Ancient Cornish name:
Miz-ebrall primrose month.

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Jewel for the month: Sapphire. Frees from enchantment.

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

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

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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.

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A wet Good Friday and Easter day
Brings plenty of grass, but little good hay.

Leicester.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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April fourteenth, first cuckoo day.

Sussex.

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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.

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There is an old superstition that where one hears the cuckoo first there one will spend most of the year.

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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.

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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.

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"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.

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April fifteenth, first swallow day.

Sussex.

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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.

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April and May, the keys of the year.

Spanish.

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The first Sunday after Easter settles the weather for the whole Summer.

Sweden.

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"The rippling smile of the April rain."

A. Austin.

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A cold April
The barn will fill.

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Although it rains, throw not away thy watering-pot.

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Plant your 'taturs when you will,
They won't come up before April.

Wilts.

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When there are many more swifts than swallows in the Spring, expect a hot and dry Summer.

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April cold with dropping rain
Willows and lilacs brings again,
The whistle of returning birds,
And, trumpet-lowing of the herds.

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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.

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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."

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Sweet April, smiling through her tears,
Shakes raindrops from her hair and disappears.

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