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Read Ebook: Clara Vaughan Volume 1 (of 3) by Blackmore R D Richard Doddridge
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Ebook has 84 lines and 4472 words, and 2 pages
Winter's thunder's summer's wonder.
ST. PAUL'S EVE.
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.
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.
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.
A January spring Is worth no thing.
Pluck broom, broom still, Cut broom, broom kill.
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.
A kindly good January freezeth pot by the fire.
O Winter! wilt thou never--never go! O Summer! but I weary for thy coming!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 , Thee first I spied, and the first swain we see. In spite of fortune, shall our true-love be.
SHROVE-TIDE.
Beef and bacon's out of season, I want a pan to parch my peason.
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.
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