THE GRASSHOPPER
Shuttle of the sunburnt grass,
Fifer in the dun cuirass,
Fifing shrilly in the morn,
Shrilly still at eve unworn;
Now to rear, now in the van,
Gayest of the elfin clan:
Though I watch their rustling flight,
I can never guess aright
Where their lodging-places are;
'Mid some daisy's golden star,
Or beneath a roofing leaf,
Or in fringes of a sheaf,
Tenanted as soon as bound!
Loud thy reveille doth sound,
When the earth is laid asleep,
And her dreams are passing deep,
On mid-August afternoons;
And through all the harvest moons,
Nights brimmed up with honeyed peace,
Thy gainsaying doth not cease.
When the frost comes, thou art dead;
We along the stubble tread,
On blue, frozen morns, and note
No least murmur is afloat:
Wondrous still our fields are then,
Fifer of the elfin men!
Edith M. Thomas.
THE GOLDEN GRASSHOPPER
Charles Lamb
It chanced upon a time that while the fairies were looking for cowslips in the meads, while yet the dew was hanging on the buds like beads, they found a babe left in its swathing-clothes—a little, sorrowful, deserted thing. It was a pity to see the abandoned little orphan left in that way.
How the cold dew kept wetting its childish coats; and its little hair, like gossamer, how it was bedabbled! Its pouting mouth, unknowing how to speak, lay half-opened like a rose-lipped shell; and its cheek was softer than any peach, upon which the tears, for very roundness, could not long dwell, but fell off in clearness like pearls—some on the grass, and some on his little hand; and some haply wandered to the little dimpled well under his mouth.
Pity it was, too, to see how the burning sun had scorched its helpless limbs; for it lay without shade or shelter, for foul weather or fair. So, having compassion on its sad plight, the fairies turned themselves into grasshoppers and swarmed about the babe, making such shrill cries as that pretty little chirping creature makes in its mirth, till, with their noise, they attracted the attention of a passing rustic, a tender-hearted kind who, wondering at their small but loud concert, strayed aside curiously, and found the babe where it lay in the remote grass, and, taking it up, wrapped it in his russet coat, and bore it to his cottage, where his wife kindly nurtured it till it grew up a goodly personage.
This babe prospered and, in time, became the famous Sir Thomas Gresham, one of the greatest merchants of England. He afterwards adopted the grasshopper as his crest, and you may see to this day, on a tall staff high above the roof of the Royal Exchange in London, a huge Golden Grasshopper to remind you of the wisest, richest, and greatest of all the men who built up the trade and commerce of England.
"Witness his goodly vessels on the Thames,
Whose holds were fraught with costly merchandise,——
Jewels from Ind, and pearls for costly dames,
And gorgeous silks that Samarcand supplies:
Witness that Royal Bourse he bade arise,
The mart of merchants from the East and West;
Whose slender summit pointing to the skies,
Still bears, in token of his grateful breast,
The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest."
Thomas Hood.
A BLADE OF GRASS
John Ruskin
Gather a single blade of grass, and examine for a minute its narrow, sword-shaped strip of fluted green. Nothing there, as it seems of notable goodness or beauty. A very little strength and a very little tallness, and a few delicate long lines meeting in a point, not a perfect point either, but blunt and unfinished, by no means a creditable or apparently much-cared-for example of Nature's workmanship, made only to be trodden on to-day, and to-morrow to be cast into the oven, and a little pale and hollow stalk, feeble and flaccid, leading down to the dull brown fiber of roots.
And yet, think of it well, and judge whether of all the gorgeous flowers that beam in summer air, and of all strong and goodly trees, pleasant to the eyes, or good for food, stately palm and pine, strong ash and oak, scented citron, burdened vine, there be any by man so deeply loved, by God so highly graced, as that narrow point of feeble green. And well does it fulfill its mission. Consider what we owe merely to the meadow grass, to the covering of the dark ground by that glorious enamel, by the companies of those soft, and countless, and peaceful spears.
The fields! Follow forth but for a little time the thoughts of all that we ought to recognize in these words. All spring and summer is in them, the walks by silent and scented paths, the rests in noonday heat, the joy of herds and flocks, the power of all shepherd life and meditation, the life of sunlight upon the world falling in emerald streaks, and falling in soft blue shadows where else it would have struck upon the dark mold or scorching dust.
Pastures beside the pacing brooks, soft banks and knolls of lowly hills, thymy slopes of down, overlooked by the blue line of lifted sea, crisp lawns, all dim with early dew, or smooth in evening warmth of barred sunshine, dinted by happy feet, and softening in their fall the sound of loving voices,—all these are summed in those simple words; and these are not all.
We may not measure to the full the depth of this heavenly gift in our own land, though still as we think of it longer, the infinite of that meadow sweetness, Shakespeare's peculiar joy would open on us more and more; yet we have it but in part. Go out in the springtime among the meadows that slope from the shores of the Swiss lakes to the root of the lower mountains. There, mingled with the taller Gentians, and the white Narcissus, the grass grows deep and free; and as you follow the winding mountain paths, beneath arching boughs, all veiled with blossoms—paths that forever droop and rise over the green banks and mounds sweeping down in scented undulation steep to the blue water, studded here and there with new-mown heaps filling all the air with fainter sweetness,—look up towards the higher hills, where the waves of everlasting green roll silently into their long inlets among the shadows of the pines; and we may, perhaps, at last know the meaning of those quiet words of the Psalmist, "He maketh the grass to grow upon the mountains."
Then Aurora, the Sun's
Rosy handmaiden, runs
With a basket of fruit blossoms poised on her head,
Green ones and pink ones and white ones, and red,
And with both hands uplifted, outscatters them wide
Through gardens and orchards on every side,
Such abundance,
Redundance,
On every side
Of blossoms for apples and damsons and cherries,
For currants and quinces, pears, plums and strawberries,
That the labourers call to each other to see
What a wonderful fruit year 'tis likely to be.
Charles Dalmon.
PRINCESS FIRE-FLY
(JAPANESE LEGEND)
Deep in the pink petals of a lotus bloom that grew in the castle moats of Fukui, lived Hi-o, the king of the Fire-Flies. In this beautiful flower his daughter, the Princess Hotaru, passed her childhood exploring every shady nook and fragrant corner of the bell-like palace, listening to the buzz of life around, and peeping over the edge of the petals at the wonderful world which lay mysteriously beyond. The princess had few youthful companions, but, as she daily bade her father farewell, she dreamed of the time when she, too, would fly abroad, and her brilliant light would attract unusual admiration.
Gradually, a beautiful sheen o'erspread her body; night by night it became brighter, until at last her home, in the hours of darkness, was as a lamp of coral wherein shone a lamp of gold. So glorious was her light that the stars paled before it, and the bright, sickle moon withdrew behind a cloud from jealousy.
The Princess was now allowed to fly from her home, to loiter among the pleasant rice fields, and to explore the indigo meadows which lay far off on the horizon. She had no lack of friends and would-be lovers. Thousands of insects, attracted by her magic light, came and offered their homage, but the Princess cared for none of their attentions and though she spoke politely to them all, she gave encouragement to none.
One evening the Princess said to her mother, the Queen:
"I have had many admirers but no one has found a way to my heart. To-night I shall hold court and if any of them love me they will come to me here. Then I shall set them an impossible task. If they are wise they will not attempt to do it, but if they love their lives more than they love me I do not want them. I shall say to one and all: 'Only he who loves me more than life shall call me bride.'"
"As you will," said her mother. And that evening, seated upon a throne formed of the heart of a lotus, Princess Hotaru held her court.
No sooner had twilight set in than forth came the golden beetle and laid his fortunes at her feet.
"Go and bring me fire and I will be your bride," said Hotaru.
Bowing his head the green-gold creature spread his wings and left the court with a stately whirr.
Next came cockchafer, who wooed her in passionate words. But to him she gave the same answer. "Bring me fire and you may have me for your wife."
Dragon-fly, proud in his gorgeous colours, offered his heart and his hand, quite sure that he would be accepted at once. The humble hawk-moth persistently addressed the lovely Princess. As the evening wore on countless other insects gained an audience, but the answer to them all was ever the same, "The treasure of fire shall be my bridegroom's gift."
One by one they took wing, enraptured by the hope of success and unconscious that they were all bent on the same errand.
But none ever came back to wed the Princess. The hawk-moth entered a temple and circled round and round the tall wax lights, coming nearer and nearer each time. "Now to win the Princess!" he murmured. Alas! the foolish creature darted forward to snatch a flash of flame, but the flame singed his wings and he fell helpless to the ground.
The beetle whizzed off to a neighbouring house and watched intently for a moment or two a log fire crackling on a hearth. He then boldly caught at a tongue of flame, hoping to carry it to the Princess. But he, too, was buried by the fire.
The dragon-fly, notwithstanding his sunlit splendours, could not fulfill the bidding of the Lady of the Lotus Bloom. He also fell a prey to her imperious command. Others there were who tried to steal from the diamond its heart of fire, or winged their way to the great mountain, or sped to the depths of the valley in their search for the great gift.
But all their efforts to bring the treasure of fire were in vain. The sun in roseate splendour shone on the bodies of the insect lovers who had given up their lives in their devotion to the Princess.
Now tidings came to Hi-maro, the Prince of the Fire-Flies, on the north side of the castle moat, that Princess Hotaru was exceedingly beautiful, whereupon he fled swiftly to her home among the lotus flowers, to ask of her father his daughter in marriage. The father agreed to the Prince's request with the condition that the Prince should come in person bringing the Princess the gift of fire.
Even as a flood of light the Prince at the head of his host of fire-flies came and filled the lotus palace with a blaze of glory.
But Hotaru herself was so beautiful that her charms were not dimmed.
One look passed between the youth and the maiden and the visit ended in the Prince's wooing and winning the Princess. He took her to his palace on the north side of the castle moat and there they lived happily for many years.
Many, many years have passed since Hi-maro won the Princess and still it is the fancy of all Fire-Fly Princesses to send their suitors in search of fire as a love-offering. It is for this reason that we see many thousand insects hovering around the evening lights in the vain hope of securing a flash of fire that shall win them their prize. (Adapted.)