#WingedWordsWindsday: 04/27/2022 -- Treelore for Arbor Day

 WINGED WORDS WINDSDAY

Compiled by Rob Chappell (@RHCLambengolmo)

Vol. 1, No. 26: April 27, 2022

 

Treelore in Prose and Verse  for Arbor Day: Friday, April 29

 

Excerpt from Chapter 22 of The Age of Fable

By Thomas Bulfinch (1796-1867)

The wood-nymphs, Pan's partners in the dance, were but one class of nymphs. There were beside them the Naiads, who presided over brooks and fountains, the Oreads, nymphs of mountains and grottos, and the Nereids, sea-nymphs. The three last named were immortal, but the wood-nymphs, called Dryads or Hamadryads, were believed to perish with the trees which had been their abode and with which they had come into existence.

 

“Dryad”

By Mary Carolyn Davies (fl. ca. 1918-1924)

 Dryad, hidden in this tree!

Break your bonds and talk to me! 

No one’s watching, only peep

From your cave! The town’s asleep!

No one knows I stand here, so

Come! for they will never know!

Tell me what you think of here

When the Moon is sharp and clear,

When the clouds are over you,

When the ground is wet with dew.

Dryad, are you happy, say!

Do you like to live this way?

I will keep your secrets well,

I will never, never tell!

Dryad, hidden in our tree,

Come, oh, come and talk to me!

 

“Trees”

By Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

 I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

 

“An April Night”

By Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874-1942)

 

The Moon comes up o'er the deeps of the woods,

And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills,

Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds

Over the pools and the whimpering rills;

 

And with her the mists, like dryads that creep

From their oaks, or the spirits of pine-hid springs,

Who hold, while the eyes of the world are asleep,

With the wind on the hills their gay revellings.

 

Down on the marshlands with flicker and glow

Wanders Will-o'-the-Wisp through the night,

Seeking for witch-gold lost long ago

By the glimmer of goblin lantern-light.

 

The night is a sorceress, dusk-eyed and dear,

Akin to all eerie and elfin things,

Who weaves about us in meadow and mere

The spell of a hundred vanished Springs.

 

“Orpheus”

By William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

 

Orpheus with his lute made trees  

And the mountain tops that freeze  

  Bow themselves when he did sing:  

To his music plants and flowers  

Ever sprung; as sun and showers

  There had made a lasting spring.  

 

Everything that heard him play,  

Even the billows of the sea,  

  Hung their heads and then lay by.  

In sweet music is such art,

  Killing care and grief of heart  

  Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

 

Orphic Hymn #50: “To the Nymphs”

Translated by Thomas Taylor (1758-1835)

[With Slight Revisions by the Editor]

 Nymphs, who from Ocean's stream derive your birth,

Who dwell in liquid caverns of the Earth,

Nurses of Bacchus, secret-coursing power,

Who fruits sustain, and nourish every flower:

Earthly, rejoicing, who in meadows dwell,

And caves and dens, whose depths extend to hell:

Holy, oblique, who swiftly soar through air,

Fountains and dews, and mazy streams your care:

Seen and unseen, who joy with wanderings wide

And gentle course, through flowery vales to glide;

With Pan exulting on the mountains’ height,

Loud-sounding, mad, whom rocks and woods delight:

Nymphs odorous, robed in white, whose streams exhale

The breeze refreshing, and the balmy gale;

With goats and pastures pleased, and beasts of prey,

Nurses of fruits, unconscious of decay:

In cold rejoicing, and to cattle kind,

Sportive through ocean, wandering unconfined:

Nysian, fantastic Nymphs, whom oaks delight,

Lovers of Spring, Paeonian maidens bright.

With Bacchus, and with Ceres, hear my prayer.

And to mankind abundant favor bear;

Propitious listen to your suppliant’s voice,

Come, and benignant in these rites rejoice;

Give plenteous Seasons, and sufficient wealth,

And pour, in lasting streams, continued Health.

 

In this 1595 painting by Sebastiaen Vrancx (1573–1647), Orpheus is enchanting the woodland creatures and the trees of the forest with his mystical melodies. (Image Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)

 

 

 

The Fair Folk & the Eve of May

Hello everyone – 

In traditional folklore of the Keltik Isles (Britain and Ireland), the time between St. George’s Day (today) and May 1^st is the time when the Fair Folk (our invisible neighbors) move from their winter dwellings to their summer dwellings. To celebrate this auspicious occasion, which culminates in the May Day revels, here is an article that I penned about the Fair Folk many years ago, along with some poems about the Good People and the coming of the May. 😊

 

“The Lost Road to Faerie: Where Science and Folklore Meet”

By Rob Chappell, Editor

Excerpted from Cursus Honorum VII: 10 (May 2007)

       From prehistoric times until the rise of modern science, most human beings regarded the world as an enchanted place. Fabulous beasties like dragons and unicorns roamed along the edges of medieval maps; the stars were animated by “intelligences” that guided them in their celestial circuits; and the “Fair Folk” resided in the depths of caves or beneath hollow hills. With the advent of the scientific and industrial revolutions, belief in such things waned throughout much of the Western world, to be replaced by a reliance on science and reason. Traditional folk beliefs have often been derided as superstitious nonsense, but every once in a while, scientific research uncovers evidence that the folk beliefs of yesteryear might once have had a basis in reality.

Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen,

We dare not go a-hunting

For fear of little men;

Wee folk, good folk

Trooping all together;

Green jacket, red cap,

And a white owl's feather.

-- “The Fairies” by William Allingham (1824-1889)

       Such a discovery occurred in 2003, when a team of Australian and Indonesian paleoanthropologists unearthed the fossilized remains of eight prehistoric humans on the Indonesian island of Flores. What is so remarkable about these people is that they stood only three feet tall – yet they were fully-grown adults! They belonged to a newly classified human species – Homo Floresiensis – that lived alongside modern humans (Homo Sapiens) on Flores from 50,000 to perhaps 500 years ago.

       These recently discovered people – hailed as “Hobbits” in the popular press – are apparently an offshoot of previous human populations that had rafted over to the Indonesian archipelago at an even earlier date. According to evidence collected on Flores, these “Hobbits” (named after the halfling heroes in J. R. R. Tolkien’s Middle-Earth legendarium) were fully human in their abilities and behavior. They made sophisticated tools, used fire, hunted, fished, and (based on their anatomy) possessed the power of articulate speech. According to the Flores islanders’ folklore, these prehistoric people might have survived until the arrival of Dutch explorers in the 16th century.

       How do these recent scientific discoveries intersect with ancient folk beliefs? People from all over the world have been telling stories about the “Wee Folk” – faeries, gnomes, leprechauns, etc. – since the beginning of recorded history. These tales tell of small humanlike individuals who dwelt in caves or within hollow hills. These “Fair Folk” or “Good People,” as they were euphemistically called, lived in communities ruled by monarchs or chieftains, and they were adept at many crafts (such as mining or shoemaking). Their alleged healing abilities, musical artistry, and ability to “disappear” without fanfare when one of us “Big People” came wandering along may have led our ancestors to regard them as magical creatures instead of fellow human beings. These habits of the “Wee Folk” may also have had the unfortunate effect of making our ancestors fear and shun them.

       The possible extinction of Homo Floresiensis in historical times might be reflected in a recurrent folkloric motif about the disappearance of the “Wee Folk” from everyday experience, as in the opening lines of Geoffrey Chaucer’s (1340-1400) “Wife of Bath’s Tale”:

In the old time of King Arthur,

Of whom the Britons speak with great honor,

All this land was filled full of Faerie;

The Elf Queen, with her jolly company,

Danced full oft in many a green mead.

This was the old opinion, as I read;

I speak of many hundred years ago,

But now no one can see the elves, you know.

       Of course, the identification of the “Wee Folk” from faerie lore with Homo Floresiensis is somewhat speculative at this point. Nonetheless, we should bear in mind that many legends have been found to have a basis in fact, and that some activities and characteristics of our halfling human cousins might have found their way into traditional faerie tales. Perhaps contemporary folklorists will want to collaborate with paleoanthropologists and reexamine the faerie lore of long ago and faraway to see what “data” might be gleaned from worldwide folklore about our diminutive prehistoric kindred. To learn more about how Homo Floresiensis could have been (mis)perceived by our ancestors, you might enjoy visiting the following resources:

 

Related Links of Interest

• The Secret Commonwealth (1692) by Robert Kirk (http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/sce/index.htm) is a fascinating description of the “Fair Folk” and their society, based on the then-current folk beliefs of the Scots-Irish Highlanders.
• The Fairy Mythology (1870) by Thomas Keightley (http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/tfm/index.htm) contains a vast sampling of faerie lore from around the world.
• Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry (1888), edited and selected by William Butler Yeats (http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/yeats/fip/index.htm), is a classic collection of Irish faerie tales from the KeltiK Renaissance.

 

“Dream Song”

By Richard Middleton (1882-1911)

 

I come from woods enchaunted,

Starlit and pixey-haunted,

Where ‘twixt the bracken and the trees

The goblins lie and take their ease

By winter moods undaunted.

 

There down the golden gravel

The laughing rivers travel;

Elves wake at nights and whisper low

Between the bracken and the snow

Their dreamings to unravel.

 

Twisted and lank and hairy,

With wanton eyes and wary,

They stretch and chuckle in the wind,

For one has found a mermaid kind,

And one has kissed a fairy.

 

They know no melancholy,

But fashion crowns of holly,

And gather sleep within the brake

To deck a kingdom when they wake,

And bless the dreamer’s folly.

 

Ah! would that I might follow

The servants of Apollo!

But it is sweet to heap the hours

With quiet dreams and poppy-flowers,

Down in the pixies’ hollow.

 

“The Flowers”

By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

Excerpted from A Child's Garden of Verses

 

All the names I know from nurse:

Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,

Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,

And the Lady Hollyhock.

 

Fairy places, fairy things,

Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,

Tiny trees for tiny dames--

These must all be fairy names!

 

Tiny woods below whose boughs

Shady fairies weave a house;

Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme,

Where the braver fairies climb!

 

Fair are grown-up people's trees,

But the fairest woods are these;

Where, if I were not so tall,

I should live for good and all.

 

“Song on May Morning”

By John Milton (1608-1674)

 

Now the bright Morning Star, Day’s harbinger,

Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!

Woods and groves are of thy dressing;

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

 

William Blake’s (1757-1827) famous illustration of the dancing Fair Folk from William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Happy Birthday, Master Shakespeare! 😊

Until next time --

Rob

 

#WingedWordsWindsday: 04/20/2022 -- Dandelion Rhymes! :)

 WINGED WORDS WINDSDAY

Compiled by Rob Chappell (@RHCLambengolmo)

Vol. 1, No. 25: April 20, 2022

 

 

Dandelion Rhymes for Dandelion Times!

 

“Dandelions in the Sun”

By Annette Wynne (fl. 1919-1922)

 

    Dandelions in the sun,

    Golden dollars every one,

    Let us pick them and go buy

    All the sea and all the sky.

 

    Dandelions in the sun,

    Golden dollars every one —

    Who can be as rich as we

    Buying sky and hill and sea!

 

“Dandelion”

By Evaleen Stein (1863-1923)

 

Hey-a-day-a-day, my dear!

Dandelion time!
Come, and let us make for them

A pretty little rhyme!

See the meadows twinkling now,

Beautiful and bright
As the sky when through the blue

Shine the stars at night!

Once upon a time, folks say,

Mighty kings of old
Met upon a splendid field

Called “The Cloth of Gold.”

But, we wonder, could it be

There was ever seen
Brighter gold than glitters now

In our meadows green?

Dandelions, dandelions,

Shining through the dew,
Let the kings have Cloth of Gold,

But let us have you!

 

“Little Dandelion”

By Helen Barron Bostwick (1826-1907)

 

    Happy little Dandelion

    Lights up the meads,

    Swings on her slender foot,

    Telleth her beads,

    Lists to the robin's note

    Poured from above;

    Wise little Dandelion

    Asks not for love.

 

    Cold lie the daisy banks

    Clothed but in green,

    Where, in the days agone,

    Bright hues were seen.

    Wild pinks are slumbering,

    Violets delay;

    True little Dandelion

    Greeteth the May.

 

    Brave little Dandelion!

    Fast falls the snow,

    Bending the daffodil's

    Haughty head low.

    Under that fleecy tent,

    Careless of cold,

    Blithe little Dandelion

    Counteth her gold.

 

    Meek little Dandelion

    Groweth more fair,

    Till dies the amber dew

    Out from her hair.

    High rides the thirsty Sun,

    Fiercely and high;

    Faint little Dandelion

    Closeth her eye.

 

    Pale little Dandelion,

    In her white shroud,

    Heareth the angel-breeze

    Call from the cloud;

    Tiny plumes fluttering

    Make no delay;

    Little winged Dandelion

    Soareth away.

 

“The First Dandelion”

By Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

 

    Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging,

    As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,

    Forth from its sunny nook of sheltered grass — innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,

    The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.

 

“The Flower”

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

 

Once in a golden hour

I cast to earth a seed.

Up there came a flower,

The people said, a weed.

 

To and fro they went

Through my garden-bower,

And muttering discontent

Cursed me and my flower.

 

Then it grew so tall

It wore a crown of light,

But thieves from over the wall

Stole the seed by night.

 

Sowed it far and wide

By every town and tower,

Till all the people cried,

“Splendid is the flower.”

 

Read my little fable:

He that runs may read.

Most can raise the flowers now,

For all have got the seed.

 

And some are pretty enough,

And some are poor indeed;

And now again the people

Call it but a weed.

 

In this 1679 illustration by Maria Sibylla Merian (1647-1717), the founding mother of modern entomology, a dandelion is serving as a plant host to the pale tussock moth. (Image Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)