Gods and Fighting Men: Part I Book I

Fight with the Firbolgs

IT was in a mist the Tuatha de Danaan, the people of the gods of Dana, or as some called them, the Men of Dea, came through the air and the high air to Ireland.

It was from the north they came; and in the place they came from they had four cities, where they fought their battle for learning: great Falias, and shining Gorias, and Finias, and rich Murias that lay to the south. And in those cities they had four wise men to teach their young men skill and knowledge and perfect wisdom: Senias in Murias; and Arias, the fair-haired poet, in Finias; and Urias of the noble nature in Gorias; and Morias in Falias itself. And they brought from those four cities their four treasures: a Stone of Virtue from Falias, that was called the Lia Fail, the Stone of Destiny; and from Gorias they brought a Sword; and from Finias a Spear of Victory; and from Murias the fourth treasure, the Cauldron that no company ever went away from unsatisfied.

It was Nuada was king of the Tuatha de Danaan at that time, but Manannan, son of Lir, was greater again. And of the others that were chief among them were Ogma, brother to the king, that taught them writing, and Diancecht, that understood healing, and Neit, a god of battle, and Credenus the Craftsman, and Goibniu the Smith. And the greatest among their women were Badb, a battle goddess; and Macha, whose mast-feeding was the heads of men killed in battle; and the Morrigu, the Crow of Battle; and Eire and Podia and Banba, daughters of the Dagda, that all three gave their names to Ireland afterwards; and Eadon, the nurse of poets; and Brigit, that was a woman of poetry, and poets worshipped her, for her sway was very great and very noble. And she was a woman of healing along with that, and a woman of smith's work, and it was she first made the whistle for calling one to another through the night. And' the one side of her face was ugly, but the other side was very comely. And the meaning of her name was Breo-saighit, a fiery arrow. And among the other women there were many shadow-forms and great queens; but Dana, that was called the Mother of the Gods, was beyond them all.

And the three things they put above all others were the plough and the sun and the hazel-tree, so that it was said in the time to come that Ireland was divided between those three, Coil the hazel, and Cecht the plough, and Grian the sun.

And they had a well below the sea where the nine hazels of wisdom were growing; that is, the hazels of inspiration and of the knowledge of poetry. And their leaves and their blossoms would break out in the same hour, and would fall on the well in a shower that raised a purple wave. And then the five salmon that were waiting there would eat the nuts, and their colour would come out in the red spots of their skin, and any person that would eat one of those salmon would know all wisdom and all poetry. And there were seven streams of wisdom that sprang from that well and turned back to it again; and the people of many arts have all drank from that well.

It was on the first day of Beltaine, that is called now May Day, the Tuatha de Danaan came, and it was to the north-west of Connacht they landed. But the Firbolgs, the Men of the Bag, that were in Ireland before them, and that had come from the South, saw nothing but a mist, and it lying on the hills.

Eochaid, son of Erc, was king of the Firbolgs at that time, and messengers came to him at Teamhair, and told him there was a new race of people come into Ireland, but whether from the earth or the skies or on the wind was not known, and that they had settled themselves at Magh Rein.

They thought there would be wonder on Eochaid when he heard that news; but there was no wonder on him, for a dream had come to him in the night, and when he asked his Druids the meaning of the dream, it is what they said, that it would not be long till there would be a strong enemy coming against him.

Then King Eochaid took counsel with his chief advisers, and it is what they agreed, to send a good champion of their own to see the strangers and to speak with them. So they chose out Sreng, that was a great fighting man, and he rose up and took his strong red-brown shield, and his two thick-handled spears, and his sword, and he set out from Teamhair, and went on towards the place the. strangers were, at Magh Rein.

But before he reached it, the watchers of the Tuatha de Danaan got sight of him, and they sent out one of their own champions, Bres, with his shield and his sword and his two spears, to meet him and to talk with him.

So the two champions went one towards the other slowly, and keeping a good watch on one another, and wondering at one another's arms, till they came near enough for talking; and then they stopped, and each put his shield before his body and struck it hard into the ground, and they looked at one another over the rim. Bres was the first to speak, and when Sreng heard it was Irish he was talking, his own tongue, he was less uneasy, and they drew nearer, and asked questions as to one another's family and race.

And after a while they put their shields away, and it was what Sreng said, that he had raised his in dread of the thin, sharp spears Bres had in his hand. And Bres said he himself was in dread of the thick-handled spears he saw with Sreng, and he asked were all the aims of the Firbolgs of the same sort. And Sreng took off the tyings of his spears to show them better, and Bres wondered at them, being so strong and so heavy, and so sharp at the sides though they had no points. And Sreng told him the name of those spears was Craisech, and that they would break through shields and crush flesh and bones, so that their thrust was death or wounds that never healed. And then he looked at the sharp, thin, hard-pointed spears that were with Bres. And in the end they made an exchange of spears, the way the fighters on each side would see the weapons the others were used to. And it is the message Bres sent to the Firbolgs, that if they would give up one half of Ireland, his people would be content to take it in peace; but if they would not give up that much, there should be a battle. And he and Sreng said to one another that whatever might happen in the future, they themselves would be friends.

Sreng went back then to Teamhair and gave the message and showed the spear; and it is what he advised his people, to share the country and not to go into battle with a people that had weapons so much better than their own. But Eochaid and his chief men consulted together, and they said in the end: "We will not give up the half of the country to these strangers; for if we do," they said, "they will soon take the whole."

Now as to the Men of Dea, when Bres went back to them, and showed them the heavy spear, and told them of the strong, fierce man he had got it from, and how sturdy he was and well armed, they thought it likely there would soon be a battle. And they went back from where they were to a better place, farther west in Connacht, and there they settled themselves, and made walls and ditches on the plain of Magh Nia, where they had the great mountain, Belgata, in their rear. And while they were moving there and Putting up their walls, three queens of them, Badb and Macha and the Morrigu, went to Teamhair where the Firbolgs were making their plans. And by the power of their enchantments they brought mists and clouds of darkness over the whole place, and they sent showers of fire and of blood over the people, the way they could not see or speak with one another through the length of three days. But at the end of that time, the three Druids of the Firbolgs, Cesarn and Gnathach and Ingnathach, broke the enchantment.

The Firbolgs gathered their men together then, and they came with their eleven battalions and took their stand at the eastern end of the plain of Magh Nia.

And Nuada, king of the Men of Dea, sent his poets to make the same offer he made before, to be content with the half of the country if it was given up to him. King Eochaid bade the poets to ask an answer of his chief men that were gathered there; and when they heard the offer they would not consent. So the messengers asked them when would they begin the battle. "We must have a delay," they said; "for we want time to put our spears and our armour in order, and to brighten our helmets and to sharpen our swords, and to have spears made like the ones you have. And as to yourselves," they said, "you will be wanting to have spears like our Craisechs made for you." So they agreed then to make a delay of a quarter of a year for preparation.

It was on a Midsummer day they began the battle. Three times nine hurlers of the Tuatha de Danaan went out against three times nine hurlers of the Firbolgs, and they were beaten, and every one of them was killed. And the king, Eochaid, sent a messenger to ask would they have the battle every day or every second day. And it is what Nuada answered that they would have it every day, but there should be just the same number of men fighting on each side. Eochaid agreed to that, but he was not well pleased, for there were more men of the Firboigs than of the Men of Dea.

So the battle went on for four days, and there were great feats done on each side, and a great many champions came to their death. But for those that were alive at evening, the physicians on each side used to make a bath of healing, with every sort of healing plant or herb in it, the way they would be strong and sound for the next day's fight.

And on the fourth day the Men of Dea got the upper hand, and the Firbolgs were driven back. And a great thirst came on Eochaid, their king, in the battle, and he went off the field looking for a drink, and three fifties of his men protecting him; but three fifties of the Tuatha de Danaan followed after them till they came to the strand that is called Traigh Eothaile, and they had a fierce fight there, and at the last King Eochaid fell, and they buried him there, and they raised a great heap of stones over his grave.

And when there were but three hundred men left of the eleven battalions of the Firbolgs, and Sreng at the head of them, Nuada offered them peace, and their choice among the five provinces of Ireland. And Sreng said they would take Connacht; and he and his people lived there and their children after them. It is of them Ferdiad came afterwards that made such a good fight against Cuchulain, and Erc, son Of Cairbre, that gave him his death. And that battle, that was the first fought in Ireland by the Men of Dea, was called by some the first battle of Magh Tuireadh.

And the Tuatha de Danaan took possession of Teamhair, that was sometimes called Druim Cain, the Beautiful Ridge, and Liathdruim, the Grey Ridge, and Druim na Descan, the Ridge of the Outlook, all those names were given to Teamhair. And from that time it was above all other places, for its king was the High King over all Ireland. The king's rath lay to the north, and the Hill of the Hostages to the north-east of the High Seat, and the Green of Teamhair to the west of the Hill of the Hostages. And to the northeast, in the Hill of the Sidhe, was a well called Nemnach, and out of it there flowed a stream called Nith, and on that stream the first mill was built in Ireland.

And to the north of the Hill of the Hostages was the stone, the Lia Fail, and it used to roar under the feet of every king that would take possession of Ireland. And the Wall of the Three Whispers was near the House of the Women that had seven doors to the east, and seven doors to the west; and it is in that house the feasts of Team-hair used to be held. And there was the Great House of a Thousand Soldiers, and near it, to the south, the little Hill of the Woman Soldiers.

Gods and Fighting Men, by Lady Augusta Gregory [1904] [PB]

Part I Book I: Fight with the Firbolgs

THE QUEEN AND THE FOOL

I HAVE heard one Hearne, a witch-doctor, who is on the border of Clare and Galway, say that in 'every household' of faery 'there is a queen and a fool,' and that if you are 'touched' by either you never recover, though you may from the touch of any other in faery. He said of the fool that he was 'maybe the wisest of all,' and spoke of him as dressed like one of the 'mummers that used to be going about the country.' Since then a friend has gathered me some few stories of him, and I have heard that he is known, too, in the highlands. I remember seeing a long, lank, ragged man sitting by the hearth in the cottage of an old miller not far from where I am now writing, and being told that he was a fool; and I find from the stories that my friend has gathered that he is believed to go to faery in his sleep; but whether he becomes an Amadán-na-Breena, a fool of the forth, and is attached to a household there, I cannot tell.

It was an old woman that I know well, and who has been in faery herself, that spoke of him. She said, 'There are fools amongst them, and the fools we see, like that Amadán of Ballylee, go away with them at night, and so do the woman fools that we call Oinseachs(apes).' A woman who is related to the witch-doctor on the border of Clare, and who can Cure people and cattle by spells, said, 'There are some cures I can't do. I can't help any one that has got a stroke from the queen or the fool of the forth. I knew of a woman that saw the queen one time, and she looked like any Christian. I never heard of any that saw the fool but one woman that was walking near Gort, and she called out, 'There's the fool of the forth coming after me.' So her friends that were with her called out, though they could see nothing, and I suppose he went away at that, for she got no harm. He was like a big strong man, she said, and half naked, and that is all she said about him.

I have never seen any myself, but I am a cousin of Hearne, and my uncle was away twenty-one years.' The wife of the old miller said, 'It is said they are mostly good neighbours, but the stroke of the fool is what there is no cure for; any one that gets that is gone. The Amadán-na-Breena we call him!' And an old woman who lives in the Bog of Kiltartan, and is very poor, said, 'It is true enough, there is no cure for the stroke of the Amadán-na-Breena. There was an old man I knew long ago, he had a tape, and he could tell what diseases you had with measuring you; and he knew many things. And he said to me one time, 'What month of the year is the worst?' and I said, 'The month of May, of course.' 'It is not,' he said; 'but the month of June, for that's the month that the Amadán gives his stroke!' They say he looks like any other man, but he's leathan (wide), and not smart.

I knew a boy one time got a great fright, for a lamb looked over the wall at him with a beard on it, and he knew it was the Amadán, for it was the month of June. And they brought him to that man I was telling about, that had the tape, and when he saw him he said, 'Send for the priest, and get a Mass said over him.' And so they did, and what would you say but he's living yet and has a family! A certain Regan said, 'They, the other sort of people, might be passing you close here and they might touch you. But any that gets the touch of the Amadán-na-Breena is done for.' It's true enough that it's in the month of June he's most likely to give the touch. I knew one that got it, and he told me about it himself. He was a boy I knew well, and he told me that one night a gentleman came to him, that had been his landlord, and that was dead. And he told him to come along with him, for he wanted him to fight another man. And when he went he found two great troops of them, and the other troop had a living man with them too, and he was put to fight him.

And they had a great fight, and he got the better of the other man, and then the troop on his side gave a great shout, and he was left home again. But about three years after that he was cutting bushes in a wood and he saw the Amadán coming at him. He had a big vessel in his arms, and it was shining, so that the boy could see nothing else; but he put it behind his back then and came running, and the boy said he looked wild and wide, like the side of the hill. And the boy ran, and he threw the vessel after him, and it broke with a great noise, and whatever came out of it, his head was gone there and then. He lived for a while after, and used to tell us many things, but his wits were gone. He thought they mightn't have liked him to beat the other man, and he used to be afraid something would come on him.' And an old woman in a Galway workhouse, who had some little knowledge of Queen Maive, said the other day, 'The Amadán-na-Breena changes his shape every two days. Sometimes he comes like a youngster, and then he'll come like the worst of beasts, trying to give the touch he used to be. I heard it said of late he was shot, but I think myself it would be hard to shoot him.'

I knew a man who was trying to bring before his mind's eye an image of Ængus, the old Irish god of love and poetry and ecstasy, who changed four of his kisses into birds, and suddenly the image of a man with a cap and bells rushed before his mind's eye, and grew vivid and spoke and called itself 'Ængus’ messenger.' And I knew another man, a truly great seer, who saw a white fool in a visionary garden, where there was a tree with peacocks' feathers instead of leaves, and flowers that opened to show little human faces when the white fool had touched them with his coxcomb, and he saw at another time a white fool sitting by a pool and smiling and watching the images of many fair women floating up from the pool.

What else can death be but the beginning of wisdom and power and beauty? and foolishness may be a kind of death. I cannot think it wonderful that many should see a fool with a shining vessel of some enchantment or wisdom or dream too powerful for mortal brains in 'every household of them.' It is natural, too, that there should be a queen to every household of them, and that one should hear little of their kings, for women come more easily than men to that wisdom which ancient peoples, and all wild peoples even now, think the only wisdom. The self, which is the foundation of our knowledge, is broken in pieces by foolishness, and is forgotten in the sudden emotions of women, and therefore fools may get, and women do get of a certainty, glimpses of much that sanctity finds at the end of its painful journey.

The man who saw the white fool said of a certain woman, not a peasant woman, 'If I had her power of vision I would know all the wisdom of the gods, and her visions do not interest her.' And I know of another woman, also not a peasant woman, who would pass in sleep into countries of an unearthly beauty, and who never cared for anything but to be busy about her house and her children; and presently an herb doctor cured her, as he called it. Wisdom and beauty and power may sometimes, as I think, come to those who die every day they live, though their dying may not be like the dying Shakespeare spoke of. There is a war between the living and the dead, and the Irish stories keep harping upon it. They will have it that when the potatoes or the wheat or any other of the fruits of the earth decay, they ripen in faery, and that our dreams lose their wisdom when the sap rises in the trees, and that our dreams can make the trees wither, and that one hears the bleating of the lambs of faery in November, and that blind eyes can see more than other eyes. Because the soul always believes in these, or in like things, the cell and the wilderness shall never be long empty, or lovers come into the world who will not understand the verse:

Heardst thou not sweet words among
That heaven-resounding minstrelsy?
Heardst thou not that those who die
Awake in a world of ecstasy?
How love, when limbs are interwoven,
And sleep, when the night of life is cloven,
And thought to the world's dim boundaries clinging,
And music when one's beloved is singing,
Is death?

The Queen And The Fool: http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/yeats/twi/twi38.htm

The Celtic Twilight, by William Butler Yeats, [1893, 1902], at sacred-texts.com

English Hero-Myths: Robin Hood

Robin Hood 

ENGLAND during the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries was slowly taught the value of firm administrative government. In Saxon England, the keeping of the peace and the maintenance of justice had been left largely to private and family enterprise and to local and trading communities. In Norman England, the royal authority was asserted throughout the kingdom, though as yet the king had to depend in large measure upon the co-operation of his barons and the help of the burghers to supply the lack of a standing army and an adequate police. Under the Plantagenets, the older chivalry was slowly breaking up, and a new, wealthy burgher and trading community was rapidly gaining influence in the land; whilst the clergy, corrupted by excess of wealth and power, had strained, almost to breaking, the controlling force of religion. It was therefore natural that in these latter days a class of men should arise to avail themselves of the unique opportunities of the time--men who, loving liberty and hating oppression, took the law into their own hands and executed a rough and ready justice between the rich and the poor which embodied the best traditions of knight-errantry, whilst they themselves lived a free and merry life on the tolls they exacted from their wealthy victims. Such a man may well have been the original Robin Hood, a man who, when once he had captured the popular imagination, soon acquired heroic reputation and was credited with every daring deed and every magnanimous action in two centuries of 'freebooting.'

(1) http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/hml/hml19.htm#page_314
(2) Hero-Myths and Legends of the British Race, by Maud Isabel Ebbutt; London, G.G. Harrap and Company [1910] http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/hml/index.htm

BEANNACHADH BRATHAIN (THE QUERN BLESSING)

BEANNACHADH BRATHAIN

OIDHCH Inid
Bi feoil againn,
’S bu choir ’uinn sin
Bu choir ’uinn sin.

Leth-cheann circe,
’S da ghreim eorna,
’S bu leoir ’uinn sin
Bu leoir ’uinn sin.

Bi bin againn,
Bi beoir againn,
Bi fion againn,
Bi roic againn.
Meilc is marrum,
Mil is bainne,
Sile fallain,
Meall dheth sin,
Meall dheth sin.

Bi cruit againn,
Bi clar againn,
Bi dus againn,
Bi das againn;
Bi saltair ghrinn,
Nan teuda binn,
’S hi fairchil, righ’nn
Nan dan againn,
Nan dan againn.

Bi Bride bhithe, bhana, leinn,
Bi Moire mhine mhathar, leinn.
Bi Micheal mil
Nan lanna liobh,
’S bi Righ nan righ,
’S bi Iosa Criosd
’S bith Spiorad sith
Nan grasa leinn,
Nan grasa leinn.

THE QUERN BLESSING

ON Ash Eve
We shall have flesh,
We should have that
We should have that.

The cheek of hen,
Two bits of barley,
That were enough
That were enough.

We shall have mead,
We shall have spruce,
We shall have wine,
We shall have feast.
We shall have sweetness and milk produce,
Honey and milk,
Wholesome ambrosia,
Abundance of that,
Abundance of that.

We shall have harp, (small?)
We shall have harp, (pedal?)
We shall have lute,
We shall have horn.
We shall have sweet psaltery
Of the melodious strings
And the regal lyre,
Of the songs we shall have,
Of the songs we shall have.

The calm fair Bride will be with us,
The gentle Mary mother will be with us.
Michael the chief
Of glancing glaves,
And the King of kings
And Jesus Christ,
And the Spirit of peace
And of grace will be with us,
Of grace will be with us.

Carmina Gadelica, Ortha Nan Gaidheal, Volume I, by Alexander Carmichael; T. and A. Constable, Edinburgh [1900] 
http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/cg1/index.htm

Brigid’s Girdle

Brigid’s Girdle

Brighid’s girdle is my girdle
The girdle with the four crosses
Arise, housewife
And go out three times.
May whoever goes through my girdle
Be seven times better a year from now.

Folklore of Shakespeare: St George's Day

Customs Connected with the Calendar: Chapter XI

St George's Day (April 23rd).—St George, the guardian saint of England, is often alluded to by Shakespeare. His festival, which was formerly celebrated by feasts of cities and corporations, is now almost passed over without notice. Thus Bedford, in "1 Henry VI." (i. 1), speaks of keeping "our great Saint George's feast withal." "God and St George," was once a common battle cry, several references to which occur in Shakespeare's plays. Thus, in "Henry V." (iii. 1), the king says to his soldiers 3—

"Cry, God for Harry, England and Saint George."

Again, in "1 Henry VI." (iv. 2), Talbot says—

"God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,
 Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight."

The following injunction, from an old act of war, concerning the use of St George's name in onsets, is curious—"Item, that all souldiers entering into battaile, assault, skirmish, or other faction of armes, shall have for their common crye and word, St George, forward, or upon them St George, whereby the soldier is much comforted, and the enemie dismaied, by calling to minde the ancient valour of England, with which that name has so often been victorious." 4

The combat of this saint on horseback with a dragon has been very long established as a subject for sign painting. In "King John" (ii. 1), Philip says—

"Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e’er since
 Sits on his horse back at mine hostess’ door."

Folk-lore of Shakespeare, by T.F. Thiselton Dyer; London: Griffith & Farran [1883]:

http://www.sacred-texts.com/sks/flos/index.htm

Chapter XI. Customs Connected with the Calendar:

http://www.sacred-texts.com/sks/flos/flos13.htm

Folklore of Shakespeare: Twelfth-Day

Customs Connected with the Calendar: Chapter XI.

Twelfth-Day.—There can be no doubt that the title of Shakespeare's play, "Twelfth-Night," took its origin in the festivities associated with this festival. The season has from time immemorial been one of merriment, "the more decided from being the proper close of the festivities of Christmas, when games of chance were traditionally rife, and the sport of sudden and casual elevation gave the tone of the time. Of like tone is the play, and to this," says Mr Lloyd, 2 "it apparently owes its title." The play, it appears, was probably originally acted at the barristers’ feast at the Middle Temple, on February 2, 1601–2, as Manningham tells us in his "Diary" (Camden Society, 1868, ed. J. Bruce, p. 18). It is worthy of note that the festive doings of the Inns of Court, in days gone by at Christmas-tide, were conducted on the most extravagant scale. In addition to the merry disports of the Lord of Misrule, there were various revels. The Christmas masque at Gray's Inn, in 1594, was on a magnificent scale.

Folk-lore of Shakespeare, by T.F. Thiselton Dyer; London: Griffith & Farran [1883]:
http://www.sacred-texts.com/sks/flos/index.htm

Chapter XI. Customs Connected with the Calendar:
http://www.sacred-texts.com/sks/flos/flos13.htm

Folklore of Shakespeare: Christmas

Customs Connected with the Calendar: Chapter XI.

Christmas.—Among the observances associated with this season to which Shakespeare alludes, we may mention the Christmas Carol, a reference to which is probably made in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," (ii. 1), by Titania,—"No night is now with hymn or carol blest." Hamlet (ii. 2) quotes two lines from a popular ballad, entitled the "Song of Jephtha's Daughter," and adds,—

"The first row of the pious chanson will show you more."

In days gone by, the custom of carol-singing was most popular, and Warton, in his "History of English Poetry," notices a licence granted in 1562 to John Tysdale for printing "Certayne goodly carowles to be songe to the glory of God;" and again "Crestenmas Carowles auctorisshed by my lord of London."

In the "Taming of the Shrew," (ind., sc. 2), Sly asks whether "a comonty 1 is not a Christmas gambol." Formerly the sports and merry-makings at this season were on a most extensive scale, being presided over by the "Lord of Misrule." 2Again, in "Love's Labour's Lost," (v. 2), Biron speaks of "A Christmas Comedy."

As we have noticed, too, in our chapter on plants, a gilt nutmeg was formerly a common gift at Christmas, and on other festive occasions, to which an allusion is probably made in the same scene. Formerly, at this season, the head of the house assembled his family around a bowl of spiced ale, from which he drank their healths, then passed it to the rest, that they might drink too. The word that passed amongst them was the ancient Saxon phrase wass hael, i.e., to your health. Hence this came to be recognised as the wassail or wassel-bowl; and was the accompaniment to festivity of every kind throughout the year. Thus Hamlet (i. 4) says—

"The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail."

And in "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2), Biron speaks of—

"Wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs."

In "Macbeth" (i. 7), it is used by Lady Macbeth in the sense of intemperance, who, speaking of Duncan's two chamberlains, says—

"Will I with wine and wassel so convince,
 That memory, the warder of the brain,
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
 A limbeck only."

In the same way a "wassail candle" denoted a large candle lighted up at a festival, a reference to which occurs in "2 Henry IV." (i. 2)—

"Ch. Jus. You are as a candle, the better part burnt out.
 Falstaff. A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow."

 A custom which formerly prevailed at Christmas, and has not yet died out, was for mummers to go from house to house attired in grotesque attire, performing all kind of odd antics. Their performances, however, were not confined to this season. Thus, in "Coriolanus" (ii. 1) Menenius speaks of making "faces like mummers."

Cakes and Ale.—It was formerly customary on holidays and saints’ days to make cakes in honour of the day. In "Twelfth Night" (ii. 3), Sir Toby says—"Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?" To which the Clown replies—"Yes, by St Anne; and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too."

Wakes.—In days gone by, the church wake was an important institution, and was made the occasion for a thorough holiday. Each church, when consecrated, was dedicated to a saint, and on the anniversary of that day was kept the wake. In many places there was a second wake on the birthday of the saint. At such seasons, the floor of the church was strewed with rushes and flowers, and in the churchyard tents were erected to supply cakes and ale for the use of the merrymakers on the following day, which was kept as a holiday. They are still kept up in many parishes, but in a very different manner. In "King Lear" (iii. 6), Edgar says—"Come, march to wakes and fairs, and market towns." We may also compare "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2), and "Winter's Tale" (iv. 2). In "Hamlet" (i. 4), it is used in the sense of revel.


Folk-lore of Shakespeare, by T.F. Thiselton Dyer; London: Griffith & Farran [1883]:
http://www.sacred-texts.com/sks/flos/index.htm

Chapter XI. Customs Connected with the Calendar:
http://www.sacred-texts.com/sks/flos/flos13.htm

Christmas, customs at, 309:
http://www.sacred-texts.com/sks/flos/flos13.htm#page_309

The Lark Ascending - Ralph Vaughan Williams

The Lark Ascending is a work for violin and orchestra written in 1914 by the English composer Ralph Vaughan Williams.

Poem: Female Picture of a Country Life

Female Picture of a Country Life


Even now methinks
Each little cottage of my native vale
Swells out its earthen sides, upheaves its roof,
Like to a hillock moved by labouring mole,
And with green trail-weeds clambering up its walls,
Roses and every gay and fragrant plant
Before my fancy stands, a fairy bower.
Ay, and within it too do fairies dwell,
Peep through its wreathed window, if indeed

The flowers grow not too close; and there within
Thou'lt see some half a dozen rosy brats,
Eating from wooden bowls their dainty milk-
Those are my mountain elves. Seest thou not
Their very forms distinctly?

I'll gather round my board
All that Heaven sends to me of wayworn folks,
And noble travellers, and neighbouring friends,
Both young and old. Within my ample hall,
The worn-out man of arms shall o' tiptoe tread,
Tossing his gray locks from his wrinkled brow
With cheerful freedom, as he boasts his feats
Of days gone by. Music we'll have; and oft
The bickering dance upon our oaken floors
Shall, thundering loud, strike on the distant ear
Of 'nighted travellers, who shall gladly blend
Their doubtful footsteps towards the cheering din.
Solemn, and grave, and cloister'd, and demure,
We shall not be. Will this content ye, damsels?

Every season
Shall have its suited pastime: even winter
In its deep noon, when mountains piled with snow
And choked-up valleys from our mansion bar
All entrance, and nor guest nor traveller
Sounds at our gate; the empty hall forsaken,
In some warm chamber, by the crackling fire,
We'll hold our little snug domestic court,
Plying our work with song and tale between.


Joanna Baillie (1762-1851 / Scotland)

Poem: England! The Time Is Come When Thou Should’st Wean

England! The Time Is Come When Thou Should’st Wean


ENGLAND! the time is come when thou should'st wean
Thy heart from its emasculating food;
The truth should now be better understood;
Old things have been unsettled; we have seen
Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been
But for thy trespasses; and, at this day,
If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,
Aught good were destined, thou would'st step between.
England! all nations in this charge agree:
But worse, more ignorant in love and hate,
Far--far more abject, is thine Enemy:
Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight
Of thy offences be a heavy weight:
Oh grief that Earth's best hopes rest all with Thee!


William Wordsworth (1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)

Poem: Young England - What Is Then Become Of Old

Young England--What Is Then Become Of Old


YOUNG ENGLAND--what is then become of Old
Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead,
Dead to the very name? Presumption fed
On empty air! That name will keep its hold
In the true filial bosom's inmost fold
For ever.--The Spirit of Alfred, at the head
Of all who for her rights watched, toiled and bled,
Knows that this prophecy is not too bold.
What--how! shall she submit in will and deed
To Beardless Boys--an imitative race,
The 'servum pecus' of a Gallic breed?
Dear Mother! if thou 'must' thy steps retrace,
Go where at least meek Innocency dwells;
Let Babes and Sucklings be thy oracles. 


William Wordsworth (1770-1850 / Cumberland / England

Poem: British Freedom

British Freedom


It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.-In every thing we are sprung
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.


William Wordsworth (1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)