The Chinese, Japanese and Koreans thought of the Milky Way as a river. An ancient tale, current in these countries, connects this "river" and the constellations of Lyra and Aquila in the quaint and charming romance of two lovers who were so happily married that they could not bear to be separated. As a result, they neglected their duties to such an extent that the God of the Firmament placed the bride on a constellation on one side of the celestial river and her husband on a constellation on the other side. "Now," said he, "on the 7th night of the 7th month you may meet—if you are able." This date occurs during the summer-time, in July, at a time of the year when the Milky Way and these stars are well placed for observation, and, on a clear night anyone with a keen eye and an open mind may witness a remarkable thing happen. Every magpie in sight flies upward, higher than it ever flew before, up to the very fields of heaven where the Milky River wends its way.
Ranging themselves side by side, the birds make a bridge of their bodies and wings which spans the celestial river and solves the problem of how the lovers shall meet. On this happy night, the stars of Lyra and Aquila burn with five different colors. If, however, the weather is stormy and rain falls, the river rises and flows over the plains and all the magpies in China, Korea and Japan cannot reach across it. The children of Korea stone every magpie they see loitering around its usual haunts, to remind it of its duty.
Lafcadio Hearn, who wrote the Japanese version of this story in a most delightful way, said it seemed to be the origin of a festival called Tanabata. During this festival the Japanese write poems with dew "from the River of Heaven," which is collected fresh from yam leaves. These poems are written on strips of blue, green, red, yellow and white paper to match the colors of the stars, and are tied on bamboo stalks set up about the houses. Mr. Hearn in his "Romance of the Milky Way" refers to the story in this exquisite manner:
"In the silence of the transparent night, before the rising of the moon, the charm of the ancient tale sometimes descends upon me out of the scintillant sky, to make me forget the monstrous facts of science and the stupendous horror of space. Then I no longer behold the Milky Way, as that awful Ring of Cosmos, whose hundred million suns are powerless to lighten the abyss, but as the very Amanogwa itself—the river Celestial. I see the thrill of its shining stream, the mists that hover along the verge, and the watergrasses that bend in the winds of autumn. White Orihime I see at her starry loom and the Ox that grazes on the farther shore—and I know that the falling dew is the spray of the Herdsman's oar."
There are any number of references to the Milky Way throughout the realms of poetry. Amelia describes it as
"a fair illumined path
That leadeth upward to the gate of heaven."
Milton—an
"ample road whose dust is gold
And pavement stars as stars to thee appear."