Merry Midsummer Eve! :)

Hello everyone – 

TONIGHT, June 23^rd, is Midsummer Eve – a traditional holiday that celebrates the long days and short nights of summertime with bonfires, dancing, feasting, and singing under the stars. In areas north of 50 degrees latitude, the night sky never becomes completely dark at this time of year, resulting in a faint twilight glow that lingers all through the night.

In European folklore, it was believed that Midsummer Eve was when all the Fair Folk (elves, faeries, dryads, naiads, etc.) held midnight revels to celebrate the high point of the year. (This folk belief is reflected in Shakespeare’s comedy, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.) So in this edition of Quotemail, we have an edutaining article and some classic poems about things that one might expect to see on Midsummer Eve – Fair Folk, starlight, and all things enchanting!

 

A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II, Scene I [“Over Hill, Over Dale”]

By William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

A wood near Athens. A Fairy speaks.

 

Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moon's sphere;

And I serve the fairy queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green:

The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

In their gold coats spots you see;

Those be rubies, fairy favors,

In those freckles live their savors:

I must go seek some dew-drops here

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Farewell, thou lob of spirits: I'll be gone;

Our queen and all her elves come here anon.

 

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

By Rob Chappell, Editor

Adapted & Condensed 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 in isolated areas of the island 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 kings, queens, 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 clever 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 Scottish 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 of the Victorian Era.

 

“The Nymph of the Severn”

(Excerpted from Comus)

By John Milton (1608–1674)

Editor’s Note: This poetical retelling of a medieval Welsh legend is based on the account recorded by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia Regum Britanniae (History of the Kings of Britain), which was published in 1136 CE.

There is a gentle nymph not far from hence

That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream.

Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure;

Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,

That had the scepter from his father Brute.

She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit

Of her enragèd stepdame Guendolen,

Commended her fair innocence to the flood

That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course.

The water-nymphs that in the bottom played

Held up their pearlèd wrists, and took her in,

Bearing her straight to aged Nereus’ hall,

Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head,

And gave her to his daughters to imbathe

In nectared lavers strewed with asphodel,

And through the porch and inlet of each sense

Dropped in ambrosial oils, till she revived,

And underwent a quick immortal change,

Made Goddess of the river: still she retains

Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve

Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,

Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs

That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make,

Which she with precious vialed liquors heals;

For which the shepherds at their festivals

Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays,

And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream

Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.

And, as the old swain said, she can unlock

The clasping charm, and thaw the mumming spell,

If she be right invoked in warbled song;

For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift

To aid a virgin, such as was herself,

In hard besetting need; this will I try,

And add the power of some adjuring verse.

 

“On a Midsummer Eve”

By Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

 

I idly cut a parsley stalk,

And blew therein towards the moon;

I had not thought what ghosts would walk

With shivering footsteps to my tune.

 

I went, and knelt, and scooped my hand

As if to drink, into the brook,

And a faint figure seemed to stand

Above me, with the bygone look.

 

I lipped rough rhymes of chance, not choice,

I thought not what my words might be;

There came into my ear a voice

That turned a tenderer verse for me.

 

“A June Night”

By Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)

 

Ten o'clock: the broken Moon

Hangs not yet a half hour high,

Yellow as a shield of brass,

In the dewy air of June,

Poised between the vaulted sky

And the ocean's liquid glass.

 

Earth lies in the shadow still;

Low black bushes, trees, and lawn

Night's ambrosial dews absorb;

Through the foliage creeps a thrill,

Whispering of yon spectral dawn

And the hidden climbing orb.

 

Higher, higher, gathering light,

Veiling with a golden gauze

All the trembling atmosphere,

See, the rayless disk grows white!

Hark, the glittering billows pause!

 

Faint, far sounds possess the ear.

Elves on such a night as this

Spin their rings upon the grass;

On the beach the water-fay

Greets her lover with a kiss;

Through the air swift spirits pass,

Laugh, caress, and float away.

 

Shut thy lids and thou shalt see

Angel faces wreathed with light,

Mystic forms long vanished hence.

Ah, too fine, too rare, they be

For the grosser mortal sight,

And they foil our waking sense.

 

Yet we feel them floating near,

Know that we are not alone,

Though our open eyes behold

Nothing save the Moon's bright sphere,

In the vacant heavens shown,

And the ocean's path of gold.

 

“The Stolen Child”

By William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the Moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

 

“A Forest Child”

By Madison Julius Cawein (1865-1914)

 

There is a place I search for still,

Sequestered as the world of dreams,

A bushy hollow, and a hill

That whispers with descending streams,

Cool, careless waters, wandering down,

Like Innocence who runs to town,

Leaving the wildwood and its dreams,

And prattling like the forest streams.

 

But still in dreams I meet again

The child who bound me, heart and hand,

And led me with a wildflower chain

Far from our world, to Faeryland:

Who made me see and made me know

The lovely Land of Long-Ago,

Leading me with her little hand

Into the world of Wonderland.

 

The years have passed: how far away

The day when there I met the child,

The little maid, who was a fay,

Whose eyes were dark and undefiled

And crystal as a woodland well,

That holds within its depths a spell,

Enchantments, featured like a child,

A dream, a poetry undefiled.

 

Around my heart she wrapped her hair,

And bound my soul with lips and eyes,

And led me to a cavern, where

Grey Legend dwelt in kingly guise,

Her kinsman, dreamier than the Moon,

Who called her Fancy, read her rune,

And bade her with paternal eyes

Divest herself of her disguise.

 

And still I walk with her in dreams,

Though many years have passed since then,

And that high hill and its wild streams

Are lost as is that faery glen.

And as the years go swiftly by

I find it harder, when I try,

To meet with her, who led me then

Into the wildness of that glen.

 

Midsummer Eve by Edward Robert Hughes (ca. 1908).

 

“Fairy Song” (Excerpted from Flower Fables, 1855)

By Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888)

 

The moonlight fades from flower and tree,

And the stars dim one by one;

The tale is told, the song is sung,

And the Fairy feast is done.

The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers,

And sings to them, soft and low.

The early birds erelong will wake:

‘Tis time for the Elves to go.

        

O’er the sleeping earth we silently pass,

Unseen by mortal eye,

And send sweet dreams, as we lightly float

Through the quiet moonlit sky;--

For the stars’ soft eyes alone may see,

And the flowers alone may know,

The feasts we hold, the tales we tell:

So ‘tis time for the Elves to go.

        

From bird, and blossom, and bee,

We learn the lessons they teach;

And seek, by kindly deeds, to win

A loving friend in each.

And though unseen on earth we dwell,

Sweet voices whisper low,

And gentle hearts most joyously greet

The Elves where’er they go.

        

When next we meet in the Fairy dell,

May the silver moon’s soft light

Shine then on faces gay as now,

And Elfin hearts as light.

Now spread each wing, for the eastern sky

With sunlight soon will glow.

The morning star shall light us home:

Farewell! for the Elves must go.

 

DEDICATION

This Merry Midsummer edition of Quotemail is dedicated to all my friends at the Center for Children’s Books at the University of Illinois. Please visit them @ http://ccb.ischool.illinois.edu to learn more about their programs and publications highlighting the best new literature for children and young adults.