At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought,
But to the field a bag of _hemp-seed_ brought:
I scattered round the seed on every side,
And three times, in a trembling accent cried:--
“This _hemp-seed_ with my virgin hand I sow,
Who shall my true love be, the crop shall mow.”
I straight looked back, and, if my eyes speak truth,
With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.
It is also a popular superstition that any unmarried woman fasting on
Midsummer eve, and at midnight laying a clean cloth, with bread, cheese,
and ale, and sitting down as if going to eat, the street-door being left
open, the person whom she is afterwards to marry will come into the room
and drink to her by bowing; and after filling the glass will leave it on
the table, and, making another bow, retire.[188]
So also 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.
In the “Cottage Girl,” before referred to, the gathering the rose on
Midsummer eve and wearing it, is noticed as one of the modes by which a
lass seeks to divine the sincerity of her suitor’s vows:--
The moss-rose that, at fall of dew,
(Ere Eve its duskier curtain drew,)
Was freshly gather’d from its stem,
She values as the ruby gem;
And, guarded from the piercing air,
With all an anxious lover’s care,
She bids it, for her shepherd’s sake,
Await the new-year’s frolic wake--
When, faded, in its alter’d hue
She reads--the rustic is untrue!
But, if it leaves the crimson paint,
Her sick’ning hopes no longer faint.
The rose upon her bosom worn,
She meets him at the peep of morn;
And lo! her lips with kisses prest,
He plucks it from her panting breast.
* * * * *
In “Time’s Telescope,” there is cited the following literal version of a
beautiful ballad which has been sung for many centuries by the maidens,
on the banks of the Guadalquivir in Spain, when they go forth to gather
flowers on the morning of the festival of St John the baptist:--
_Spanish Ballad._
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, ’tis the day of good St. John,
It is the Baptist’s morning that breaks the hills upon;
And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new,
To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried
the dew.
Come forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the hedgerows all are green,
And the little birds are singing the opening leaves between;
And let us all go forth together, to gather trefoil by the stream,
Ere the face of Guadalquivir glows beneath the strengthening beam.
Come, forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, and slumber not away
The blessed, blessed morning of John the Baptist’s day;
There’s trefoil on the meadow, and lilies on the lee,
And hawthorn blossoms on the bush, which you must pluck with me.
Come forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the air is calm and cool,
And the violet blue far down ye’ll view, reflected in the pool;
The violets and the roses, and the jasmines all together,
We’ll bind in garlands on the brow of the strong and lovely wether.
Come forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, we’ll gather myrtle boughs,
And we all shall learn, from the dews of the fern, if our lads will
keep their vows
If the wether be still, as we dance on the hill, and the dew hangs
sweet on the flowers,
Then we’ll kiss off the dew, for our lovers are true, and the
Baptist’s blessing is ours.
Come forth, come forth, &c.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, ’tis the day of good St. John,
It is the Baptist’s morning that breaks the hills upon;
And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new,
To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried
the dew.
Come forth, come forth, &c.
There are too many obvious traces of the fact to doubt its truth, that
the making of bonfires, and the leaping through them, are vestiges of
the ancient worship of the heathen god Bal; and therefore, it is, with
propriety, that the editor of “Times’s Telescope,” adduces a recent
occurrence from Hitchin’s “History of Cornwall,” as a probable remnant
of pagan superstition in that county. He presumes that the vulgar notion
which gave rise to it, was derived from the druidical sacrifices of
beasts. “An ignorant old farmer in Cornwall, having met with some severe
losses in his cattle, about the year 1800, was much afflicted with his
misfortunes. To stop the growing evil, he applied to the farriers in his
neighbourhood, but unfortunately he applied in vain. The malady still
continuing, and all remedies failing, he thought it necessary to have
recourse to some extraordinary measure. Accordingly, on consulting with
some of his neighbours, equally ignorant with himself, and evidently not
less barbarous, they recalled to their recollections a tale, which
tradition had handed down from remote antiquity, that the calamity would
not cease until he had actually _burned alive the finest calf which he
had upon his farm_; but that, when this sacrifice was made, the murrain
would afflict his cattle no more. The old farmer, influenced by this
counsel, resolved immediately on reducing it to practice; that, by
making the detestable experiment, he might secure an advantage, which
the whisperers of tradition, and the advice of his neighbours, had
conspired to assure him would follow. He accordingly called several of
his friends together, on an appointed day, and having lighted a large
fire, brought forth his best calf; and, without ceremony or remorse,
pushed it into the flames. The innocent victim, on feeling the
intolerable heat, endeavoured to escape; but this was in vain. The
barbarians that surrounded the fire were armed with pitchforks, or
_pikes_, as in Cornwall they are generally called; and, as the burning
victim endeavoured to escape from death, with these instruments of
cruelty the wretches pushed back the tortured animal into the flames. In
this state, amidst the wounds of pitchforks, the shouts of unfeeling
ignorance and cruelty, and the corrosion of flames, the dying victim
poured out its expiring groan, and was consumed to ashes. It is scarcely
possible to reflect on this instance of superstitious barbarity, without
tracing a kind of resemblance between it, and the ancient sacrifices of
the Druids. This _calf_ was _sacrificed to fortune_, or _good luck_, to
avert impending calamity, and to ensure future prosperity, and was
selected by the farmer as the finest among his herd.” Every intelligent
native of Cornwall will perceive, that this extract from the history of
his county, is here made for the purpose of shaming the brutally
ignorant, if it be possible, into humanity.
To conclude the present notices rather pleasantly, a little poem is
subjoined, which shows that the superstition respecting the St. John’s
wort is not confined to England; it is a version of some lines
transcribed from a German almanac:--
_The St. John’s Wort._
The young maid stole through the cottage door,
And blushed as she sought the plant of pow’r;--
“Thou silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light,
I must gather the mystic St. John’s-wort to-night.
The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide
If the coming year shall make me a bride.”
And the glow-worm came
With its silvery flame,
And sparkled and shone
Thro’ the night of St. John,
And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied.
With noiseless tread
To her chamber she sped,
Where the spectral moon her white beams shed:--
“Bloom here--bloom here, thou plant of pow’r,
To deck the young bride in her bridal hour!”
But it drooped its head that plant of power,
And died the mute death of the voiceless flower
And a withered wreath on the ground it lay,
More meet for a burial than bridal day.
And when a year was past away,
All pale on her bier the young maid lay
And the glow-worm came
With its silvery flame,
And sparkled and shone
Thro’ the night of St. John,
And they closed the cold grave o’er the maid’s cold clay.
It would be easy, and perhaps more agreeable to the editor than to his
readers, to accumulate many other notices concerning the usages on this
day; let it suffice, however, that we know enough to be assured, that
knowledge is engendering good sense, and that the superstitions of our
ancestors will in no long time have passed away for ever. Be it the
business of their posterity to hasten their decay.
* * * * *