The Pearl Story Book Part 34

Hail, brother August, flushed and warm And scathless from my storm, Your hands are full of corn, I see, As full as hands can be: And earth and air both smell as sweet as balm In their recovered calm, And that they owe to me.

(_JULY retires into a shrubbery_)

AUGUST

Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy, Barley bows a graceful head, Short and small shoots up canary, Each of these is some one's bread; Bread for man or bread for beast, Or, at very least, A bird's savoury feast.

(_AUGUST descries SEPTEMBER toiling across the lawn_)

My harvest home is ended; and I spy September drawing nigh, With the first thought of Autumn in her eye, And the first sigh Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly.

(_SEPTEMBER arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped high with fruit_)

SEPTEMBER

Unload me, brother. I have brought a few Plums and these pears for you, A dozen kinds of apples, one or two Melons, some figs all bursting through Their skins, and pearled with dew These damsons violet-blue.

(_While SEPTEMBER is speaking, AUGUST lifts the basket to the ground, selects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along the gravel walk, eating a pear as he goes._)

My song is half a sigh Because my green leaves die; Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are dying; And well may Autumn sigh, And well may I Who watch the sere leaves flying.

(_OCTOBER enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long ripe hop-bine trailing after him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his b.u.t.tonhole._)

OCTOBER

Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite over, Even if the year has done with corn and clover, With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact, it's true Some leaves remain and some flowers too.

For me and you.

Now see my crops:

(_Offering his produce to SEPTEMBER_)

I've brought you nuts and hops; And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops.

(_OCTOBER wreathes the hop-bine about SEPTEMBER'S neck, and gives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, but without shutting the door. She steps into the background; he advances to the hearth, removes the guard, stirs up the smouldering fire, and arranges several chestnuts ready to roast._)

Crack your first nut and light your first fire, Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar; Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher, Logs are cheery as sun or as star, Logs we can find wherever we are.

Spring one soft day will open the leaves, Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers; Never fancy my whistling wind grieves, Never fancy I've tears in my showers: Dance, nights and days! and dance on, my hours!

(_Sees NOVEMBER approaching_)

Here comes my youngest sister, looking dim And grim With dismal ways.

What cheer, November?

NOVEMBER

(_Entering and shutting the door_)

Nought have I to bring, Tramping a-chill and s.h.i.+vering, Except these pine cones for a blaze,-- Except a fog which follows, And stuffs up all the hollows,-- Except a h.o.a.r frost here and there,-- Except some shooting stars Which dart their luminous cars Trackless and noiseless through the keen night air.

(_OCTOBER, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws into the background, while NOVEMBER throws her pine cones on the fire, and sits down listlessly._)

The earth lies asleep, grown tired Of all that's high or deep; There's nought desired and nought required Save a sleep.

I rock the cradle of the earth, I lull her with a sigh; And know that she will wake to mirth By and by.

(_Through the window DECEMBER is seen running and leaping in the direction of the door. He knocks._)

Ah, here's my youngest brother come at last:

(_Calls out without rising._)

Come in, December.

(_He opens the door and enters, loaded with evergreens in berry, etc._)

Come, and shut the door, For now it's snowing fast; It snows, and will snow more and more; Don't let it drift in on the floor.

But you, you're all aglow; how can you be Rosy and warm and smiling in the cold?

DECEMBER

Nay, no closed doors for me, But open doors and open hearts and glee To welcome young and old.

Dimmest and brightest month am I; My short days end, my lengthening days begin; What matters more or less sun in the sky, When all is sun within?

(_He begins making a wreath as he sings_)

Ivy and privet dark as night, I weave with hips and haws a cheerful show, And holly for a beauty and delight, And milky mistletoe.

While high above them all I set Yew twigs and Christmas roses pure and pale; Then Spring her snowdrop and her violet May keep, so sweet and frail;

May keep each merry singing bird, Of all her happy birds that singing build: For I've a carol which some shepherds heard Once in a wintry field.

(_While DECEMBER concludes his song all the other Months troop in from the garden, or advance out of the background. The Twelve join hands in a circle, and begin dancing round to a stately measure as the curtain falls._)

(_Abridged._)

PRINCE WINTER

Carl Ewald

The Prince of Winter sat on the mountains: an old man with white hair and beard. His naked breast was s.h.a.ggy, s.h.a.ggy his legs and hands. He looked strong and wild with cold stern eyes.

But he was not angry as when Spring drove him from the valley and when Autumn did not go quickly enough. He looked out over the kingdom calmly for he knew that it was his. And, when he found anything dead or empty or desolate, he plucked at his great white beard and gave a harsh and satisfied laugh.

But all that lived in the land was struck with terror when it looked into his cold eyes.