St. John the Baptist’s eve, how clear and bright
Sinks the broad sun upon the waveless sea!
Above, below, around him, shedding light,
All glorious and beautiful to see:
Garish as day, with night’s tranquillity
Reposing on all things.—“Then bid farewell
To household duties and its drudgery—
Come, one and all, and this fair maid shall tell
Who shall be wise henceforth, from this our festival.”
At this fair summons men and women were
Wont to assemble to decide their fate:
The first begotten child with rose-deck’d hair
Clad as a bride—her features all sedate,
Like one of holy calling—walk’d in state,
Before a bacchanal procession, loud
In their mirth—dancing with glee elate—
And shouting as they went—a motley crowd
Spreading along the shore, like shadow from a cloud.
And when arrived where they were summoned, they
With water from the ocean, to the brim
Fill a small vessel as the first essay
Towards making into one the future—(dim
And dark as ’tis)—perceptible—to him
Alone this boon.—When a young virgin, fair,
With knocking heart that maketh her head swim
Lest she, her hopes, have wither’d—from her hair
Taketh a rose (her emblem) she had braided there;
And in the vessel drops it: Then the next,
Lovely as Hebe, from her faery zone,
Loosens the band that clasps it—somewhat vext
That like the rose it floats not—as ’tis known,
Or so imagined, that the charm hath flown
From what’s beneath the surface—so she deem’d
E’en when the next a diamond had thrown
Into the vessel, which, though sunken, seemed
A star upon the surface—it so upward gleamed.
After the fair ones, one and all, have cast
The bauble that each prized as somewhat dear,
The youths o’eranxious lest they be surpass’d
By maidens in their zealous acts sincere,
(Who crowd about them as they hover near
The sacred vase, observing them the while;)
Drop gold, and gems, and crystals for the ear,
Adorn’d with quaint devices, to beguile
With love, the heart that’s languishing, and free from guile.
Now all are gathered round in silence deep,
Heart throbbing maids, (like knots of flowers fair,
That bow unto the moon, whose soft rays sleep
Upon their beauty,) and youths flush’d with care
And keen anxiety, press forward there:
Meanwhile, the little cherub-bride draws nigh,
And from the vessel with her small hand fair,
Brings forth the gem that gladdens some one’s eye,
That grants to him or her the gift of prophecy.
Barton Wilford.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·62.