Hello everyone –
TONIGHT, June 23rd, 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.
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