The Procession of the Months.
THE Months all riding came;
First sturdy March, with brows full sternly bent,
And armed strongly, rode upon a ram,
The same which over Hellespontus swam;
Yet in his hand a spade he also hent,
And in a bag all sorts of seeds ysame,
Which on the earth he strowed as he went,
And filled her womb with fruitful hope of nourishment.
Next came fresh April, full of lustyhead,
And wanton as a kid whose horn new buds;
Upon a bull he rode, the same which led
Europa floating through th' Argolick floods;
His horns were gilden all with golden studs,
And garnished with garlands goodly dight
Of all the fairest flowers and freshest buds
Which th' earth brings forth, and wet he seemed in sight With waves, through which he waded for his love's delight.
Then came fair May, the fairest maid on ground, Decked all with dainties of her season's pride, And throwing flowers out of her lap around; Upon two brethren's shoulders she did ride, The Twins of Leda, which on either side Supported her like to their sovereign queen; Lord! how all creatures laughed when her they spied, And leapt and danced as they had ravished been! And Cupid self about her fluttered all in green.
And after her came jolly June, arrayed
All in green leaves, as he a player were,
Yet in his time he wrought as well as played,
That by his plough-irons mote right well appear;
Upon a crab he rode, that him did bear
With crooked crawling steps an uncouth pace,
And backward yode as bargemen wont to fare,
Bending their force contrary to their face:
Like that ungracious crew which feigns demurest grace.
Then came hot July, boiling like to fire,
That all his garments he had cast away;
Upon a lion raging yet with ire
He boldly rode, and made him to obey;
It was the beast that whilome did foray
The Nemean forest, till th' Amphytrionide
Him slew, and with his hide did him array;
Behind his back a scythe, and by his side,
Under his belt, he bore a sickle circling wide.
The sixth was August, being rich arrayed
In garment all of gold down to the ground;
Yet rode he not, but led a lovely Maid
Forth by the lily hand, the which was crowned
With ears of corn, and full her hand was found;
That was the righteous Virgin, which of old
Lived here on earth, and plenty made abound,
But after wrong was loved and justice sold,
She left th' unrighteous world, and was to heaven extolled.
Next him September marched, eke on foot;
Yet was he heavy laden with the spoil
Of harvest's riches, which he made his boot,
And him enriched with bounty of the soil;
In his one hand, as fit for harvest's toil,
He held a knife-hook, and in the other hand
A pair of weights, with which he did assoil
Both more and less, where it in doubt did stand,
And equal gave to each as justice duly scanned.
Then came October, full of merry glee,
For yet his noule was totty of the must,
Which he was treading in the wine-vat's sea,
And of the joyous oil, whose gentle gust
Made him so frolic and so full of lust;
Upon a dreadful scorpion he did ride,
The same which by Diana's doom unjust
Slew great Orion; and, eke by his side
He had his ploughing-share and coulter ready tied.
Next was November; he full gross and fat,
As fed with lard, and that right well might seem,
For he had been a fatting hogs of late,
That yet his brows with sweat did reek and steam,
And yet the season was full sharp and breem;
In planting eke he took no small delight;
Whereon he rode, not easy was to deem,
For it a dreadful Centaur was in sight,
The seed of Centaur and fair Nais, Chiron hight.
And after him came next the chill December,
Yet he, through merry feasting which he made,
And great bonfires, did not the cold remember,
His Saviour's birth so much his mind did glad;
Upon a shaggy, bearded Goat he rode,
The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender years,
They say was nourished by th' Iœan maid; And in his hand a broad deep bowl he bears, Of which he freely drinks an health to all his peers.
Then came old January, wrapped well In many weeds, to keep the cold away, Yet did he quake and quiver like to quell, And blow his nails to warm them if he may, For they were numbed with holding all the day An hatchet keen, with which he felled wood, And from the trees did lop the needless spray, Upon a huge great Earth-pot steane he stood, From whose wide mouth there flowèd forth the Roman flood.
And lastly came old February, sitting
In an old waggon, for he could not ride,
Drawn of two fishes, for the season fitting,
Which through the flood before did softly slide
And swim away; yet had he by his side
His plough and harness fit to till the ground,
And tools to prune the trees, before the pride
Of hasting prime did make them burgeon round.
So past the Twelve Months forth, and their due places found.
And after these there came the Day and Night,
Riding together both with equal pace;
Th' one on a palfrey black, the other white;
But Night had covered her uncomely face
With a black veil, and held in hand a mace,
On top whereof the moon and stars were pight,
And sleep and darkness round about did trace;
But Day did bear upon his sceptre's height
The goodly sun, encompassed all with beamès bright.
Then came the Hours, fair daughters of high Jove
And timely Night, the which were all endued
With wondrous beauty, fit to kindle love;
But they were virgins all, and love eschewed,
That forslak the charge to them foreshewed
By mighty Jove, who did them porters make
Of heaven's gate, (whence all the gods issued)
Which they did daily watch and nightly wake
By even turns, nor ever did their charge forsake.
And after all came Life, and lastly Death;
Death with most grim and grisly visage seen,
Yet is he nought but parting of the breath,
Ne ought to see, but like a shade to ween,
Unbodied, unsouled, unheard, unseen;
But Life was like a fair young lusty boy,
Such as they feign Dan Cupid to have been,
Full of delightful health and lively joy,
Decked all with flowers, and wings of gold fit to employ.
Within and Without.
A LONDON LYRIC.
THE winds are bitter; the skies are wild;
From the roof comes plunging the drowning rain:
Without,-in tatters, the world's poor child
Sobbeth abroad her grief, her pain!
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