A Medley of Weather Lore

JUNE

M. E. S. Wright

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.

When a cock drinks in summer it will rain a little after.

Italy.

When sheep begin to go up the mountains, shepherds say it will be fine weather.

Sea gull, sea gull, sit on the sand;
It's never good weather when you're on the land.

Pimpernel, pimpernel, tell me true,
Whether the weather be fine or no;
No heart can think, no tongue can tell,
The virtues of the pimpernel.

When rain causes bubbles to rise in water it falls upon, the shower will last long.

Essex.

A Saturday's rainbow, a week's rotten weather.

South Ireland.

A sunshiny shower
Never lasts half an hour.

Bedford.

When oxen do lick themselves against the hair, it betokeneth rain to follow shortly after.

Beast do take comfort in a moist Air: and it maketh them eat their meat better, and therefore sheep will get up betimes in the morning to feed against rain, and Cattle, and Deer, and Coneys will feed hard before Rain, and a Heifer will put up his nose and snuff in the air against Rain. Worms, vermin, etc., likewise do foreshew Rain: for Earth-worms will come forth, and Moles will cast up more, and Fleas bite more against Rain.

Bacon.

To talk of the weather is nothing but folly,

For when it rains on the hill, the sun shines in the valley.

Maayres taails an' mackerel sky,
Not long wet, nor not long dry.

Berkshire.

When the wind veers against the sun,
Trust it not, for back 'twill run.

Rainbow to windward, foul falls the day;

Rainbow to leeward, damp runs away.

When sheep do huddle by tree and bush,
Bad weather is coming with wind and slush.

A rainbow at morn,
Put your hook in the corn;
A rainbow at eve,
Put your head in the sheave.

Cornwall.

Clouds without rain in summer indicate wind.

Saturday's moon, Sunday seen
The foulest weather there ever hath been.

When the new moon comes in at midnight, or within thirty minutes before or after, the following month will be fine.

Saturday change, and Sunday full,
Is always wet, and always wull.

Northants.

If mist's in the new moon, rain in the old;
If mist's in the old moon, rain in the new.

A fog and a small moon
Bring an easterly wind soon.

Cornwall.

If Saturday's moon
Comes once in seven years,
It comes too soon.

Full Moon.

The nearer to twelve in the afternoon, the drier the moon. The nearer to twelve in the forenoon, the wetter the moon.

Hereford.

When the moon is at the full,
Mushrooms you may freely pull;
But when the moon is on the wane,
Wait, ere you think to pluck again.

The moon and the weather
May change together;
But change of the moon
Does not change the weather;
If we'd no moon at all,
And that may seem strange,
We still should have weather
That's subject to change.

Midsummer Fairies.

The pastoral cowslips are our little pets,

And daisy stars, whose firmament is green;

Pansies, and those veiled nuns, meek violets,

Sighing to that warm world from which they screen;

And golden daffodils, plucked for May's queen;

And lovely harebells, quaking on the heath;

And hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen,

Whose tuneful voice, turned fragrance in his breath,

Kissed by sad zephyr, guilty of his death.

Hood.

The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and the trees;
There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes,
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes,
And the cuckoo's sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky,
Who would "go parading,"
In London "and masquerading,"
On such a night in June,
With the beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is!

Wordsworth.

When the wind's in the south
The rain's in its mouth.

No weather is ill
If the wind be still.

Old saying.

All through the sultry hours of June,
From morning blithe to golden noon,
And till the star of evening climbs
The gray-blue East, a world too soon,
There sings a thrush within the limes.
God's poet, hid in foliage green,
Sings endless songs, himself unseen;
Right seldom come his silent times.
Linger, ye summer hours serene!
Sing on, dear thrush, amid the limes!

Mortimer Collins.

A wet June makes a dry September.

Cornwall.

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