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Call of the Wildflower

<h2>XXVI</h2> <h3>THE LAST ROSE</h3> And summer's lease hath all too short a date. The great days were not born to be forgotten. It is well that memory should come to the aid of the flower-lover; for none is more deserving of such comfort than he, keeping constant watch as he does over the transitoriness of the seasons, and having prescience of the summer's departure while summer is still at its height. Sometimes a late autumnal thought Has crossed my mind in green July. It is in the prime of the year that such intimations of mortality are keenest; when the "fall" itself has arrived, there is less of regret than of resignation. I do not know where the tranquil grief for parted loveliness is so tenderly expressed as in a fragmentary poem of Shelley's, "The Zucca," which, though little known by the majority of readers, contains some of the most poignant, most Shelleyan verses ever written. The poet relates how when the Italian summer was dead, and autumn was in turn expiring,[Pg 186] he went forth in grief for the decay of that ideal beauty—"dim object of my soul's idolatry"—of which he, above all men, was the worshipper, and in this mood of sadness found the withered gourd which was the subject of his song. And thus I went lamenting, when I saw A plant upon the river's margin lie, Like one who loved beyond his Nature's law. And in despair had cast him down to die. There is a fitness in such imagery; for flowers seem to serve naturally as emblems of human emotions. Who has not felt the pathos of a faded blossom kept as a memorial of the past? Many years ago I was given a beautifully bound copy of Moxon's edition of Shelley; and when I noticed that opposite that loveliest of poems, "Epipsychidion," were a few pink petals interleaved, I was sure that their presence at such a page was not merely accidental; and it has since been a whim of mine that those tokens of some bygone incident in the life of a former owner of the book should not be displaced. There are vicissitudes in human lives with which flowers become associated in our thoughts. I recall a calm autumn day spent in company with a friend upon the Surrey Downs, when the marjoram and other fragrant flowers of the chalk were still as beautiful as in summer, but the sadness of a near departure from that familiar district lay heavy on[Pg 187] my mind; and that day proved indeed to be the end of many happy years, for long afterwards, when I returned to those hills, all was changed for me, though Nature was kindly as before. Thus a date, not greatly heeded at the time, may be found to have marked one of life's turning-points, and the flowers connected with it may hold a peculiar significance in memory. It is a sad moment for a flower-lover when he sees before him "the last rose of summer" ("rose" is a term which may here be used in a general sense for any sweet and pleasing flower), and realizes that he is now face to face with the season's euthanasia, "that last brief resurrection of summer in its most brilliant memorials, a resurrection that has no root in the past, nor steady hold upon the future, like the lambent and fitful gleams from an expiring lamp." Yet so gradual is this change, and the resurrection of which De Quincey speaks so entrancing, that one is comforted even while he grieves. For example, there are few sights more cheering on a late September day than to find by some bare tidal river a colony of the marsh-mallow. The most admired member of the family is usually the muskmallow; and certainly it is a very pretty flower, with its bright foliage and the pink satiny sheen of its corolla; but far more charming, though less showy in appearance, is its modest sister of the salt marshes, whose leaves, overspread with hoary down, are soft as softest velvet, and her petals[Pg 188] steeped in as tender and delicate a tint of palest rose-colour as could be imagined in dreams. There is something especially gracious about this althæa, or "healer"; and her virtues are not more soothing to body than to mind. It was from the Sussex shingles that I started, and from the same shore my concluding picture shall be drawn—a quaint sea-posy that I picked there on an October afternoon, not so romantic, certainly, as one of violets or forget-me-nots, but in that sere season not less heartening than any nosegay of the spring. It held but three flowers, samphire, sea-rocket, and sea-heath. The samphire, at all times a singular and attractive herb, was now in fruit, and had faded to a wan yellow; the rocket was still in flower, its lilac blossoms crowning the solid glaucous stalk, and its thick fleshy leaves rivalling the texture of seaweed; the small sea-heath, with wiry reddish stems and dark-green foliage, lent itself by a natural contrast for twining around its bulkier companions. Thus grouped they stood for weeks in a vase on my mantel, until the time for wildflowers was overpast, and the "black and tan" days of winter were already let loose on the earth. And even when the year is actually at its lowest, the sunnier times can be revived and re-enacted in thought; for memory is potent as that wizard in Morris's poem, who in the depth of a northern Christmastide could so wondrously transform the season,[Pg 189] That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row; While still unheard, but in its wonted way, Piped the drear wind of that December day. Such flowery scenes has the writing of this little book brought back to me, and has robbed at least one winter of many cheerless hours.[Pg 190] <hr style="width: 65%;" /> [Pg 191] <h2>INDEX</h2> <ul class="none"><li>Alpine bartsia, 154;</li> <li>forget-me-not, 155;</li> <li>lady's-mantle, 177;</li> <li>meadow-rue, 153, 168, 174, 182;</li> <li>mouse-ear, 176;</li> <li>penny-cress, 107, 108;</li> <li>saw-wort, 170, 174, 178</li> <li>Amberley Wild Brooks, 35, 36</li> <li>Arnside, 124-7</li> <li>Arundel Park, 35, 142</li> <li>Avens, mountain, 155, 169, 172;</li> <li>water, 107, 132, 156</li> <li>Baneberry, 126, 127, 129</li> <li>Bellflower, ivy-leaved, 48, 148, 149, 172</li> <li>Bladderwort, 34, 146, 147</li> <li>Borage, 124</li> <li>Butterwort, 87, 148, 177</li> <li>Carpenter, Edward, 15, 45, 93, 100</li> <li>Castleton, 108</li> <li>Chiltern Hills, 16, 90, 94, 95</li> <li>Cinquefoil, marsh, 147, 148, 156;</li> <li>shrubby, 152, 153;</li> <li>vernal, 105</li> <li>Cloudberry, 110</li> <li>Crabbe (quoted), 30, 78</li> <li>Cranberry, 149</li> <li>Crow-garlic, 92</li> <li>Cuckmere Haven, 26</li> <li>Cwm Glas, 165, 167-70</li> <li>Cwm Idwal, 168-70</li> <li>Dwale, 140</li> <li>Farrer, Reginald, 66, 105, 129</li> <li>Fritillary, 88, 89</li> <li>Fungi, 80</li> <li>Gentian, 72;</li> <li> marsh, 144, 145;</li> <li>vernal, 66, 154, 155</li> <li>Gerarde, John, 49, 87, 88, 91, 98, 110, 124, 130, 134, 140, 142</li> <li>Globe-flower, 147, 169, 170</li> <li>Gorse, 51, 52</li> <li>Hare's-ear, "common," 46, 56, 87, 91;</li> <li> slender, 26, 27</li> <li>Hellebore, 126, 142</li> <li>Hemlock, 143</li> <li>Henbane, 140, 141</li> <li>Hound's-tongue, 55, 71</li> <li>Hudson, W. H., 12, 53 (note), 57, 88, 89</li> <li>Hutchinsia, 47, 106, 123</li> <li>Jefferies, Richard, 40, 81</li> <li>Johns, C. A., 38, 61, 125</li> <li>Jupp, W. J., 15</li> <li>Kinderscout, 109-12</li> <li>Lady's-mantle, 167, 171;</li> <li>Alpine, 177</li> <li>Letchworth, 92, 95, 96</li> <li>Lewes brooks, 30-4</li> <li>Lily of the valley, 41, 61, 125</li> <li>Lloyd, E. Bertram, 16, 110, 111, 119, 183</li> <li>Macmillan, Hugh, 162 (note), 175, 176</li> <li>Marjoram, 69, 76, 103, 180</li> <li>Marsh-cinquefoil, 147, 148</li> <li>Marsh-mallow, 187</li> <li>Meadow-rue, Alpine, 153, 168, 174, 182;</li> <li>lesser, 108</li> <li>Meadow-sage, 64, 183</li> <li>Monk's-hood, 94, 142</li> <li>Morris, William, 42 (note), 78, 188, 189</li> <li>Moschatel, 87, 88</li> <li>Moss-campion, 167, 171, 175, 176</li> <li>Mouse-ear, Alpine, 176</li> <li>Nightshade, deadly, 72, 74, 140</li> <li>Nixon, Robert, 174, 176</li> <li>Norton Common, 95, 96</li> <li>Nottingham catch-fly, 105, 123</li> <li>Olivier, Sir Sydney, 183</li> <li>Orchis, 53-6, 70, 71, 85, 86, 126, 148;</li> <li>bee, 53;</li> <li>man, 74;</li> <li>musk, 55;</li> <li>spider, 53-5</li> <li>Orme's Head, 121, 124</li> <li>Pagham Harbour, 27</li> <li>Pansy, mountain, 108, 152, 155, 172, 174</li> <li>Perfoliates, 86, 87, 108</li> <li>Pevensey, shingles, 25;</li> <li>levels, 30, 34</li> <li>Pilgrim's Way, 73</li> <li>Pink, proliferous, 27;</li> <li>Deptford, 79;</li> <li>maiden, 123</li> <li>Pratt, Anne, 11, 38, 60, 145, 150</li> <li>Primrose, 64, 65, 131;</li> <li>bird's-eye, 131, 152, 172;</li> <li>water "violet," 31, 101, 102</li> <li>Rampion, 53, 56, 74</li> <li>Rock-rose, 53, 56, 72, 76, 103, 123</li> <li>Saffron, meadow, 182</li> <li>St. John's-worts, 11, 39, 79, 99, 148</li> <li>Salmon, C. E., 17</li> <li>Samphire, 24, 122, 188</li> <li>Sandwort, vernal, 106, 108, 130, 167</li> <li>Saw-wort, Alpine, 170, 174, 178</li> <li>Saxifrages, 15, 22, 106, 167;</li> <li>mossy, 106, 130, 167;</li> <li>purple, 41, 130, 159-62;</li> <li>snow, 155, 174, 180;</li> <li>starry, 155, 167, 168, 180;</li> <li>yellow, 156, 171, 177</li> <li>Sheep's scabious, 82</li> <li>Shelley (quoted), 25, 36, 139-41, 185, 186</li> <li>Shoreham shingles, 22-4</li> <li>Snapdragon, 84, 86</li> <li>Snowdon, 158, 164-70</li> <li>Spiderwort, 168, 171, 182</li> <li>Squinancy-wort, 45, 72</li> <li>Stitchwort, 20, 37</li> <li>Sweet Cicely, 104</li> <li>Teesdale, Upper, 66, 151-7</li> <li>Thistle, "melancholy," 156, 157</li> <li>Thoreau, H. D., 12, 71, 144, 181;</li> <li>his Journal, 133-8</li> <li>Thorn-apple, 141</li> <li>Trefoils, 22, 23, 39, 40;</li> <li>starry-headed, 23, 99</li> <li>Vaughan, Canon J., 12 (note), 98</li> <li>Vetches, 22, 23, 72</li> <li>Viper's bugloss, 22, 71</li> <li>Virgil, 69, 80</li> <li>Water-soldier, 94, 98</li> <li>White, Gilbert, 51, 77, 98</li> <li>Wordsworth, 11, 42, 175, 184</li> <li>Wye valley, 106, 107</li> <li>Yellow-wort, 72, 87</li> </ul> <div class="footnotes"> <h3>FOOTNOTES</h3> <div class="footnote">[1] Haunts of the Wild Flowers. </div> <div class="footnote">[2] Unless it be Canon John Vaughan, in those two delightful books of his, The Wild-Flowers of Selborne and The Music of Wild-Flowers. </div> <div class="footnote">[3] From Shelley's short lyric, "The Question," perhaps the most beautiful flower-poem in the language.[Pg 37] </div> <div class="footnote">[4] Flora of Surrey, by J. A. Brewer, 1863. </div> <div class="footnote">[5] Essay on "Wild Flowers," in The Open Air. </div> <div class="footnote">[6] So, too, had the poet Wordsworth; of whom William Morris, who disliked the Wordsworthian cult, used to say, in explanation of such antipathy: "The fellow couldn't smell." </div> <div class="footnote">[7] See the beautiful chapter on "The Living Garment," in Mr. W. H. Hudson's Nature in Downland. </div> <div class="footnote">[8] Quoted in A Garden of Herbs, by E. S. Rohde. </div> <div class="footnote">[9] From My Rock Garden, by Reginald Farrer, p. 257. </div> <div class="footnote">[10] Æneid, I. 691-4. </div> <div class="footnote">[11] See note on p. 12. </div> <div class="footnote">[12] Natural History of Selborne, ch. lvi. </div> <div class="footnote">[13] Thrice blest, if they but knew what joys are theirs![Pg 81] </div> <div class="footnote">[14] The Herball, by J. Gerarde. Enlarged and amended by Thomas Johnson, 1636. </div> <div class="footnote">[15] Not so obtuse of heart we Tyrians are.[Pg 121] </div> <div class="footnote">[16] Rabbits eat the leaves without harm to themselves, but their flesh becomes injurious to human beings. A case of poisoning of this sort was lately reported from Oxted. </div> <div class="footnote">[17] For a charming description of the purple saxifrage, see Holidays in High Lands, by Hugh Macmillan (1869). </div> <div class="footnote">[18] See The Flora of Carnarvonshire, by John E. Griffith, and A Flora of the English Lake District, by J. G. Baker, two books which are of great value in showing the localities of mountain plants. </div> <div class="footnote">[19] In Parkinson's Theatrum Botanicum (1640) it is remarked of rose-root that it grows "oftentimes in the ruggiest places, and most dangerous of them, scarce accessible, and so steepe that they may soon tumble downe that doe not very warily looke to their footing." </div> <div class="footnote">[20] Wild Flowers of Scotland, by J. H. Crawford. </div> <div class="footnote">[21] In the Cairngorm mountains, the globe-flower ascends to a height of 3,000 feet (see Mr. Seton Gordon's Wanderings of a Naturalist); in the Alps to 8,000. </div> <div class="footnote">[22] "This [herb] was choice, because of prime use in medicine; and that, more choice, for yielding a rare flavour to pottage; and a third choicest of all, because possessed of no merit but its extreme scarcity."—Scott's Quentin Durward. </div> </div> Printed in Great Britain by UNWIN BROTHERS THE GRESHAM PRESS, LONDON AND WOKING <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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