many names of Albespeine, Whitethorn, Haythorn or Hawthorn,
May, and Quickset, this tree has ever been a favourite with all lovers
of the country.

"Among the many buds proclaiming May,
Decking the field in holiday array,
Striving who shall surpass in braverie,
Mark the faire blooming of the Hawthorn tree,
Who, finely cloathed in a robe of white,
Fills full the wanton eye with May's delight.
Yet for the braverie that she is in
Doth neither handle card nor wheel to spin,
Nor changeth robes but twice; is never seen
In other colours but in white or green."

such is Browne's advice in his "Britannia's Pastorals" (ii. 2). He, like
the other early poets, clearly loved the tree for its beauty; and in
picturesque beauty the Hawthorn yields to none, when it can be seen in
some sheltered valley growing with others of its kind, and allowed to
grow unpruned, for then in the early summer it is literally a sheet of
white, yet beautifully relieved by the tender green of the young leaves,
and by the bright crimson of the anthers, and loaded with a scent that
is most delicate and refreshing. But not only for its beauty is the
Hawthorn a favourite tree, but also for its many pleasant
associations--it is essentially the May tree, the tree that tells that
winter is really past, and that summer has fairly begun. Hear Spenser--

"Thilke same season, when all is yclade
With pleasaunce; the ground with Grasse, the woods
With greene leaves, the bushes with blooming buds,
Youngthes folke now flocken in everywhere
To gather May-baskets and smelling Brere;
And home they hasten the postes to dight,
And all the kirk-pillours eare day-light,
With Hawthorne-buds, and sweet Eglantine,
And girlondes of Roses, and soppes-in-wine."

_Shepherd's Calendar--May._

Yet in spite of its pretty name, and in spite of the poets, the Hawthorn
now seldom flowers till June, and I should suppose it is never in flower
on May Day, except perhaps in Devonshire and Cornwall; and it is very
doubtful if it ever were so found, except in these southern counties,
though some fancy that the times of flowering of several of our flowers
are changed, and in some instances largely changed. But "it was an old
custom in Suffolk, in most of the farmhouses, that any servant who could
bring in a branch of Hawthorn in full blossom