The Garland of the year, or, The months: their poetry and flowers : with twelve chromographs of flowers, one for each month
Hulme, F. Edward (Frederick Edward)
| 7. fw. f><~tZc f ■ ft H fe/ //V jffUiS, 3 '- J J// /LiXyyi t » « ' « i X 'owL THE GARLAND OF THE YEAR; OR, (ETie fKantfjs: tfjetr SPaetrg anti iFIciners. WITH TWELVE CHROMOGRAPHS OF FLOWERS, ONE FOR EACH MONTH. “ Blessed be God for flowers ; For the bright, gentle, holy thoughts, that breathe From out their odorous beauty, like a wreath Of sunshine on Life’s hours.” Mrs. Tinsley. Honban: MARCUS WARD & CO., CHANDOS ST., W.C .; And ROYAL ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST. Mhk] ^olU 1 ( O \r& G&*c 1 <Z^3 \ PRINTED BY Marcus Ward and ROYAL ULSTER WORKS BELFAST PREFACE. HE Editor of this little work has endeavoured to make his descriptions of the months, which are necessarily very brief, both interesting and in¬ structive. For much of the historical information embodied in these, he is indebted to the late Dr. Robert Chambers’s admirable “Book of the Year.” The colored illustrations are by Mr. F. Edward Hulme, F.L.S., F.S.A. The chief poetical selections are carefully chosen from our Standard British Poets. Some are original : all relate specially to the months and their flowers. Pains have been taken to render the work suitable for a gift book, at any season, or for a birthday present, on any day of the year. V See the minutes how they run ; How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year. How many years a mortal man may live ! Shakespeare. —Henry VI, darlaitfr of 1 (k gear. CONTENTS. PAGE The Snow-drop (Chromo) Frontispiece. The Year of Man’s Life . 5 J anuary .... 9 Origin of the Snow-drop 13 The Small Flower Bursting its Frosty Prison . . 16 The Crocus (Chromo) . . .17 When the Snow has left the Mountains . . 19 Afternoon in February . 20 To the Crocus . 21, 22 Spring-time . . *23 The Primrose (Chromo), . . -25 Jolly Spring, Aged Winter 27 The Violet . . -27 To Spring PAGE . 28 To a Primrose . 29 The Primrose. • 30 Violets.—A Sonnet • 31 The Violet . 31 The Daffodil (Chromo). • 33 Flowers 0 ’ the Spring • 35 Daffodils • 35 April • 36 The Mountain Daisy • 38 The Eye of the Day . 40 The Hawthorn (Chromo). • 4i Spring • 43 To Blossoms. • 43 Song to May. • 44 The Cowslip. . 46 4 Contents. PAGE PAGE May. 47 The Knight and the The Ox-eye Daisy Lady Fair. 77 (Chromo). 49 Morning in Autumn 78 Field Flowers. Si Wild Flowers. 79 June 52 The Wild Rose The Daisy S 3 (Chromo). 81 Sonnet. — Close of Spring 54 Autumn.—A Dirge. 83 The Moss Rose 54 Autumnal Sonnet. 84 To a Daisy 55 Autumn .... 85 The Rose 56 To Meadows. 86 The Convolvulus Autumn Flowers 87 (Chromo). 57 Withering—Withering. 88 July . .. 59 The Chrysanthemum Summer Morn 6l (Chromo). 89 Summer Eve. 6l November 9 i The Lily and the Rose 62 The Windy Night. 92 The Lily. 63 Winter Song. 93 The Lesson of a Rose 64 Winter .... 94 Poppies and Wheat The Death of the Flowers 96 (Chromo). 65 The Holly Pride and the Poppies 67 (Chromo). 97 Harvest Home 70 The Holly Tree 99 The Blackberry The Snow Storm IOI (Chromo). 73 Christmas 102 The Bramble-Flower 75 The Christmas Holly 103 Harvest Home 76 New Year’s Eve 104 \ # THE YEAR OF MAN’S LIFE. . “Though we seem grieved at the shortness of life in general, we are wishing every period of it at an end. The minor longs to be at age • then to be a man of business ; then to make up an estate; then to arrive at honors ; then to retire.”— Addison. ffHE birth, life, and death of the year, and of the flowers, have often been used to illustrate the shortness of life, and the certainty of death ; for all must fade and die. The idea has been fitly described in the annexed quaint old poem, written by an un¬ known author, in 1653. JANUARY. The first five years then of man’s life, Compare to Januar ; In all that time but sturt and strife, He can but greet and roar ; So in the fields of flowers all bare, By reason of the frost: Keeping the ground both soft and sound, Yet none of them is lost. FEBRUARY. So to ten years I shall speak then, Of Februar but lack ; The child is meek and weak of spirit, Nothing can undertake. 6 The Year of Maris Life. So all the flowers, for lack of showers, No springing up can make ; Yet birds do sing and praise their king, And each one choose its mate. MARCH. Then in comes March, that noble arch, With wholesome Spring and air, The child doth spring to years fifteen, With visage fine and fair ; So do the flowers with softening showers, Aye spring up as we see ; Yet, nevertheless, remember this, That one day we must die. APRIL. Then brave April doth sweetly smile, The flowers do fair appear, The child is then become a man, To the age of twenty year. If he be kind, and well inclin’d, And brought up at the school, Then men may know if he foreshow, A wise man or a fool. MAY. Then cometh May, gallant and gay, When frequent flowers do thrive, The child is then become a man, Of age twenty and five. And for his life doth seek a wife, His days and years to spend ; May He above send peace and love, And grace unto the end ! The Year of Marts Life. ^ JUNE. Then cometh June, with pleasant tune, When fields with flow’rs are clad, And Phoebus bright is at his height, All creatures then are glad. Then he appears of thirty years, With courage bold and stout; His nature so makes him to go, Of death he hath no doubt. JULY. Then July comes with his hot calms, And constant in his kind ; The man doth thrive to thirty-five, And sober grows his mind ; His children small do on him call, And breed him sturt and strife ; His wife may die, and so may he Go seek another wife. AUGUST. Then August old, both stout and bold, When flow’rs do stoutly stand : So man appears at forty years, With wisdom and command ; And doth provide his house to guide, Children and familie ; Yet do not miss t’ remember this, That one day thou must die. SEPTEMBER. September then comes with his train, And makes the flowers to fade ; Then man belyve is.forty-five, Grave, constant, wise, and staid : 8 The Year of Marts Life. When he looks on, how youth is gone, And shall it no more see, Then may he say, both night and day, Have mercy, Lord, on me ! OCTOBER. October’s blast comes in with boast, And makes the flow’rs to fall; Then man appears at fifty years, Old age doth on him call; The almond-tree doth flourish hie, And pale grows man we see ; Then it is time to use this line, Remember man to die. NOVEMBER. November air maketh fields bare, Of flowers, of grass, of corn ; Then man arrives at fifty-five, And sick both e’en and morn ; Loins, legs, and thighs, with sad disease, Make him to sigh and say, ; — “Ah ! Heaven on high have mind on me, And learn me how to die.” DECEMBER. December fell, baith sharp and snell, Makes flowers creep in the ground ; Then man’s threescore, both sick and sore, No soundness in him found. His ears and een, and teeth of bane, All these now to him fail; That he may say, both night and day, That death shall him assail. tyt a iarhmfr of i\t hear. JANUARY. -Kx- With his ice, and snow, and rime Let bleak Winter sternly come ! There is not a sunnier clime Than the love-lit winter home. A. A. Watts. AN U ARY, whether bleak, rainy, and cold, or clear, frosty, and bracing, is one of the pleasant¬ est times of the year. New Year’s Day is usually considered, both in the old world and in the new, a most appropriate time for congratulations and good wishes, and for the giving of presents. It is, above all, the time for family gatherings and merry parties, as well as for out-door enjoyments, in the way of skating, curling, sliding, sleighing, or snow-balling. The practice of making presents on New Year’s Day was, no doubt, derived from the Romans. Suetonius io January. and Tacitus both mention it. Claudius prohibited de¬ manding presents, except on this day. Brand, in his Popular Antiquities, observes, on the authority of Bishop Stillingfleet, that the Saxons kept the festival of New Year with more than usual feasting and jollity, and with the presenting of New Year’s gifts to each other. Fosbroke notices the continuation of the prac¬ tice during the Middle Ages ; and Ellis, in his addi¬ tions to Brand, quotes Matthew Paris, to shew that Henry III. extorted New Year’s gifts from his subjects. Those gifts presented by individuals to each other were suited to sex, rank, situation, and circumstances. The custom of presenting New Year’s gifts to the Sovereigns of England may be traced back to an early period. A manuscript roll of the public revenue of the fifth year of Edward VI. has an entry of rewards on New Year’s Day to the king’s officers and servants, amounting to ,£155 5s., and also of sums given to the servants of those who presented New Year’s gifts to the king. A similar roll has been preserved of the reign of Philip and Mary. During the reign of Oueen Elizabeth the custom of presenting New Year’s gifts to the sovereign was carried to an extravagant height. The queen delighted in gorgeous dresses, in jewellery, in all kinds of ornaments for her person and palaces, and in purses filled with gold coin. The gifts regu¬ larly presented to her were of great value — those of January. 11 the Earl of Leicester exceeded all others in costliness and elaborate workmanship. In the reign of James I. money gifts were also pre¬ sented ; but the ornamental articles appear to have been fewer, and of less value. No rolls, or indeed any notices seem to have been preserved of New Year’s gifts presented to Charles I. ; though, probably, there were such. The custom, no doubt, ceased during the Commonwealth, and was not afterwards revived to any extent worthy of notice. The practice of giving New Year presents, among relatives and friends in England, in America, and on the Continent of Europe is still continued; and it is kept up to a surprising extent in Paris, where the day is especially recognised from this circumstance as le Jour d’Etrennes. This is also the case in New York, in which city New Year’s Day is entirely spent in giving and receiving visits of friends, in giving and receiving presents, and in all sorts of enjoyment and festivity. By the early Romans this month was called Jamt- arius, in honour of Janus, the deity supposed to preside over doors (Lat., janua, a door), who might very natu¬ rally be supposed to have something to do with the opening of the year. Janus is always represented as having two faces ; one looking back on the old year, and the other looking forward to the new. In times of x 2 January. war, among the Romans, his temple was always kept open ; and for seven hundred years it was only shut three times—one of these being in the reign of the Em¬ peror Augustus, during which our Saviour was born. Our Saxon ancestors called January Wolf-monat , i.e., Wolf Month, because of the popular belief that the wolves, that then infested the woods, were more daring and voracious in this month than in any other—pro¬ bably on account of its extreme cold in our northern hemisphere. But, notwithstanding the severity of the weather during this month, we may often notice, in sheltered places, pretty flowers, few and far between, both wild and garden, which enliven and brighten the scene. The modest snow-drop, the yellow jasmine, the blue periwinkle, the rugged gorse, the celandine, and others ; with the evergreen ivy in full fruit, the luddy holly-berry, and the sacred mistletoe, cheer us with the prospect of bright days yet to come, and remind us of the goodness of an all-wise God. Of these, the snow¬ drop comes first in order in our “ Garland of the Year. It has been suitably referred to by that admirable poet¬ ess, Mrs. Browning, in the following beautiful lines : — “ The poor, sad snow-drop,—growing between drifts, Mysterious medium ’ twixt the plant and frost, So faint with Winter while so quick with Spring— So doubtful if to thaw itself away With that snow near it.” ORIGIN OF THE SNOW-DROP. No fading flowers in Eden grew, Nor Autumn’s withering spread Among the trees a browner hue, To shew the leaves were dead ; But through the groves and shady dells, Waving their bright immortal bells, Were amaranths and asphodels, Undying in a place that knew A golden age the whole year through. But when the angel’s fiery bands, Guarding the eastern gate, Told of a broken law's commands, And agonies that came too late ; With “longing, lingering” wish to stay, And many a fond but vain delay That could not wile her grief away, Eve wandered aimless o’er a world On which the wrath of God was hurled. 14 January. Then came the Spring’s capricious smile, And Rummer sunlight warmed the air, And Autumn’s riches served a while To hide the curse that lingered there ; Till o’er the once untroubled sky Quick driven clouds began to fly, And moaning zephyrs ceased to sigh, When Winter's storms in fury burst Upon a world indeed accurst. And when, at last, the driving snow— A strange, ill-omened sight— Came whitening all the plains below, To trembling Eve it seemed—affright With shivering cold and terror bowed,— As if each fleecy vapour cloud Were falling as a snowy shroud, To form a close enwrapping pall For Earth’s untimeous funeral. Then all her faith and gladness fled, And, nothing left but blank despair, Eve madly wished she had been dead, Or never born a pilgrim there ; But as she wept, an angel bent His way adown the firmament, And on a task of mercy sent He raised her up, and bade her cheer Her drooping heart, and banish fear : January. 15 And catching, as he gently spake, A flake of falling snow, He breathed on it, and bade it take A form and bud and blow ; And, ere the flake had reached the earth, Eve smiled upon the beauteous birth, That seemed, amid the general dearth Of living things, a greater prize Than all her flowers in Paradise. “This is an earnest, Eve, to thee," The glorious angel said, *' That sun and Summer soon shall be ; And, though the leaves seem dead. Yet once again the smiling Spring, With wooing winds shall swiftly bring New life to every sleeping thing ; Until they wake, and make the scene Look fresh again and gaily green." The angel’s mission being ended, Up to Heaven he flew ; But where he first descended, And where he bade the earth adieu, A ring of snow-drops formed a posy Of pallid flowers, whose leaves, unrosy, Waved like a winged argosy,— Whose climbing masts, above the sea, Spread fluttering sail and streamer free. 16 January. And thus the snow-drop, like a bow That spans the cloudy sky, Becomes a symbol whence we know That brighter days are nigh ; That circling seasons, in a race, That know no lagging, lingering pace, Shall each the other nimbly chase, Till Time’s departing final day Sweep snow-drops and the world away. G. W. THE SMALL FLOWER BURSTING ITS FROSTY PRISON. All as the hungry winter-starved earth, Where she by nature labours towards her birth. Still as the day upon the dark world creeps, One blossom forth after another peeps, Till the small flower, whose root is now unbound. Gets from the frosty prison of the ground, Spreading the leaves unto the powerful noon, Deck’d in fresh colours, smiles upon the Sun. Dray ton. • • FEBRUARY. 11 n tfjecljeeriess Sags of Springtime rragrtj in stjtning goto, 5t)oto foelcome ttjen tfje, rocus is, jiust peeping from tlje moults ©r, roieij in rogal purple, seines En glorg as a king, 3rto glotos boitf) lustrous beautg, - UTfje prtoe of earlg Spring. • • y \. FEBRUARY. Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks, In ponderous boots, beside his reeking team ; The wain goes heavily, impeded sore By congregated loads, adhering close To the clogged wheels ; and, in its sluggish pace, Noiseless, appears a moving hill of snow. Cowper. FEBRUARY, the shortest month of the year, is usually one of the most disagreeable and uncom¬ fortable, owing to the extreme changeableness and uncertainty of the weather. To-day we may be in the depths of Winter; to-morrow we may fancy our¬ selves in smiling Spring ; when, lo ! ere the day is gone, we may have stern Winter back again ! We may congratulate ourselves, however, that this joyless and miserable season will not be of long duration. The dry wind of March will speedily come, and clear away the dark clouds and the moisture, now too plenti¬ ful everywhere. 18 February. February takes its name from Februa, which signi¬ fies to expiate, or purify, from the fact that the religious expiation of the ancient Romans took place at the be¬ ginning of this month. Our Saxon ancestors gave it the name of Sprotit-kale , from the fact of the sprouting of cabbage at this ungenial season. The name of Sol- monat was afterwards bestowed on it, in consequence of the return of the luminary of day from the low course in the heavens, which for some time he had been taking. The usual emblematical representation of February is a man in a sky-coloured dress, bearing in his hand the astronomical sign, Pisces. “ February fill-dyke” was a name formerly given to this month by our forefathers ; for, when the snow melted, the rivers overflowed, the dykes brimmed over, and long leagues of land were under water, which are now to be found drained, owing to improved agricul¬ ture. In this month no striking change has passed over the fields ; few flowers are to be noticed beyond those to be seen in the previous month. The verdure seems to belong more to the past than the present year ; yet, the primrose, the violet, the woodruff, the small white potentilla (often mistaken for wild straw¬ berry), are to be met with in warm, or sheltered places ; and the simple daisy may be found embedded among the green grass in the fields. WHEN THE SNOW HAS LEFT THE MOUNTAINS. The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun ; The oldest and the youngest Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising ; There are forty feeding like one. Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill ; The ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon : There’s joy in the mountains, There’s life in the fountains ; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone. Wordsworth. 20 February. AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY. The day is ending, The night is descending, The marsh is frozen, The river is dead. Through clouds, like ashes, The red sun flashes On village windows, That glimmer red. The snow re-commences ; The buried fences Mark no longer The road o’er the plain ; \ While through the meadows, Like fearful shadows, Slowly passes A funeral train. The bell is pealing, And every feeling Within me responds To the dismal knell. Shadows are trailing, My heart is bewailing, And tolling within Like a funeral bell. Longfellow. February. 21 TO A CROCUS, Blossoming beneath a Wallflower. Welcome, wild harbinger of Spring, To this small nook of earth ! Feeling and fancy fondly cling Round thoughts which owe their birth To thee, and to the humble spot Where chance has fixed thy lowly lot. To thee,—for thy rich golden bloom, Like Heaven’s fair bow on high, Portends, amid surrounding gloom, That brighter hours draw nigh, When blossoms of more varied dyes Shall ope their tints to warmer skies. Yet not the lily, nor the rose, Though fairer far they be, Can more delightful thoughts disclose Than I derive from thee ; The eye their beauty may prefer, The heart is thy interpreter ! Methinks in thy fair flower is seen, By those whose fancies roam, An emblem of that leaf of green The faithful dove brought home ; When o’er the world of waters dark Were driven the inmates of the ark. 2 2 February. That leaf betokened freedom nigh To mournful captives there ; Thy flower foretells a sunnier sky, And chides the dark despair By Winter’s chilling influence flung O’er spirits sunk and nerves unstrung. And sweetly has kind Nature’s hand Assigned thy dwelling place Beneath a flower whose blooms expand, With fond congenial grace, On many a desolated pile, Brightening decay with beauty’s smile. Thine is the flower of Hope, whose hue Is bright with coming joy ; The wallflower's that of Faith, too true For ruin to destroy : And where, O ! where should Hope up-spring But under Faith's protecting wing. Barton. TO THE CROCUS. Lowly, sprightly little flower ! Herald of a brighter bloom, Bursting in a sunny hour From thy Winter tomb. February. 23 Hues you bring, bright, gay, and tender, As if never to decay, Fleeting in their varied splendour— Soon, alas ! it fades away. Thus the hopes I long had cherished, Thus the friends I long had known, One by one, like you have perished, Blighted—I must fade alone. Pattersofi. SPRING-TIME. Thou wak’st again, O Earth, From Winter’s sleep ! Bursting with voice of mirth From icy keep ; And, laughing at the Sun, Who hath their freedom won, Thy waters leap! Thou wak’st again, O Earth ! Freshly again, And who by fireside hearth Now will remain ? 24 February. Come on thy rosy hours,— Come on the buds and flowers, As when in Eden's bowers Spring first did reign ! Birds on thy breezes chime, Blithe as in that matin-time Their choiring begun : Earth, thou hast many a prime, — Man hath but one. Thou wak’st again, O Earth ! Freshly and new, As when at Spring’s first birth First flowerets grew. Heart ! that to Earth doth cling While boughs are blossoming, Why wake not too ? Long thou in sloth hast lain, Listing to Love’s soft strain— Wilt thou sleep on ? Playing, thou sluggard heart, In life no manly part, Though youth be gone. Wake ! ’tis Spring's quickening breath Now o’er thee blown : Wake thee ! and e’er in death Pulseless thou slumbereth, Pluck but from Glory’s wreath One leaf alone! Hoffman. MARCH. IPatrcst cmlti of tfje opening gear! Selicate primrose, fjofo foelcomc, fjoin Bear f)c sigfjt once more of tfjg star4ike flofoer— JEfye jog of mang a ijappg hour; ken cfpUjrcn gag store! postes bring, anb jog in tfjc beautg of toclcome Spring, \ MARCH. How pleasant 'tis to mark the labouring plough Traverse the field, and leave a sable track, While merrily behind the driver stalks, Whistling, in thoughtless vacancy of mind. D. M. Moir. • ELCOME, March ! Adieu, rude Winter, weird and wild. “ Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mild¬ ness, come ! Come, ye vernal breezes and refreshing showers, come, and welcome in the length¬ ening days'! ” Nature begins to look gay, and to don her robes of brightest green. Spring is come at last, and March is here. Now, on the very first of the month there is a dry, chill air, with breaks of bright sunshine here and there over the landscape. The clouds move faster. The paths which in February were wet and sloppy, are now solid and dry, and the East wind sends clouds of dust along the roads. ’Tis glorious weather for the husbandman, who loses not a moment in dig¬ ging, ploughing, and harrowing the earth—in planting March. 26 and sowing ; for he looks for a rich return in Autumn. He prizes the dusty day, for he bears in mind that “ A peck of March dust is worth a king’s ransom.” March, which, with the Ancients, was the first month in the year, takes its name from Mars, the god of war, as it was the month in which wars and expeditions were usually undertaken, both by the Romans and the Goths. It was called by the Romans, Martins. Our Saxon forefathers termed it Lenet-monat, i.e., Length Month, in reference to the lengthening of the days at this season, which is the origin also of the term Lent. March is represented as a man of fierce aspect, with blossoms and a basket of seeds on his left arm, and, in his right hand, the sign of Aries, or the Ram. With March we now have a large selection of wild flowers from which to form a bouquet. Chief among', all are the fragrant primroses and the sweet-scented wood violets (purple and white), which impregnate the very winds with their fragrance. The daisy (or day’s eye, as the Saxons called it), and the marsh marigold brighten the fields. The hardy wind-flower or wood- anemone (some snow-white, and others tinged with a delicate pink or blue), the germander-speedwell and ivy-leafed veronica, with others, may be seen in the woods, or on the bare hill-side, soon, however, to pass away, and be replaced by other flowers, bearing the more brilliant tints of Summer. JOLLY SPRING, AGED WINTER. Earth is now green, and heaven is blue ; Lively Spring, which makes all new, Jolly Spring doth enter ; Sweet young sunbeams do subdue Angry, aged Winter. Winds are mild, and seas are calm, Every meadow flows with balm, The earth wears all her riches ; Harmonious birds sing such a psalm As ear and heart bewitches. Sir J. Davies. THE VIOLET. Sweet violets, Love’s paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched bear Within your palie faces, Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing wind, That plays amidst the plain, If by the favour of propitious stars you gain March. 28 Such grace as in my ladie’s bosom place to find, Be proud to touch those places ! Your honours of the flowrie meads I pray, You pretty daughters of the earth and sun. Raleigh. TO SPRING. Hail, verdant Spring ! we welcome thee ! With breath so fresh, and looks so bright ! Again Sol shines with brilliant ray, And Cynthia's charms illume the night. The fragrant primrose lifts its head, ' The russet mould gives forth gay flowers, Which, o’er the fields and gardens spread, Seem brought to life by gentle showers. On every tree young leaves shoot forth, In varying shades of brightest green, And birds, with notes of gayest mirth, And sweetest sounds, enjoy the scene. Each little songster of the grove Now fondly searches for a mate, And thus seems anxious so to prove Its love for “the united state.” March. 2 9 Thus as sweet Spring is bright and fair, Should youthful hearts be blythe and gay ; Enlivened as by Spring-time’s air In sweet contentment’s genial ray. Life is but short; then let's enjoy The gifts kind Providence has sent ; And let not discord’s voice destroy The bliss that’s in a life well spent. The Editor. TO A PRIMROSE. Welcome, pale primrose, starting up between Dead matted leaves of oak and ash, that strew The every lawn, the wood and meadow through, ’ Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green. How much thy presence beautifies the ground ! How sweet thy modest unaffected pride Glows on the sunny bank and wood's warm side ! And where thy fairy flowers in groups are found, The school-boy roams enchantedly along, Plucking the fairest with a rude delight ; While the meek shepherd stays his simple song To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight, O'erjoyed to see the flowers that truely bring The welcome news of sweet returning Spring. Clare. March. 3 ° THE PRIMROSE. The Sun declines ; his parting ray Shall bear the cheerful light away, And on the landscape close ; Then will I seek the lonely vale, Where sober evening’s primrose pale To greet the night-star blows. Soft, melancholy bloom, to thee I turn with conscious sympathy ! Like thee my hour is come, When lengthening shadows slowly fade, Till, lost in universal shade, They sink beneath the tomb. By thee I’ll sit and inly muse ; What are the charms in life we lose When time demands our breath ? Alas ! the load of lengthen’d age Has little can our wish engage, Or point the shaft of death. No ; 'tis alone the pang to part With those we love that rends the heart ; That agony to save, Some nameless cause in nature strives. Like thee, in shades our hope revives, And blossoms in the grave. Mrs. Hunter. March. 31 VIOLETS.—A SONNET. Beautiful are you in your lowliness ; Bright in your hues, delicious in your scent, Lovely your modest blossoms, downward bent, As shrinking from our gaze, yet prompt to bless The passer-by with fragrance, and express How gracefully, though mutely eloquent, Are unobtrusive worth and meek content, Rejoicing in their own obscure recess. Delightful flowerets ! at the voice of Spring Your buds unfolded to its sunbeams bright ; And, though your blossoms soon shall fade from sight, Above your lonely birth-place birds shall sing, And from your clustering leaves the glow-worm fling The emerald glory of its earth-born light. Barton. THE VIOLET. Sweet lowly plant, once more I bend To hail thy presence here, Like a belov’d returning friend, From absence doubly dear. March. 3 2 Wert thou for ever in our sight, Might we not love thee less ? But now thou bringest new delight, Thou still hast power to bless. Still doth thy lovely presence bring Of Spring-time joys a dream, When life was in its sunny spring— A fair, unrippled stream. And still thine exquisite perfume Is precious as of old, And still thy modest, tender bloom It joys me to behold. It joys and cheers whene’er I see Pain on earth’s meek ones press, To think the storm that rends the tree Scathes not thy lowliness. And thus may human weakness find, E'en in thy lowly flower, An image cheering to the mind In many a trying hour. Anon. AFFODIL APRIL ©affobils, in beautg rtrf), obe tije copse in clotb of golU, ffieacb a useful lesson, tofurf) is a pleasure to unfolti Spelling tijat gour prettg flotoer, obo in betbure freelg springing, Sgntbol is of nature’s pofaet. eautg altoags to us bringing 3nb of an : Imigijtg care preabing blessings cbcrgtofjcre. \ if KSfr- 'Jm jem Wff \ APRIL. Hail, April! true Medea of the year, That makest all things young and fresh appear. What praise, what thanks, what commendations due, For all thy pearly drops of morning dew? When we despair, thy seasonable showers Comfort the com, and cheer the drooping flowers ; As if thy charity could not but impart A shower of tears to see us out of heart. Sweet, I have penned thy praise, and here I bring it ; In confidence the birds themselves will sing it. ^PRIL, month of showers and sunshine, clear and cloudy skies, greenness and bareness, heavy hail and blooming blossoms, we welcome thee ! The earth now begins, before the strengthening sun, to ex¬ pand the flowers and plants, which adorn its surface with every species of coloured beauty. Smiling Spring is now in full bloom. The hedges and trees begin to bud, and make a show of green. The bees are busy among the bloom. The migratory birds have returned, 34 April. and the songsters of the grove now carol their sweetest lays. The cuckoo, the swallow, and the thrush, may be heard, and “the lark at Heaven’s gate sings.” The labours of the field are rapidly progressing; and sun¬ shine and showers, alternately, nourish the grain in the fields, as well as the flowers in the garden. April is supposed to take its name from the Latin, Aprilis , or aperio, I open, indicating the opening in Spring of the buds of the trees and flowers. It is prob¬ able that the name Aprilis was Aphrilis , founded on the Greek name of the goddess Venus. Our Anglo- Saxon forefathers called this month Oster-monat , or Easter-monat, from the feast of their goddess Eastre, as some authorities state. Others say that the name was given on account of the East winds that usually prevail at this season. The term Easter, given to our Christian festival, may come from the same derivation. Among the many pretty flowers that may now be seen are the showy daffodil, the bluebell, the wild ane¬ mone or wind-flower, the modest daisy (or petite mar¬ guerite, as the French call it), the gaudy dandelion, the lesser celandine, the oxlips and cowslips, and the vio¬ lets and primroses, all of which are now blooming in abundance. As the month advances, and we approach its end, the brilliancy of the bloom increases, till we enter May, which has always been considered the most lovely month of the year. FLOWERS O’ THE SPRING. Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes, Or Cytherea’s breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength—a malady Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds— The flowers-de-luce being one ! O ! these I lack To make you garlands of. Shakespeare. DAFFODILS. Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon ; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attain’d his noon. Stay, stay, 36 April. Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a Spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the Summer’s rain, Or, as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne’er to be found again. Herrick. APRIL. Capricious month of smiles and tears, There’s beauty in thy varied reign ! Emblem of being's hopes and fears, Its hours of joy and days of pain. A false, inconstant scene is thine, Changeful with light and shadow deep, Oft-times thy clouds with pure sunshine Are painted ; then in gloom they sleep. April. 37 Yet is there gladness in thy hours, Frail courier of a brighter scene, Thou fragrant guide to buds and flowers, To meadows fresh and pastures green ! For, as thy days grow few and brief, The radiant looks of Spring appear, With swelling glow and opening leaf, To deck the morning of the year. Yes, though thy life is checkered oft With drilling showers of sorrowing rain, Yet balmy airs and breezes soft Are lingering richly in thy train ; And for thy eddying gusts will come The lay of the rejoicing bird,— That tries his new and brightening plume, — ’Mid the void sky’s recesses heard. And soon the many clouds, that hang Their solemn drapery o’er the sky, Will pass in shadowy folds away. Lo ! mark them now !—they break—they fly ! And over earth, in one broad smile, Looks forth the glorious eye of day ; While hill, and vale, and ocean-isle Are laughing in the breath of May. Type of existence ! mayst thou be The emblem of the Christian’s race, Through all whose trials we may see The sunshine of undying grace : 38 April. The calm and Heaven-enkindled eye, The faith that mounts on ardent wing, That looks beyond the o’er-arching sky To Heaven’s undimmed and golden spring. Anon. THE SOLITARY MOUNTAIN DAISY. On turning it down with the Plough. Wee, modest, crimson-tipp&d flow’r, Thou’s met me in an evil hour, For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem ; To spare thee now is past my pow’r, Thou bonnie gem ! Alas ! it’s no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet! Bending thee ’mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckled breast ! When upward^springing, blythe, to greet The purpling East. Cauld blew the bitter, biting North Upon thy early, humble birth, Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm,— Scarce reared above the parent earth Thy tender form. April. 39 The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield, High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield ; But, thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field U nseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But, now, the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! By love’s simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd is laid Low i’ the dust. Such is the fate of simple Bard, On Life’s rough ocean luckless starr'd ! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er ! Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striv’n, 40 April. By human pride or cunning driv’n To mis'ry’s brink, Till, wrench’d of ev'ry stay but Heav’n, He, ruined, sink. Ev’n thou who mourn’st the daisy’s fate, That fate is thine—no distant date ; Stern Ruin's plougshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till, crush’d beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom ! Burns. THE EYE OF THE DAY. These flow’rds, white and red, Such that men callen daisies in our town ; To them have I so great affection, As I said erst, when comen is the May, That in my bed there daweth me no day That I n’am up and walking in the mead To see this flow’r against the sunnd spread, When it upriseth early by the morrow ; That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow, So glad am I when that I have presence Of it, to doen it all revdrence. Chaucer. MTIawthorn. M AY. afotfjorn blossoms, bright anb fair, Summer’s sun anb scented air; fjrougfj tfjc berbure flofo’rets come. En tfjc sfjabe tl)e insects hum,— Song^birbs singing on tlje sprau : melcome, fffap! MAY. Hail, beauteous May ! thou dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long. Milton. Jimp AY ! charming May ! gay in all thy beauty, with the health, wealth, joyfulness, and youth of the year ; fresh with the fragrance of the hawthorn, the violet and primrose, and other vernal shrubs and flowers. “ Lo ! the Winter is past, the rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.” There is now a rich greenness in the leaf of the young corn and grass, and in the young leaves and buds of the trees, bursting into youthful beauty. May is described as “a beauti¬ ful maiden, clothed in sunshine, and scattering flowers 42 May. on the earth, while she dances to the music of birds and brooks.” The birds now sing their enraptured songs of love. The bees hover from flower to flower. The butterflies, in the most brilliant colours, are dart¬ ing zig-zag in every direction, in the green lanes and fields. Everything seems clothed in beauty. May is said by some authorities to have received the name in honour of Maia, the mother, by Jupiter, of the god Hermes or Mercury ; but others state that the name was assigned to it by Romulus, the founder of Rome, in honour of his nobles or senators, who were called Majories, or, Maiores. The Anglo-Saxons called it Tri-mil chi, with reference, probably, to the improved condition of cattle, from the benefit of the Spring herbage as food. In this month the flowers are abundant on every side. The dazzling white of the daisies, the glittering gold of the buttercups, the fragrant lily of the valley, the sweet woodruff, the red and white campions, the greater and the lesser stitchwort, the various orchises, and the wild geranium, charm the eye, and the singing of the birds delights the ear, as we walk abroad in the green lanes or meadows ; while the beauty of budding foliage on the trees and hedges, and the fragrance of the hawthorn make us grateful to an all-wise Provi¬ dence for the varying beauty of the seasons in this happy land, in which our lot is cast. SPRING. Now the lusty Spring is seen ; Golden yellow, gaudy blue, Daintily invite the view. Everywhere, on every green, Roses, blushing as they blow, And enticing men to pull; Lilies, whiter than the snow, Woodbines of sweet honey full; All Love’s emblems, and all cry— “Ladies, if not plucked, we die.” Beaumont and Fletcher. TO BLOSSOMS. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past 44 May. But you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What! were ye bom to be An hour or half’s delight, And so to bid good-night ? ’Tis pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne’er so brave ; And, after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. Herrick. SONG TO MAY. May ! Queen of blossoms And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music Shall we charm the hours ? Wilt thou have pipe and reed, Blown in the open mead, Or to the lute give heed In the green bowers ? May. 45 Thou hast no need of us, Or pipe, or wire, That hast the golden bee, Ripened with fire; And many thousands more Songsters that thee adore, Filling earth’s grassy floor With new desire. Thou hast thy mighty herds, Tame and free livers ; Doubt not, thy music too In the deep rivers ; And the whole plumy flight, Warbling the day and night, Up at the gates of light:— See ! the lark quivers ! When, with the jacinth, Coy fountains are tressed, And for the mournful bird Green woods are dressed, That did for Tereus pine, Then shall our songs be thine, To whom our hearts incline : May, be thou blessed ! Lord Thurlow. 46 THE COWSLIP. Unfolding to the breeze of May, The cowslip greets the vernal ray ; The topaz and the ruby gem Her blossoms’ simple diadem ; And, as the dew-drops gently fall, They tip with pearls her coronal. In princely halls and courts of kings Its lustrous ray the diamond flings ; Yet few of those who see its beam, Amid the torches’ dazzling gleam, As bright as though a meteor shone, Can call the costly prize their own. And gems, of every form and hue, Are glittering here in morning dew ; Jewels that all alike may share As freely as the common air ; No niggard hand, no jealous eye, Protects them from the passer-by. Man to his brother shuts his heart, And Science acts a miser’s part ; But Nature, with a liberal hand, Flings wide her stores o’er sea and land. If gold she gives, not single grains Are scattered far across the plains, May. 47 But, lo ! the desert streams are rolled O’er precious beds of virgin gold. If flowers she offers, wreaths are given, As countless as the stars of Heaven ! If music—’tis no feeble note She bids along the valley float; Ten thousand nameless melodies, In one full chorus, swell the breeze. Oh, Art is but a scanty rill, That genial seasons scarcely fill, But Nature needs no tides’ return To fill afresh her flowing urn ; She gathers all her rich supplies Where never-failing fountains rise. A nun. MAY. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor’s sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief; A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong ; The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, No more shall grief of mine the season wrong ; I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 48 May. The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay ; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday. Thou child of joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd Boy ! Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make ; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss I feel—I feel it all. Oh, evil day ! if I were sullen, While the Earth herself is adorning This sweet May-morning, And the children are pulling, On every side, In a thousand valleys, far and wide, Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm. Wordsworth , gj>X-EYE DAISY @n tfjc fragrant meatr. among tfie neSjj^mofon fjag, ®Se see tfje baisies tall ©fiat bloometi but gestertiag, $abj taut!)’ring foitfi ttje grass ©fieri transient .glorg gone, 3nb in tfieir lesson see ©fie fate of ebergone. JUNE. -- 'Tis June, ’tis merry, smiling June, ’Tis blushing Summer now ; The rose is red, the bloom is dead, The fruit is on the bough. Eliza Cook. tft UNE > sweet June ! month of roses and lovely flowers ! Adieu to Spring—welcome Summer ! Adieu to the modest snow-drops, primroses, and violets ! Adieu to the pale green leaflets of Spring ! They are gone—gone to be speedily replaced by the more brilliant flowers and leaves of Summer, now in full glory. The forest trees put forth their blossoms. The earth is carpeted with flowers, and the air is filled with their perfume. The flower-garden is now in its splendour : roses of all tints, from deepest crimson to palest pink, and from brightest yellow to palest white ; besides stocks, geraniums, lilies, speedwells, jasmines, 50 June. 