * *

Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing,
The small birds they warble from every green bough;
Here the pink and the lily,
And the daffadowndilly,
To adorn and perfume the sweet meadows in June;
'Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow;
But the lads and the lasses to the sheep-shearing go.

_Sussex Song._

* * * * *

Below the hill's an ash; below
The ash, white elder-flow'rs do blow:
Below the elder is a bed
O' robinhoods a' blushin' red;
And there, wi' nunch es all a-spread,
The hay-meakers, wi' each a cup
O' drink, do smile to zee hold up
The rain, an' sky a-clearin'.

_W. Barnes._

* * * * *

By fragrant gales in frolic play
The floating corn's green waves are fann'd,
And all above, broad summer day!
And all below, bright summer land.

_Owen Meredith._

* * * * *

The sweet west wind is flying
Over the purple sea,
And the amber daylight dying
On roadway, hill, and tree;
The cattle bells are ringing
Among the slanting downs,
And children's voices flinging
Glad echoes through the towns:
"Oh, summer day! so soon away!"
The happy-hearted sigh and say:
"Sweet is thy light, and sad thy flight,
And sad the words--good-night, good-night."

The wan white clouds are trailing
Low o'er the level plain,
And the wind brings with its wailing
The chill of the coming rain;
Fringed by the faded heather,
Wide pools of water lie,
And birds and leaves together
Whirl through the evening sky.
"Haste thee away, oh, winter day!"
The weary-hearted weep and say:
"Sad is thy light, and slow thy flight,
And sweet the words--good-night, good-night."

* * * * *

'Twas one of the charmed days
When the genius of God doth flow,
The wind may alter twenty ways,
A tempest cannot blow;
It may blow north, it still is warm;
Or south, it still is clear;
Or east, it smells like a clover farm;
Or west, no thunder fear.

_Emerson._

* * * * *

Where woodbines wander, and the wallflower pushes its way alone;
And where in wafts of fragrance, sweetbrier bushes make themselves known,
With banks of violets for southern breezes to seek and find,
And trellis'd jessamine that trembles in the summer wind.
Where clove carnations overgrow the places where they were set,
And, mist-like, in the intervening spaces creeps mignonette.

* * * * *

ST. BARNABAS DAY. (_Old Style. June 21st._)

Barnaby bright, Barnaby bright,
The longest day and the shortest night.

* * * * *

The ignorant believe that any person fasting on Midsummer eve, and sitting in the church porch, will, at midnight, see the spirits of the persons of that parish who will die that year, come and knock at the church door, in the order and succession in which they will die.

_Hone._

* * * * *

When mack'rel ceaseth from the seas,
John Baptist brings grass-beef and pease.

_Tusser._

* * * * *

1570(?)

Then doth the joyfull feast of John the Baptist take his turne,
When bonfires great with loftie flame, in every town doe burne;
And yong men round about with maides doe daunce in every streete,
With garlands wroughte of motherworth, or else with vervain sweete.

_Barnaby Googe._

* * * * *

'Twas midsummer;
The warm earth teemed with flowers; the kingcups gold,
The perfumed clover, 'mid the crested grass;
The plantains rearing high their flowery crowns
Above the daisied coverts; overhead,
The hawthorns, white and rosy, bent with bloom,
The broad-fanned chestnuts spiked with frequent flowers,
And white gold-hearted lilies on the stream.

_Lewis Morris._

* * * * *

OLD KENTISH SONG.

My one man, my two men,
Will mow me down the medda';
My three men, my four men,
Will carry away togedda';
My five men, my six men,
And there ain't no more,
Will mow my hay, and carry away,
And mow me down the medda'.

* * * * *

Soon will high midsummer pomps come on,
Soon will the musk carnation break and swell,
Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon,
Sweet William with his homely cottage-smell,
And stocks in fragrant blow.

_Matthew Arnold._

* * * * *

SIGNS OF RAIN.

The hollow winds begin to blow,
The clouds look black, the glass is low,
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
The spiders from their cobwebs creep,
Last night the sun went pale to bed,
The moon in halo hid her head,
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
For see! a rainbow spans the sky.
The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
Clos'd is the pink ey'd pimpernel.
Hark! how the chairs and tables crack;
Old Betty's joints are on the rack.
Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
The distant hills are looking nigh.
How restless are the snorting swine!
The busy flies disturb the kine.
Low o'er the grass the swallow wings;
The cricket, too, how loud it sings.
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
Sits smoothing o'er her whiskered jaws.
Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
And nimbly catch the incautious flies.
The sheep are seen at early light
Cropping the meads with eager bite.
Tho' June, the air is cold and chill;
The mellow blackbird's voice is still.
The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
Illumed the dewy dell last night.
At dusk the squalid toad was seen
Hopping, crawling, o'er the green.
The frog has lost his yellow vest,
And in a dingy suit is dress'd.
The leech disturb'd is newly risen
Quite to the summit of his prison.
The whirling winds the dust obeys,
And in the rapid eddy plays.
My dog, so altered in his taste,
Quits mutton bones on grass to feast;
And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,
They imitate the gliding kite,
Or seem precipitate to fall,
As if they felt the piercing ball.
'Twill surely rain--I see with sorrow,
Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

An excuse for not accepting the invitation of a friend to make a country excursion.

_Edward Jenner._

* * * * *

Pondweed sinks before rain.

* * * * *

Fir cones close for wet, open for fine weather.

* * * * *

Cows and sheep lie down before rain to keep a dry place to lie on.

* * * * *

When the clouds go up the hill,
They'll send down water to turn a mill.

_Hants._

* * * * *

If nights three dewless there be,
'Twill rain you're sure to see.

* * * * *

If bees stay at home
Rain will soon come.
If they fly away
Fine will be the day.

* * * * *

1656.

If the down flyeth off colt's foot, dandelyon and thistles, when there is no winde, it is a sign of rain.

* * * * *