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Odes of the Months

Month of January--smoky is the vale;

Weary the wine-bearer; strolling the minstrel;

Lean the cow; seldom the hum of the bee;

Empty the milk fold; void of meat the kiln;

Slender the horse; very silent the bird;

Long to the early dawn; short the afternoon;

Justly spoke Cynfelyn,

"Prudence is the best guide for man."

Month of February--scarce are the dainties;

Wakeful the adder to generate its poison;

Habitual is reproach from frequent acknowledgement;

The hired ox has not skill to complain;

Three things produce dreadful evils,

A woman's counsel, murder, and way-laying;

Best is the dog upon a morning in spring;

Alas! To him who murders his maid!

Month of March--great is the forwardness of the birds,

Severe is the cold wind upon the headlands;

Serene weather will be longer than the crops;

Longer continues anger than grief;

Every one feels dread;

Every bird wings to its mate.

Every thing springs through the earth'

But the dead, strong is his prison!

Month of April--aerial is the horizon;

Fatigued the oxen; bare the land;

Common is the visitor without an invitation;

Poor the deer; blithesome the hare;

Everyone claims his labour;

Happy his state who governs himself;

Common is separation with virtuous children;

Common, after presumption, is a long cessation.

Month of May--wanton is the lascivious;

Sheltering the ditch to everyone who loves it;

Joyous the aged in his robes;

Loquacious the cuckoo in the rural vales;

Easy is society where there is affection;

Covered with foliage are the woods, sportive the amorous,

There comes as often to the market,

The skin of the lamb as the skin of the sheep.

Month of June--beautiful are the fields;

Smooth the sea, pleasing the strand;

Beautifully long the day, playful the ladies;

Full the flocks, apt to be firm the bog;

God loves all tranquility;

The devil loves all mischief;

Everyone covets honour;

Every might one, feeble his end.

Month of July--the hay is apt to smoke;

Ardent the heat, dissolved the snow;

The vagrant does not love a long confederacy;

There is no success to the progeny of an unchaste person;

Bare the farm-yard--partly empty the circular eminence;

Clean the perfect person, disgraceful the boasting word;

Justly spoke the foster-son of Mary,

"God judges, though man may prate."

Month of August--covered with foam is the beach;

Blithesome the bee, full the hive;

Better the work of the sickle than the bow;

Fuller the stack than the theatre.

He that will neither work nor pray,

Is not worthy to have bread;

Justly spoke Saint Breda,

"Evil will not be approached less than good."

Month of September--benign are the planets;

Tending to please, the sea and the hamlet;

Common is it for steeds and men to be fatigued;

Common is it to posses all kinds of fruit:--

A princely girl was born,

To be our leader from painful slavery;--

Justly spake St. Berned,

"God does not sleep when he gives deliverance."

Month of October--penetrable is the shelter;

Yellow the tops of the birch, solitary the summer dwelling;

Full of fat the birds and the fish;

Less and less the milk of the cow and the goat;

Alas! To him who merits disgrace by sin!

Death is better than frequent extravagance;

Three thngs follow every crime,

Fasting, prayer, and charity.

Month of November--very fat are the swine;

Let the shepherd go; let the minstrel come;

Bloody the blade, full the barn;

Pleased the sea, tasteless the cauldron;

Long the night, active the prisoner;

Respected is everyone who possesses property;

For three things men are not often concerned,

Sorrow, angry, look, and an illiberal miser.

Month of December--the shoe is covered with dirt:

Heavy the land, flagging the sun;

Bare are the trees, still is the muscle;

Cheerful the cock, and determined the thief;

Whilst the twelve months proceed so sprightly,

Round the youthful mind, is the spoiler Satan;

Justly spoke Yscolan,

"God is better than an evil prophecy."