The gay river

There the gay river laughing as it goes 
Plashes with easy wave its flaggy sides
& to the calm of heart in calmness shows
What pleasure there abides
To trace its sedgy banks from trouble free
Spots solitude provides
To muse & happy be

There ruminating neath some pleasant bush
On sweet silk grass I stretch me at mine ease
Where I can pillow on the yielding rush
& acting as I please
Drop into pleasant dreams or musing lie
Mark the wind shaken trees
& cloud betravelled sky

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A second daughter…

On the 13th June 1822 Patty and John had a second daughter, Eliza Louisa, but in that two years his world had been turned upside down, he was famous.  But there was sorrow too, as they lost a still-born baby son in June of 1821.

The photo shows a Christening Cup given to Eliza Louisa by her Godmother, Eliza Louise Emmerson for whom she of course was named.  John and Mrs Emmerson carried on a regular correspondence for many years and become firm friends.

After her sister Anna Maria's death in 1844, Eliza Louise was to marry the widowed husband, and her brother-in-law, John Sefton.  They had eight children, and a number of the 'Sefton-Clare' clan are active members of the John Clare Society, and this weblog to this day.

Sweet gem of infant fairy flowers
Thy smiles on lifes unclosing hours
Like sun beams lost in summer showers
     They wake my fears
When reason knows its sweets & sours
     Theyll change to tears

God help thee little sensless thing
Thou daisey like of early spring
Of ambushd winters hornet sting
     Hast yet to tell
Thou knowst not what tomorrows bring—
     I wish thee well

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Rut-rifted lane

The cockchafer hums down the rut-rifted lane

Where the wild roses hang & the woodbines entwine
& the shrill squeaking bat makes his circles again
Round the side of the tavern close by the sign
The sun is gone down like a wearisome queen,
In curtains the richest that ever were seen

The dew falls on flowers in a mist of small rain
& beating the hedges low fly the barn owls
The moon with her horns is just peeping again
& deep in the forest the dog-badger howls
In best bib & tucker then wanders my Jane
By the side of the woodbines which grow in the lane

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My last shilling

O dismal disaster O troublesome lot 
What a heart rending theme for my musing Ive got 
Then pray whats the matter O friend Im not willing 
The thought grieves me sore 
Now Im drove to the shore 
& must I then spend the last shilling the shilling 
& must I then spend the last shilling 

O painful reflection thou whole of my store 
That for these three months in my breeches Ive wore 
To spend thee to spend thee that thought turns me chilling 
O must I in spight 
Of all reason this night 
A Farwell bid to my last shilling my shilling 
A Farwell bid to my last shilling

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Turnd to night

The timid hare seems half its fears to lose
Crouching & sleeping 'neath its grassy lair
& scarcely startles tho' the shepherd goes 
Close by its home & dogs are barking there
The wild colt only turns around to stare 
At passer by then knaps his hide again
& moody crows beside the road forbear 
To fly tho' pelted by the passing swain
Thus day seems turnd to night & tries to wake in vain
The owlet leaves her hiding-place at noon
& flaps her grey wings in the doubting light
The hoarse jay screams to see her out so soon
& small birds chirp & startle with affright

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Sudden shower

Stopt by the storm that long in sullen black
From the south west stained its encroaching track
Haymakers hustling from the rain to hide
Sought the grey willows by the pasture side
& there while big drops bow the grassy stems
& bleb the withering hay with pearly gems
Dimple the brook & patter in the leaves

The song or tale an hours restraint relieves
& while the old dames gossip at their ease

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Bluebells

Bluebells how beautifull & bright they look 
Bowed oer green moss & pearled in morning dew 
Shedding a shower of pearls as soon as shook 
In every wood hedgegap theyre shineing through 
Smelling of spring & beautifully blue 
Childhood & Spring how beautifully dwells 
Their memories in the woods we now walk through 
O balmy days of spring in white thorn dells 
How beautifull are woods & their bluebells

Image: Late flowering bluebells on Dartmoor.  

Always an amazing sight.

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Daisys

While on the sunny bank the daisys seem

With smiling charms to court the clowns esteem

Nor do they spread their smiling charms in vain

His bosom warms enrapturd at the sight

With secret pleasure & unknown delight

His swelling soul to memorys treasure flies

& strives to speak—but Ignorance denies

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Rural sounds

& lowing steers that hollow echoes wake
Around the yard their nightly fast to break
As from each barn the lumping flail rebounds
In mingling concert with the rural sounds
While oer the distant fields more faintly creep
The murmuring bleatings of unfolding sheep
& ploughmans callings that more hoarse proceed
Where industry still urges labours speed
The bellowing of cows with udders full
That wait the welcome halloo of “come mull”

& rumbling waggons deafening again
Rousing the dust along the narrow lane
& cracking whips & shepherds hooting cries
From woodland echoes urging sharp replies

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The cow boy

Last on the road the cowboy careless swings
Leading tamed cattle in their tending strings
With shining tin to keep his dinner warm
Swung at his back or tucked beneath his arm
Whose sun-burnt skin & cheeks chuffed out with fat
Are dyed as rusty as his napless hat
& others driving loose their herds at will
Are now heard whooping up the pasture-hill
Peeled sticks they bear of hazel or of ash
The rib-marked hides of restless cows to thrash
In sloven garb appears each bawling boy
As fit & suiting to his rude employ

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Silence & shame

I looked on the eyes of fair woman too long
Till silence & shame stole the use of my tongue
When I tried to speak to her I'd nothing to say
So I turned myself round & she wandered away
When she got too far off why I'd something to tell
So I sent sighs behind her & walked to my cell
Willow switches I broke & peeled bits of straws
Ever lonely in crowds in Natures own laws
My ball room the pasture my music the bees
My drink was the fountain my church the tall trees
Who ever would love or be tied to a wife
When it makes a man mad all the days of his life

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My illness was love

I peeled bits of straws & I got switches too
From the grey peeling willow as idlers do
& I switched at the flies as I sat all alone
Till my flesh blood & marrow was turned to dry bone
My illness was love though I knew not the smart
But the beauty of love was the blood of my heart
Crowded places I shunned them as noises too rude
& fled to the silence of sweet solitude
Where the flower in green darkness buds blossoms & fades
Unseen of all shepherds & flower loving maids
The hermit bees find them but once & away
There I'll bury alive & in silence decay

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Anna Maria

On the 2nd June, 1820 Anna Maria was born.  John and Patty had been married for less than 3 months, and were living back in the tiny cottage in Helpston with John’s mother and father.  In time it would become very crowded indeed.

My Anna summer laughs in mirth
& we will of the party be
& leave the crickets in the hearth
For green fields merry minstrelsy

I see thee now with little hand
Catch at each object passing bye
The happiest thing in all the land
Except the bee & butterfly

& limpid brook that leaps along
Gilt with the summers burnished gleam
Will stop thy little tale or song
To gaze upon its crimping stream

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The hymn of day break

List to the hymn of day break when the woods 

Echo in harmony where lark & thrush 
& blackbirds music thrilling low & loud 
Ah didst thou witness 
What the morning is when sun beams sweet 
As curdling through the dewy misted panes 
Checkers the wall & urges thee to rise 
Couldst thou but tell 
What charms which Ign'rance passes unconcernd

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The vixen

Among the taller wood with ivy hung
The old fox plays & dances round her young
She snuffs & barks if any passes bye
& swings her tail & turns prepared to fly

The horseman hurries bye she bolts to see
& turns agen from danger never free
If any stands she runs among the poles
& barks & snaps & drives them in the holes
The shepherd sees them & the boy goes bye
& gets a stick & progs the hole to try
They get all still & lie in safety sure
& out again when every things secure
& start & snap at blackbirds bouncing bye
To fight & catch the great white butterfly

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Mossy walls

The weed-based arches walls that stride

Oer where the meadow water falls

Will turn thee from thy path aside

To gaze upon the mossy walls

& limpid brook that leaps along

Gilt with the summers burnished gleam

Will stop thy little tale or song

To gaze upon its crimping stream

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Ramping kecks

Where beesom weed—that high wind leaves

Blossoms and blooms above the eaves

The old cow-crib is mossed and green

As if it just had painted been

The ramping kecks in orchard gaps

Shake like green neighbours in white caps

On which the snail will climb and dwell

For three weeks in its painted shell

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Rural sports of May

& dear to him the rural sports of May
When each cot-threshold mounts its hailing bough
& ruddy milkmaids weave their garlands gay
Upon the green to crown the earliest cow
When mirth & pleasure wear a joyful brow
& join the tumult with unbounded glee
The humble tenants of the pail & plough
He lovd old sports by them revivd to see
But never car[‘d ]to join in their rude revelry

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Natures beauty

There have I sat by many a tree
& leaned oer many a rural stile
& conned my thoughts as joys to me
Nought heeding who might frown or smile
Twas natures beauty that inspired
My heart with rapture not its own
And shes a fame that never tires
How could I feel myself alone

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Tormenting heat

Bees are faint & cease to hum 
Birds are overpowerd & dumb 
& no more loves oaten strains 
Sweetley thro the air complains 
Vocal voices all are mute 
Tuneles[s] lies the pipe & flute 
Shepherds with their panting sheep 
In the swailiest corner creep 
& from the tormenting heat 
All are wishing to retreat 
Huddeld up in grass & flowers 
Mowers wait for cooler hours 
& the Cow-boy seeks the sedge 
Ramping in the woodland hedge

Image from Peter de Wint a good friend of Clare

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Music in the noise

Come Queen of months in company
Wi all thy merry minstrelsy
The restless cuckoo absent long
& twittering swallows chimney song
& hedgerow crickets notes that run
From every bank that fronts the sun
& swathy bees about the grass
That stops wi every bloom they pass
& every minute every hour
Keep teazing weeds that wear a flower
& toil and childhoods humming joys
For there is music in the noise

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Sings in the air

Come maiden dear maiden a beautiful troop

Of images now the young morning doth wear

The lark leaves her nest & the dew splashes up

As she flies through the clover & sings in the air

The bushes that rustle & catch at thy gown

The trees that thy pathway envelopes in leaves

The grass smooth as velvet runs green up and down

& from the young morning a rapture receives

& from the green hedge that the path brushes nigh

The flight of a bird shakes the rain in the place

& the blackbird frit off from her nest rushing bye
Shakes a shower on the path that will sprinkle thy face

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Daybreak light

How beautiful is daybreak light betimes 
Threads thro the clouds the red sun sweetly climbs 
Up to our chamber windows thwart the sky 
The clouds like bright volcanoes slumber by 
Slowly & grand toil early out of doors
Goes praising the sweet time devoid of sorrow 
& prophesies the cuckoos song to morrow
Birds hop about each hedge & by the stack 
The small wren twits with tail cocked oer his back
Building his nest right early neath the shed 
Where cows in winter found a pleasant bed
Flowers thicken everywhere the very tops 
Of walls are thronged with springs delicious crops 
Of tiny snow-white blossoms thickly spread

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Come little Robin

Come come to my cottage & thou shalt be free
To perch on my finger or sit on my knee
Thou shalt eat of the crumbles of bread to thy fill
& have leisure to clean both thy feathers & bill
Then come little robin & never believe
Such warm Invitations are meant to deceive
In duty I'm bound to show mercy on thee
While God dont deny it to sinners like me

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