MAY. O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds WILLIAM BLAKE, To Spring. XVI.-MAY-DAY. May 1. WE enter to-day on the 'merrie moneth' of our forefathers; the bounteous and flowery month, the month of youth and of love. Shall we not, in the words of Leigh Hunt, 'persist in keeping up a certain fragrant and flowery belief on the altars of May and June?' It is not often that the May of actual life comes SO near to that well-known ideal of the poets as it has done this year. At least we have had warmth, and that is something to console ourselves with, for in my notes of past years I see again and again on May-day-frost,' 'sharp frost,' and 'killing frost.' But this last week we have had a continuance of fine warm weather. On one morning only—April twenty-sixth-there was a slight rime on the grass, and just one degree of frost marked on the minimum thermometer. The pear-blossom has budded, bloomed, and fallen—a rare thing with us—without being once in jeopardy from extreme cold. Yesterday there was heavy rain, but it was pleasant to see it come, for we felt that leaf and blade and root were all thirsting to receive it; and the birds, I observed, never stopped their music. It was the last of those' schowrës swoote ' with which, as Chaucer has it, April pierces the drought of March, bathing every vein in that virtuous liquor of which is engendered the flower of May. In the evening the rain ceased: but there was still much moisture in the air-it was that kind of weather during which we say, and almost with literal truth, 'things may be seen to grow.' As it was the eve or vigil of Nature's greatest festival, we gave up the time to wandering in rural idleness up and down the garden, for indeed it seemed a shame to be indoors. And first the boys would have me look at some young pigeons. Climbing a ̄ perilous ladder in the barn, they brought down the nest, in the bottom of which two helpless and awk ward-looking birds were lying huddled together. It is marvellous how rapidly the young pigeon grows. These were but eight or nine days old and yet they were as large as a throstle. Going round the pond we found a newly-built blackbird's nest in a snug corner formed by the junction of a cross-ledge with a stump in the paling. It was sheltered by a thicket of elder and contained four eggs. In the orchard the cherry blossom was fully expanded, and very profuse, covering the trees as with a sheet of white, and the applebloom was in that delightful stage when it shows itself as points of rose-red. In the Dutch garden there was a bed of tulips in full blaze of colour. They had been planted without arrangement, so that the scarlet white and yellow have come up promiscuously, and I never pass them without thinking of those quaint cotton gowns which were worn by our grandames in the days of the Georges. On the old English flowerbed, from which the daffodils have nearly all gone, we found the large-globed ranunculus, its yellow flowers resting on the singularly round boss of leafage; the tall Solomon's-seal, its pendulous buds just opening; and the delicate white and green Star of Bethlehem. These two last are seldom seen now except in cottage gardens; but they are both wonderfully graceful, and if they had uncouth names and cost large sums of money they would be great favourites in the conservatory. Our next turn was through the wood, where we found that the primroses were just at their best: as it was by this time nearly dusk, they seemed to gleam like pale fire at the roots of the trees. On one tuft we counted between sixty and seventy flowers. Our ramble was now over, and coming round by the house, we saw that the Siberian crab was in full bloom and that the beeches had spread out their silken and transparent leaves. These last, with the pink sheath still hanging upon them, looked as beautiful as a mass of flowers. Inside we found the younger children had been long in bed, vainly trying to fall asleep in the daylight, so as to be early awake in the morning. Although we were not up with the dawn to-day, we were in time to go a-maying, or, as Lysander says in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream ' To do observance to a morn of May; and though no one had given us Herrick's invitation at the chamber door, his words had not been out of mind: Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herbe and tree. Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east, Above an houre since, yet you not drest, Nay! not so much as out of bed; When all the birds have mattens seyd, And sung their thankfull hymnes; 'tis sin, When as a thousand virgins on this day Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. The air out of doors was warm, though there was but little sun, and either rain in the night, or a heavy dew, had drenched the ground. Once or twice I saw the blue sky; but it was quickly clouded again, and the feeling became that of a misty and mellow autumn morning, without its sense of decay. Under such a light the green of the trees is always peculiarly vivid. By this time I had wandered into a neighbouring clough, and looking down into one of its steep ravines I thought I had never beheld anything so fresh and brilliant as were the beeches and thorns which, a hundred feet below me, were mingled with the less forward trees. And now I could hear the voices of the jocund company I was in search of. Before long they came in sight, trooping along the narrow path, some fifty or more in number, children of all ages, their faces flushed with running and climbing, and the hands of the little ones filled with flowers. It seemed to be a return to the days of old. My heart was with them. 'My heart,' I said My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss I feel-I feel it all. |