“E’en round the pole the flames of love aspire,
  And icy bosoms feel the sacred fire,
  Cradled in snow, and fanned by arctic air,
  Shines, gentle Barometz, the golden hair;
  Rested in earth, each cloven hoof descends,
  And round and round her flexile neck she bends. 
  Crops of the grey coral moss, and hoary thyme,
  Or laps with rosy tongue the melting rime,
  Eyes with mute tenderness her distant dam,
  Or seems to bleat a vegetable lamb.”

Another curious fiction prevalent in olden times was that of the barnacle-tree, to which Sir John Maundeville also alludes:—­“In our country were trees that bear a fruit that becomes flying birds; those that fell in the water lived, and those that fell on the earth died, and these be right good for man’s meat.”  As early as the twelfth century this idea was promulgated by Giraldus Cambrensis in his “Topographia Hiberniae;” and Gerarde in his “Herball, or General History of Plants,” published in the year 1597, narrates the following:—­“There are found in the north parts of Scotland, and the isles adjacent, called Orcades, certain trees, whereon do grow small fishes, of a white colour, tending to russet, wherein are contained little living creatures; which shells, in time of maturity, do open, and out of them grow those little living things which, falling into the water, do become fowls, whom we call barnacles, in the north of England brant-geese, and in Lancashire tree-geese; but the others that do fall upon the land perish, and do come to nothing.”  But, like many other popular fictions, this notion was founded on truth, and probably originated in mistaking the fleshy peduncle of the barnacle (Lepas analifera) for the neck of a goose, the shell for its head, and the tentacula for a tuft of feather.  There were many versions of this eccentric myth, and according to one modification given by Boece, the oldest Scottish historian, these barnacle-geese are first produced in the form of worms in old trees, and further adds that such a tree was cast on shore in the year 1480, when there appeared, on its being sawn asunder, a multitude of worms, “throwing themselves out of sundry holes and pores of the tree; some of them were nude, as they were new shapen; some had both head, feet, and wings, but they had no feathers; some of them were perfect shapen fowls.  At last, the people having this tree each day in more admiration, brought it to the kirk of St. Andrew’s, beside the town of Tyre, where it yet remains to our day.”

Du Bartas thus describes the various transformations of this bird:—­

  “So, slowe Bootes underneath him sees,
  In th’ ycie iles, those goslings hatcht of trees;
  Whose fruitful leaves, falling into the water,
  Are turn’d, they say, to living fowls soon after.

  So, rotten sides of broken ships do change
  To barnacles; O transformation change,
  ’Twas first a green tree, then a gallant hull,
  Lately a mushroom, now a flying gull.”