DEDICATION

Flower Legends For Children

The Moss Rose

Once upon a time, says the old legend, the angel whose work on earth was to guard the flowers, lay down one night to sleep under a rose tree. With gentle whisperings she lulled him to rest, and through the star-lit night waved perfumed branches over his head.

Day broke over the shadowy, mist-clad valley, and bars of orange-scarlet light touched the distant eastern peaks into gold. In the sky above was the morning star, and the crescent moon hung over all.

When he awoke, refreshed, the angel asked the rose what he could give her as a reward for the shelter she had given him, and for the sweet sleep he had 12enjoyed beneath her scented flowers. The rose blushed, and, looking more lovely still, made request that something might be added to her beauty.

The angel thought for a moment, wondering if it were possible to make her more lovely than she already was; and then he threw about her a veil of transparent fresh green moss, to protect her from the cold winds and rain, and from that day the moss rose has worn the angel’s gift.

THE TULIP.

Once upon a time, there was an old woman who lived in a cottage set in the midst of a pretty garden, and in the garden was a bed of beautiful tulips.

Fairies and pixies are very fond of these flowers; and every night they brought their babies to put them to sleep under the tulips in the old woman’s garden, and the tulips sang and rocked the little pixies to sleep.

16As soon as the babies were asleep the fairy mothers and fathers would return to the fields, and there dance in moon-lit rings all night. When morning came they returned to the tulips to wake their little ones with gentle kisses.

The tulips thus visited by the fairies kept fresh and beautiful much longer than any other flowers in the garden, and, strange to say, they also smelt as sweet as roses. The old woman was therefore so proud of her 17tulips that she never allowed anyone to touch them. One sad day, the old woman died, and an unkind man came to live in her cottage, who did not love flowers. He tore them all up, and planted a parsley bed instead; but he was well punished, for the fairies were so angry at the way he had treated their tulips that every night they danced and trampled on the parsley, so that it withered away. Indeed, they allowed nothing to grow in that garden for a long time.

18The fairies, however, took great care of the grave where the old woman was buried, and mosses and grasses grew on it, and sweet wild flowers; and that was how they showed their gratitude to the old woman for keeping lovely tulips as cradles for their babies.

THE FORGET-ME-NOT.

A long time ago a knight and his lady were walking by the banks of a river, when suddenly they saw a spray of little blue flowers floating on the water not far from the bank, and it seemed as if they would soon be swept away by the quick-running stream.

The knight, loving well his lady, and thinking it would please her if he saved the flowers for her, jumped into the river and grasped them; but, alas, the current was too strong for him: and as he was swept past the poor lady, who was wringing her hands at the sight of her drowning knight, he threw the flowers at her feet, calling out “Forget-me-not,” and the little blue flowers have been called by that name to this day.

22There is another story connected in legend with the Forget-me-not, and it is this:—

When Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, it is said, Adam gave all the flowers their names, and told them to be sure and remember what he called them.

One little flower, however, was careless and forgot its name. The next time Adam passed it in the Garden, in order to see if he was as short of memory as itself, the little flower called out to him: “By what name dost thou call me?” “Forget-me-not,” was Adam’s reply.

ROSES RED AND WHITE.

There was once a beautiful goddess called Venus, and she loved the handsome young god Adonis. Poor Adonis died from the wound of a wild boar he was hunting, and, when Venus heard of this, she ran grief-stricken through the woods in despair, to look for and aid her beloved Adonis.

As she was running along, her foot was pricked by a thorn, and the blood that flowed from the wound suddenly sprang up into a beautiful red rose.

Afterwards, Venus sat and wept because Adonis was dead; and where her tears fell on the ground there blossomed a lovely white rose.

The Rowan.

All the fairies and pixies are very fond of this tree, with its beautiful scarlet berries, and people say the good fairies take special care of the children who carry a few of the berries in their pockets.

In Scotland, rowan trees are often planted near the cottages and cow-stables, and then it is supposed no wicked sprites or elves can harm those who live in them.

There is a legend in Norway about this tree that the great god, called Thor, one day was crossing a deep river, and looking for a stick to help him across, when he saw a rowan. He pulled it up and took it as a staff, and after that it was called Thor’s helper.

FLEUR-DE-LYS.

Many hundred years ago, there was a king of France named Clovis, whose coat-of-arms was three black toads. But, one night, an old hermit saw a most wonderful vision in his cell. An angel appeared to him, holding a shield of great beauty. Its colour was the blue of the sky, and on it were emblazoned three golden lilies. The hermit was told to give it to the wife of Clovis, Queen Clotilde; this he did, and Clovis took the three lilies as the emblem of France, instead of the three black toads. From the day he did so his armies were everywhere victorious.

THE ASPEN.

This is a tree which has the peculiarity that its pale green leaves are never still for a moment, but are always quivering and trembling. The reason of this is a very sad one, and explains why the Aspen can never be at rest. We are told that the Cross of Our Blessed Lord was made of the wood of the Aspen, and that the poor tree was so terribly grieved to be used for such a purpose that it has trembled ever since.

THE HAWTHORN.

The crown of thorns of Our Blessed Lord is said to have been made from this tree. It looks so fair in the May-time with its snow-like mantle of white blossoms, that it is only when quite close to it that the long cruel thorns are seen, thick on all its branches. The simple story goes on to say that as Our Lord was on His way to be crucified, a little bird lighted on His head, and with its beak pulled out one of the long thorns that were piercing His brow. The blood that flowed from the wound covered the bird’s breast and dyed it crimson. That dear little bird was no other than Robin Red-breast!