The morning of the Eighth of May is ushered in with the sound of drums and kettles, when the streets are soon thronged with spectators, and assistants in the Mysteries. So strict is the observance of this day as a general holiday, that should any person be found at work, he is instantly seized, set astride on a pole, and hurried on men's shoulders to the river, where, if he does not commute his punishment by a fine, he is sentenced to leap over a wide place, which he of course fails in attempting, and falls into the water, to the great amusement of the spectators. At about the hour of nine the revellers appear before the Grammar school, and make their demand of a prescriptive holiday, after which they collect contributions from house to house. They then fadé into the country (fadé being an old English word for go), and about noon return with flowers and oak branches in their hats and caps; from this time they dance, hand in hand, through the streets, preceded by a violin,[126] playing an ancient traditional tune, the music of which we shall here introduce.
There is also a traditional song which is sung in chorus, involving the history of Robin-Hood, whose connection with the present festival it is not easy to understand.
Upon this occasion it is a right, assumed from time immemorial, for the persons engaged in the dance to enter and run through any house they please, without molestation.
The higher classes of the inhabitants having, with much good humour, assisted in the rites of the day, and performed their exforensic orgies, resort to the ball room, where they are usually met by the neighbouring families, and by those strangers who may happen to be in this part of Cornwall. The merry dance is commenced at an early hour, and generally protracted to the dawn of the ensuing day.
Long may this harmless and innocent festival continue to animate the blythe and young, on each annual return of its celebration;—Its classic spell may be dissolved, but the Temple of Hilarity, consecrated by the smiles of Cornish youth and beauty, needs not a Roman goddess for its sanction.
Why ask where the Flora derives its gay birth!
Why each smiling brow wears its garland to-day?
Enough that our sires kept it sacred to mirth,
And their children have hearts all as fervent as they.
And yet might we trace where his ashes are laid
Who first made the Fadé to sound in our bowers,
To-day round his cromlech the dance should we braid,
And the fairest of Hellas[127] enwreath it with flowers.
And hallow'd for aye be their place of repose,
Who their race have enrich'd with a dowry so rare,
A spell—that yet brightens each year as it flows
With one gleam of Eden—a day free from care.
Then join we the Dance! to their mem'ries of yore,
Let the mirth which they lov'd be the homage we pay.
And the strain that inspir'd them long ages before,
Wake the joys, which they felt, in our bosoms to-day.
About two miles from Helston is Penrose, the seat of John Rogers, Esq. situated in the midst of a finely wooded scene, and on the border of a large sheet of water called the Loe Pool; this forms one of the most considerable lakes in the county, and is produced by a very singular operation of nature,—the continual rolling of the waves of the British Channel towards the shore forces in a vast quantity of sand and pebbles, which, by constant accumulation, at length forms a very high bank extending across the valley, from hill to hill, and by closing up the mouth of the channel occasions the river to spread its waters over an area of nearly seven miles in circumference. This bar of gravel cannot be passed over by the waves of the highest tides, even during the excitement of a storm, unless it be attended with a very rare combination of circumstances. The water of the lake gradually finds its way through the gravel of the bar by slow filtration; but in wet seasons, as it cannot pass off with a rapidity equal to its influx, the lake will often rise ten feet higher than its ordinary level. This produces the singular effect of stopping two mills, one on the Loe, the other on a lateral stream, their wheels being at this time partly under water. When this occurs the millers present the Lord of the Manor with two leathern purses, each containing three halfpence, and solicit his permission to open a passage through the bar. This being of course granted, the Mayor of Helston engages workmen to carry the work into effect. In a few days, however, the bar is again filled up as before.