AUGUST.
The eighth was August, being rich array’d
In garment all of gold downe to the ground:
Yet rode he not, but led a lovely mayd
Forth by the lily hand, the which was crown’d
With eares of corne, and full her hand was found.
That was the righteous Virgin, which of old
Liv’d here on earth, and plenty made abound;
But after wrong was lov’d, and justice solde,
She left th’ unrighteous world, and was to heav’n extoll’d.
August is the eighth month of the year. It was called Sextilis by the Romans, from its being the sixth month in their calendar, until the senate complimented the emperor Augustus by naming it after him, and through them it is by us denominated August.
Our Saxon ancestors called it “Arnmonat, (more rightly barn-moneth,) intending thereby the then filling of their barnes with corne.”[236] Arn is the Saxon word for harvest. According to some they also called it Woedmonath, as they likewise called June.[237]
The sign of the zodiac entered by the sun this month is Virgo, the Virgin. Spenser’s personation of it [above] is pencilled and engraved by Mr. Samuel Williams.
“Admire the deep beauty of this allegorical picture,” says Mr. Leigh Hunt. “Spenser takes advantage of the sign of the zodiac, the Virgin, to convert her into Astrea, the goddess of justice, who seems to return to earth awhile, when the exuberance of the season presents enough for all.”
Mr. Leigh Hunt notes in his Months, that,—“This is the month of harvest. The crops usually begin with rye and oats, proceed with wheat, and finish with peas and beans. Harvest-home is still the greatest rural holiday in England, because it concludes at once the most laborious and most lucrative of the farmer’s employments, and unites repose and profit. Thank heaven there are, and must be, seasons of some repose in agricultural employments, or the countryman would work with as unceasing a madness, and contrive to be almost as diseased and unhealthy as the citizen. But here again, and for the reasons already mentioned, our holiday-making is not what it was. Our ancestors used to burst into an enthusiasm of joy at the end of harvest, and appear even to have mingled their previous labour with considerable merry-making, in which they imitated the equality of the earlier ages. They crowned the wheat-sheaves with flowers, they sung, they shouted, they danced, they invited each other, or met to feast, as at Christmas, in the halls of rich houses; and what was a very amiable custom, and wise beyond the commoner wisdom that may seem to lie on the top of it, every one that had been concerned, man, woman, and child, received a little present—ribbons, laces, or sweatmeats.
“The number of flowers is now sensibly diminished. Those that flower newly are nigella, zinnias, polyanthuses, love-apples, mignionette, capsicums, Michaelmas daisies, auriculus, asters, or stars, and China-asters. The additional trees and shrubs in flower are the tamarisk, altheas, Venetian sumach, pomegranates, the beautiful passion-flower, the trumpet-flower, and the virgin’s bower, or clematis, which is such a quick and handsome climber. But the quantity of fruit is considerably multiplied, especially that of pears, peaches, apricots, and grapes. And if the little delicate wild flowers have at last withdrawn from the hot sun, the wastes, marshes, and woods are dressed in the luxuriant attire of ferns and heaths, with all their varieties of green, purple, and gold. A piece of waste land, especially where the ground is broken up into little inequalities, as Hampstead-heath, for instance, is now a most bright as well as picturesque object; all the ground, which is in light, giving the sun, as it were, gold for gold. Mignonette, intended to flower in the winter, should now be planted in pots, and have the benefit of a warm situation. Seedlings in pots should have the morning sunshine, and annuals in pots be frequently watered.
“In the middle of this month, the young goldfinch broods appear, lapwings congregate, thistle-down floats, and birds resume their spring songs:—a little afterwards flies abound in windows, linnets congregate, and bulls make their shrill autumnal bellowing; and towards the end the beech tree turns yellow,—the first symptom of approaching autumn.”
The garden blooms with vegetable gold,
And all Pomona in the orchard glows,
Her racy fruits now glory in the sun,
The wall-enamour’d flower in saffron blows,
Gay annuals their spicy sweets unfold,
To cooling brooks the panting cattle run:
Hope, the forerunner of the farmer’s gain,
Visits his dreams and multiplies the grain.
More hot it grows; ye fervours of the sky
Attend the virgin—lo! she comes to hail
Your sultry radiance.—Now the god of day
Meets her chaste star—be present zephyr’s gale
To fan her bosom—let the breezes fly
On silver pinions to salute his ray;
Bride of his soft desires, with comely grace
He clasps the virgin to his warm embrace.
The reapers now their shining sickles bear
A band illustrious, and the sons of Health!
They bend, they toil across the wide champaign,
Before them Ceres yields her flowing wealth;
The partridge-covey to the copse repair
For shelter, sated with the golden grain,
Bask on the bank, or thro’ the clover run
Yet safe from fetters, and the slaughtering gun.
[236] Verstegan.
[237] Dr. F. Sayers.